Chapter Two.
Sapphire
“Drake Michaelson? That’s a name that’s become infamous in our world!” I said, sitting back in my chair.
“Yeah. If Phoenix is reaching out, shit’s bad,” Warden replied.
“She thinks he’s shouldering the blame for the deaths?” I asked.
“Yup.”
I paused and considered what I knew. “All those needless deaths, over three thousand of them? Yeah, Drake’s suffering a huge dose of guilt. All because a former founder decided he wanted something he wasn’t entitled to. I heard Fury’s own kid turned against him.”
“That’s true. Can Belladonna and Stitch help? I’d offer my guys, but someone like Drake will see that as me thinking he’s weak,” Warden stated.
That rankled, and I sat up, glaring at the wall. “You claiming women are weaker? Softer? That’s because we’ve got a pussy, we’re—”
“Shut up, Saph. Ain’t saying anything of the sort. Who pissed in your bed this morning? Wylde not giving you the good shit?”
“How’s Iona?” I retorted, and Warden snorted in amusement.
“Finished measuring your dick with me?”
“Whose is bigger?” I teased, and Warden chuckled.
“Back to the subject at hand. Will they meet Drake?”
“Yeah. Tell Phoe she comes to us. That’s non-negotiable. I’ll have Bells reach out. See what they can garner. It could be Drake Michaelson is having an existential crisis, which my guys don’t deal with.”
“Take care, Saph,” Warden said and cut the line. I texted Belladonna and told her to bring Stitch. We might have a very important client. Whatever. Phoenix Michaelson and her money didn’t impress me.
Phoenix
“Phoe speaking,” I stated, answering my private phone.
“This is Belladonna from Royal Harlots MC. I hear you’ve got a problem you need help with?” a woman said.
“Oh, thank God you called!” I gasped, sinking into an armchair. I was once more in my tower and watching Drake outside in the snow. Yet again, he wasn’t wearing a coat or jumper, and he’d freeze to death if I didn’t intervene.
“Wow, that English accent is strong,” Belladonna muttered. “Tell me what’s happening. Stitch is also listening in.”
“Phoenix,” Stitch acknowledged.
“Okay, I don’t know where to start. I’m guessing you heard about the war?”
“Everyone in the world knows about it. A MC that spread poison so wide it had over five thousand members marching on Rapid City? Girl, you’re famous for being a city that had to kill American citizens to protect itself.
Homegrown fucking terrorism right on our doorstep.
Tell me what I don’t know,” Belladonna replied.
She sounded a little brusque, but I needed her, so I’d make allowances.
“Drake struggled after our deaths were tallied up. Grey was a big hurt, our prospect who died. Another member, Calamity, nearly bled out from a throat wound. The funerals for the Unwanted Bastards were also soul-destroying…”
“That’s the MC that lost all almost its members?” Stitch asked.
“Yes. The other MCs also lost brothers, and we attended every funeral of the fallen allies. Drake had been badly wounded and discharged to ensure he attended them all. For several months, Drake was upset; who wouldn’t be?
But nothing like he is now. About six months ago, I started noticing his behaviour.
Drake began avoiding the clubhouse and gatherings.
We’re talking about a man to whom family means everything. ”
“Okay,” Belladonna muttered.
“He’s been spiralling ever since. Belladonna, it’s snowing here. Drake’s out there, no coat, no jumper, nothing. It’s like he’s courting ruin,” I said.
“Jumper?” Stitch asked, confused.
“Sweater. Drake has a death wish, and I don’t think it’s of his own making,” I stated and felt stupid. Would they make fun of my feelings?
“What do you mean?” Stitch pressed.
“Drake has been through so much. Sure, the war was awful, and it’s something we’ll never forget.
Rapid City and its people carry a horrible scar.
But Drake isn’t one to circle the drain.
He’s a fighter. Always has been. Depression isn’t like Drake.
I don’t know how to convince you. Logically, I suppose you could say PTSD and depression are expected, and they are. But this is something else.”
“Try to explain more,” Belladonna said.
“It’s almost as if he’s undergone a personality transplant. Drake’s living in the past and not the future…”
“Phoe, go back to the first bit,” Stitch ordered.
“The transplant? Yeah, anyone can say that someone’s changed. But a complete overhaul. Even when things were dire, Drake’s never quit. Now he has. It’s like someone else is occupying his skin. Drake’s pushed the children away, and that is not him. Family is everything to him.”
“Umm…” Belladonna mused.
“Please help me,” I pleaded.
“Phoe, bring Drake to Portsmouth. I’ve an idea of what’s happening, but I need to see Drake in person,” Belladonna said.
“We’ll come today,” I replied. “Tell me where to bring him.”
“Girl, by the time you get a flight, it will be tomorrow at the earliest.” Stitch laughed.
“I’ve a private plane, we’ll be there in a few hours,” I promised.
“Of course you have. We’ll text the address,” Belladonna stated and cut the line.
I glanced down, feeling a little lighter as my phone beeped. There was light at the end of the tunnel. Now I needed Drake on board.
It was terrifying how much Drake had spiralled, and I’d not noticed. The fact he meekly let me bully him into the car and then onto the plane spoke volumes. Drake didn’t seem interested in anything until we began banking to land.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to see some specialists,” I said, and bit my lip.
Drake’s eyes narrowed, and I saw a spark he’d been missing. “What type of expert?”
“One that can help you.” I folded my arms and held his gaze. Annoyance flickered across Drake’s face.
“Phoe, I don’t…”
“Don’t go there, Drake Michaelson. You’re not yourself, and everyone is worried sick about you.
You avoid the club, won’t attend church, disappear for hours on your own, sit outside in the freezing cold hoping to catch pneumonia.
I’m done with that crap. If you love me, you’ll shut your trap and indulge me,” I snapped.
“Shut my trap?” Drake asked with a hint of amusement.
“Your mouth.”
“Whatever, Phoe. If this makes you happy—”
“Yes, it does. I can’t live like this anymore. It’s been months since you last smiled properly, and I don’t even remember your laugh,” I retorted.
Shock flickered across Drake’s face. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Sorry,” Drake looked outside the window, and horror laced through me. Drake never apologised.
“That’s proof right there!” I blurted. “You said sorry. You never admit you’re in the wrong. Not openly.”
“Okay, Phoe, fine! I’m going to see your specialist, aren’t I?” Drake hissed.
“Only because I basically kidnapped you,” I muttered and bounced as the plane landed. “We have a car service booked.”
I stood as the air hostess released the ladder and walked down it. Drake was at my heels. A car was parked up waiting, and the pilot brought our bags down. I gave him and the team a healthy tip and told them to charge rooms overnight to us. I was unsure how long this would take.
Drake’s animation wore off, and he was listlessly gazing out of the window as we drove through Portsmouth, towards the address Belladonna had sent me. Whatever was bothering Drake went deeper than depression; it had to. I wouldn’t believe anything different.
We passed through some gates, and I stared with interest at the Royal Harlots MC clubhouse.
It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. A huge, restored and converted warehouse stood a short distance away.
There were bikes lined up outside, which obviously belonged to the Royal Harlots.
Then there was a large double doorway with a cute bell pull. Someone was whimsical.
Drake and I got out, and the driver parked close. The building was massive, and it struck me how many windows there were. They’d clearly updated and spent a shitload of money doing so. I yanked on the bell and was delighted when a loud dong peeled out. Moments later, the door opened, and I blinked.
A woman wearing a short leather nun’s outfit gazed at us.
“Well, he is as handsome as gossip says, and you’re gorgeous in a good-girl way,” she stated.
“Okay?” I replied, a little taken aback and amused.
“I’m Nun. Guess you’re Phoe and Drake. Come on in, then. Bells and Stitch are waiting.”
“Thanks,” I said, following her in. Drake hesitated with a frown.
“Scared?” Nun taunted.
In the past, Drake would have squared his shoulders and walked straight in. Instead, he backed off. “Not doing this,” he muttered. Before I could stop him, Drake started jogging away, a blank expression on his face.
“What the hell?” I gasped. Nun stared between the two of us as she peeled a banana and began eating it. “Drake!” I called, but he didn’t look back.
“Stop him!” a woman screeched from inside.
A different woman screamed, and a multitude of things happened.
Several women rushed out from inside. The first flung her hand out, and Drake skidded to a halt as a huge black monster appeared before him.
He moved quickly backwards, staring at the creature as a second member threw ice from her hands, freezing his feet to the ground.
The third was beside the others one moment and then in front of Drake the next.
Her fist swung out and caught Drake on the jaw.
Drake blinked as his eyes went unfocused, and then, moments later, he collapsed, holding his head as a fourth staggered out holding her head.
A tall woman wearing a president’s patch supported her.
“Drake!” I cried and began racing towards him. I’d no idea what craziness I’d brought him to, but hell to the no!
“Phoenix, Drake is fine. Belladonna knocked him out!” Nun called after me.
“You’re all batshit crazy,” I shouted and dropped to my knees next to Drake. The monster disappeared as they approached.