Chapter 8 #2
“Thanks for that, Prez.” I barely get the words out because I’m choked with emotion. Rick is my brother, my family. Maybe not by blood, but definitely by choice.
“Bear, just fuckin’ get there safely,” he tells me.
I disconnect the call and shove my phone into my pocket. Safety isn’t the thing I’m thinking about right now. Speed is. If he’s on the ground, I need to help him back up again, in whatever form that takes.
I tear out, spinning my wheels and prepare myself for what I’ll see when I get there.
And it’s a fuckin’ good thing I did because when I approach the scene, there are police cruisers with red and blue strobe lights flashing, blood on the pavement and cops milling around.
I pull up just in time to see two EMS workers loading him into the ambulance.
I can tell by the looks on their faces that they doesn’t have a second to spare to stand around and talk.
The double doors swing closed and I hear the latch click.
I want to follow them to the hospital, but Rage calls my name.
The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber assaults my nostrils as I quickly make my way over to where Rage is squatting down beside the mangled mess that was once Rick’s motorcycle.
I squat down beside him and look over the twisted bike.
There is the faint scent of something chemical that I can’t quite place.
The frame is bent beyond repair. His headlight is shattered, the clear glass scattered across the road. It makes my stomach turn to see the paint job Rick was so proud of scraped off in long, jagged streaks from where it made contact with the pavement.
Rage’s expression is grim. He states quietly, “Rick’s gonna be in the operating room for a while. You need to see this.”
I open my mouth to speak, but before I can, one of the officers approaches us.
“You both need to move back. This is an official investigation.”
Of course, I don’t move back. My eyes glance to the bike.
I know my emotions are high, but something about this situation doesn’t sit right with me.
I’ve seen a lot of things that lead to bikes going down.
I’ve seen stupid mistakes, guys losing control from hotdogging, slick roads, and blown tires.
This situation is a little different. The skid marks begin right in the middle of the road.
It’s not raining or snowing. And both tires are still intact.
However, the front brake lever is snapped, but the line running down towards the caliper looks off.
I lean over the bike to get a better look.
The cop watches me, his eyes tracking every move.
He’s clearly waiting for me to get up and leave like he asked.
I’m too intent upon looking at the brake line; it runs along the frame.
The outer sheath is scuffed all to hell, but there’s a spot near the connection that doesn’t match the rest. A thin, clean slice.
My brain automatically realizes that his brake line was intentionally cut.
My head jerks up to look at Rage, who’s patiently waiting for me to verify what he’s already seen.
His now blank expression is tinged with fear.
Someone targeted Rick. Was it because of his cut or was it because of Natalie?
Glancing back down, I have a strong urge to run my finger over the slit, to feel it and know for one hundred percent that what I’m seeing is real.
I don’t, though, because I don’t want to destroy evidence.
I don’t want to be the reason this potential evidence becomes a dead end.
Instead, I quickly pull out my cell phone, open the camera, and zoom in before snapping several shots from different angles.
Rage murmurs quietly, “Good call.”
When it’s done, we come to our feet.
I ask with a jerk of my chin, “You comin’ to the hospital?”
“Fuck, yeah,” he replies harshly. “Siege is bringin’ Natalie. We need to talk about those pictures you just took and what it means for our club.”
Yeah, he’s thinkin’ the same thing I am.
“Alright, meet you there.”
I turn to leave, noticing for the first time that there are bystanders—a lot of them.
There’s a cop with a phone filming the crowd.
I know they do that on the off chance that someone related to the accident might be lingering among the onlookers.
I pull out my phone and begin filming too, only I make a half-assed attempt to make it look like I’m scrolling.
I capture the guy leaning against his car, pretending to be bored.
A woman wrapped in a man’s jacket with tears running down her face.
And some teens talking about the crash and making wild gestures with their hands, imitating the trajectory of the skid.
Rage steps up beside me. His voice is low. “They’re taking him to Mercy. I texted Siege to call our police contact to meet us there.”
I feel the controlled chaos around us shifting. The officers are paying more attention to us, eyeing us suspiciously. “We need to get the hell outta here before they try to keep us for questioning.”
Rage nods, sensing the same thing that I am. We start walking towards our bikes. Thankfully, they let us leave. I swing a leg over my bike, landing firmly in the seat. When I reach out to hit the ignition switch, my finger hovers over the button before going for my phone again.
I need to hear Natalie’s voice and know she’s okay, or at least not freakin’ out.
I pull up her contact information and hit call. She picks up on the first ring.
“Bear? Are you with Rick? How is he?” Her voice is hesitant and full of worry for her poor brother.
I close my eyes for half a second. Calling her was a mistake. The moment she asks about him, I see Rick strapped to that gurney again. I remember how listless his eyes were when they loaded him onto the gurney.
Forcing myself to respond, I tell her, “Listen,” I say. “Rick’s hurt. Siege is gonna bring you to the hospital. He’s in pretty bad condition, but I’m gonna make sure they do everything they can to save him. We’re not gonna let anything bad happen to him.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear her breathing change. She tries to keep it controlled. She doesn’t succeed.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “They only told me he wrecked his bike. I was hoping it was a fender bender. How bad is he?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tell her. “He’s alive. He’s in good hands.”
She makes a small, distressed noise that sounds like a sob.
“Natalie,” I say, keeping my voice confident. “Rick will pull through this. He’s been through worse and survived. And no matter what happens, you’re not alone. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll try to stop spiraling. Siege just walked in. I guess I need to go with him, right?”
“Yes,” I reply. “You go with him and do as he says. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive at the hospital. We’ll talk to Patch and make sure Rick has everything he needs to get better. We’ve got this, don’t worry, darlin’.”
Her voice calms a bit. “Alright, it’s you and me against the world when it comes to saving my brother?”
Something I can’t quite identify snakes through my chest. I look at the road ahead as I try to work it out in my head.
All the lights on top of the police cars are still flashing away as the cops mill about, doing a whole lot of nothin’.
This might be just a job for them, but this is a life-or-death matter for the people I love.
My fingers tighten around the phone as that feeling in my chest condenses into fierce determination.
“You got that right,” I tell her firmly. “I need to get movin’, and so do you.”
She goes quiet for a second and then says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic.”
“Don’t apologize for having a heart and caring about your brother.”
***
After we say our goodbyes, I get on the road. All I can think about is Rick lying bruised and battered in a hospital bed while his sweet little sister cries over his broken body. I have to find a way to fix this.
Images rise in my mind of that cut brake line.
Rage is right. We need to talk about this and figure out where the threat is coming from.
It could be an old enemy rearing his ugly head or a new rival we haven’t realized was eyeing our territory.
Either way, our club will figure out a way to retaliate that puts a stop to it.
I’ve been around for a year and have seen how the Legion handles threats to its members.
Even though Rick isn’t a fully patched brother, he’s still one of our prospects, and that means he’s under the Legion’s protection.
The hospital comes into view, and I quickly navigate my way around to the emergency room entrance. Parking up, I turn off the engine and jump off my bike before the engine fully stops. I walk briskly across the parking lot and into the lobby to find that I’m the first to arrive.
After asking at the front desk, I’m told he’s still in surgery and there is another waiting room for that area. I’m most certainly not going there with Natalie, so I walk over and stare out the huge floor-to-ceiling windows into the parking lot.
Rage comes through the doors a few minutes later.
His face is flushed from the ride, but he heads straight for me.
We wait for Siege and Natalie to arrive.
With Rick still in surgery and Natalie’s scared voice on the phone, I feel like the two people I care most about, who are my whole world, are hanging on by a thread.
Rick, physically and Natalie, mentally. I’ve got to be strong for both of them.
My mind gets lost trying to figure out how to become what they each need in this moment.
I’m not entirely surprised when a horde of my brothers decide to escort them. Siege drops her off at the door and goes with the others to park his bike.
Natalie rushes to me, and when I open my arms, she steps into my warm embrace.
Although I don’t know what’s going on with Rick, just having Natalie close is comforting.
We stand there hugging for a few minutes too long.
It’s not exactly awkward, but it does drive home for me that my feelings run deeper than I thought.
Truth be told, once I have her in my arms, I don’t want to let her go.
Maybe I need her as much as she needs me in this moment.
When we break apart, I wish I had the words to tell her what I feel but I don’t.
Instead of even trying, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and jerk my chin towards the other waiting room.
It has its own counter as well, with one woman in scrubs flipping through charts.
When I approach the counter, wearing my cut, with a handful of brothers at my back, the woman frowns up at me.
“You’re Dr. Patchett’s people, aren’t you?”
I lift my chin. “Yes, we’re his club brothers. Can you tell us how Rick Mullins is? This is his sister,” I gesture towards Natalie who’s pale and shaking.
She nods. “He’s still in theater. I’m sorry I can’t say much more than that right now. But Dr. Barnes is one of the best in the county.”
I glance down at Natalie, not liking the sound of that at all. Neither does she. I can tell because her bottom lip is trembling.
“He’ll be just fine,” I say. “Rick is tough as nails.”
“I’m going to need someone to give me the patient’s identifying information and medical history, since he came in unconscious.”
“I’ll do it. He’s my friend, but I’ve known him since we were fourteen,” I answer.
She gestures towards the chairs in front of her desk. “Alright, have a seat. You can let your people know that there are vending machines in an alcove around the corner on the left. Restrooms are on the right.”
I don’t bother telling them anything because my club brothers have been all up and down this place. I ease Natalie down into one chair.
I give her a smile and reach out to gently squeeze her shoulder. I can feel her relax a little under my hand.
The nurse begins shuffling through her paperwork.
Then she clicks her pen open and starts rapidly firing questions at us.
Natalie and I take turns answering them.
She doesn’t know anything about Rick’s medical history but knows some family stuff from reading her own file as a child.
Her social worker apparently filled in her family medical history, and she memorized it.
She’s a very clever woman. I never even thought of doing anything like that when I was in care.
When we’re done, I give the woman his insurance information. Then Natalie and I move to the far side of the room to sit with my club brothers.
“Any news on Rick?” I ask calmly as we drop down onto a settee together.
Rigs answers, “No. Patch sent word that the operation was going well and for us to sit tight and he’d keep us updated.”
Siege asks, “Do we know what happened?”
Glancing at me, Rage answers, “Yeah, we sure the hell do.” Jerking his chin at me, he says, “Tell them, Bear.”
“It looks like his brake line was cut,” I tell him.
“It was a clean horizontal cut. I took pictures of it on my cell phone. I zoomed out on his bike and captured a few more images.” Pulling out my phone, I pull up the images for Siege to see.
“I also got some video footage of the crowd in case whoever did this lingered around like the sick twisted fucks they are.”
My throat tightens, as I realize that Natalie is staring at the images as well. That’s when I realize that I’ve stopped the camera roll on a big red wet patch on the pavement with Rick’s smashed up helmet rolled off to the side.
One trembling hand reaches out to tug the phone from my hand.
“He was wearing that half helmet he likes so much, wasn’t he?”
Without hesitating, I acknowledge what she’s already looking at with her own eyes. “Your brother has always worn a brain bucket.”
“I’ve seen him ride off with it unbuckled. Is that what happened here? Is it why he was so seriously injured?”
A sick feeling swirls in the pit of my stomach because that behavior would be very on brand for my reckless friend. I open my mouth to answer but Rage’s voice cuts into the conversation.
“I know for a fact that he had it strapped down tight because I’m the one who cut it off when we stabilized him on the backboard.”
Before Rage can respond Siege speaks up, “Taking his helmet off at the scene was a risky move, don’t ya think?”
Rage frowns. “Who’s the paramedic here? I know damn well taking off a helmet is dangerous, but in this case, I had to do it. He was unconscious and having trouble protecting his airway. Half helmets are less risky to move than full ones.”