Chapter Forty-Seven
Riley
The first thing I notice is the antiseptic smell, sharp and chemical, slashing through the fog in my head.
It’s so clean it feels wrong, as if my body’s been forcibly sterilized of the past forty-eight hours — of the sweat, blood, filth, and terror that still cling to my mind.
The second thing is the pain, a dull, sourceless ache at first, then an ever-brightening constellation of agony: ribs, jaw, wrists, neck, the deep bruises on my back and head.
Every breath tastes like swallowing glass.
I try to move, to make sense of where I am, and a strangled sound tears out of my mouth before I can stop it.
A shadow stirs at the edge of my vision. Then that shadow splits into four shapes, and four women descend on me like feral mother hens.
Claire gets to my bedside first, her cool palm pushing hair out of my eyes with surprising gentleness. Molly looms over her shoulder, arms crossed, freckles sharp with worry. Bianca comes in next, her expression soft but fierce, and Alessia slips in last, lipstick perfect, eyes on fire.
Bianca leans in, expression so raw and open it knocks the air out of me. “You’re safe,” she says, and then she’s brushing my cheek with the back of her hand, as if confirming it’s real. “You’re really, really safe.”
“Jesus, kid,” Molly says, arms crossed, tears shining in her lashes. “You had us all shitting bricks.”
I’m trying to nod, trying to smile, trying not to fall apart.
I fail; a sob rips out of me — loud, ugly, shaking — and Alessia takes my other hand in hers, squeezing like she’s anchoring me to the earth.
“We’re not leaving you alone for a second,” she says, voice low and fierce.
“Not until you tell us to your face that you never want to see us again. Even then, tough shit — we’ll probably just stalk you, anyway. ”
I make a sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob — and then I’m crying for real. All four of them react at once and I’m surrounded by warm hands, murmured voices, and then the blanket gets tucked in tighter.
“It’s okay,” Claire whispers. “You can let it out.”
Claire leans down, wrapping her arms around me with surprising tenderness for someone who rules a motorcycle club with an iron spine.
I let it all out; I cry for the basement, for the chains, for the fear. And for Breaker. Oh god, do I cry for Breaker.
The panic finally ebbs, receding like a tide. I can breathe again, shallow and ragged, but real. I’m alive. I survived.
They let me have a minute. Then, as my wits return, so do the questions. My body hurts everywhere, but his name is the only pain that matters.
“Breaker?” I croak, and the air in the room thins.
All four women look at each other, the same thought passing between them like a live wire: who’s going to tell her?
“Alive,” Claire says at last. “He’s alive, Riley. He took a beating, but he’s alive.”
Molly grimaces. “He lost a lot of blood. But he’s impossible to kill, apparently.”
“He’s been asking for you,” Bianca says, squeezing my arm. “He tried to get out of bed, and they had to sedate him twice.”
Alessia cracks a smile, just barely. “The nurses think he’s a war criminal. He threatened to ‘clear the entire floor’ if they didn’t tell him where you were.”
Something unclenches in my chest. I sag back against the pillow.
There’s a knock at the door, a warning, and then Rabid enters.
He fills the doorway, his leather vest black as midnight, his beard bristling like a bear emerging from hibernation.
His eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment I’m eight years old again, but all Rabid does is stand there, silent, until the others make room for him at my bedside.
He looks at me for a long time, then at the women gathered around.
He shakes his head, half-admiration, half-exasperation.
“You lived through something evil,” he says.
“And you fought back. That makes you a member of the Twisted Devils family. Permanently. No matter what happens, no matter where you go, you’ll always be one of us, and we will always have your back. ”
His voice is low thunder, a declaration, a home. Emotion stings my eyes again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Rabid nods once, sharply. “Breaker’s in good hands. He’ll be with you soon. That fool’s stubborn as hell, but he’s strong. And he sure as shit loves you.”
My breath catches, and finally, I whisper the only thing in my heart. “I need to see him.”
Molly squeezes my hand. Bianca wipes a tear from her cheek. And Claire flashes a knowing look at her ol’ man.
Rabid nods without hesitation. “Then let’s make that happen.”