Chapter 7 - Convict
Pain is the first thing I register. A dull, throbbing ache that radiates from my abdomen outward, claiming every muscle, every joint. Even my eyelids hurt when I try to open them.
Light filters in, too bright at first. I blink slowly, letting my vision adjust. Unfamiliar ceiling. Unfamiliar bed. The antiseptic smell of medical supplies mixed with something else—motorcycle oil, leather, the distinctive scent of the MC clubhouse.
How do I know that?
Memories flood back in disjointed fragments. The prison riot. Blood on my hands. Rebecca's steady fingers stitching me up. Running through woods. Walsh's men. Dice and Maddie appearing like avenging angels in that clearing.
But how did I get here? And where exactly is here?
I try to move and immediately regret it. Fresh pain shoots through my side, sharp and insistent. A soft gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
"James?" A voice beside me, familiar and concerned. "Don't try to move yet."
I turn my head, and there she is. Rebecca. Her wild curls are pulled back in a loose ponytail, her face tired but alert. She wears clothes I don't recognize—a t-shirt too large for her frame, sweatpants rolled at the ankles.
"Rebecca," I manage, my voice a rasp. My throat feels like sandpaper. "Where are we?"
She reaches for a cup with a straw, helping me take a sip of cool water before answering. "Outlaw Order clubhouse. Somewhere remote, from what I can tell." She sets the cup down, her eyes scanning my face. "How do you feel?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck," I admit. "Then reversed over a few times for good measure."
A small smile touches her lips. "That's to be expected. You lost a lot of blood."
I glance around the room—sparse but clean, medical supplies arranged neatly on a nearby table. "How long have I been out?"
"Two days," she says, and my eyes widen in surprise. "You've been in and out of consciousness, mostly from the pain medication and your body's need to heal."
Two days. The knowledge is disorienting. I was three days from release when the riot started. I should almost be a free man by now, legally walking out those prison gates. Instead, I'm an escaped convict hiding in an MC clubhouse with a prison nurse turned fugitive watching over me.
Life takes strange turns.
The door opens, and Dice appears. My little brother, though there's nothing little about him anymore.
Six feet of solid muscle, dark hair cut short like mine, the same strong features that mark us as brothers.
The prospect cut of the Outlaw Order hangs on his broad shoulders like it was made for him.
"You're awake," he says, relief evident in his voice. "For real this time."
"Apparently," I reply, trying for a smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Though I'm not convinced being awake is better than unconscious right now."
He approaches the bed, standing beside Rebecca. "How's he doing?" he asks her, and I notice the easy familiarity between them. They've been spending time together while I've been out.
"Better," she says, checking the IV in my arm. "Fever's gone. Wound's healing cleaner than I expected given the circumstances. He's tough."
"Thompson genes," Dice says with a hint of pride. "Stubborn as hell."
"I'm right here," I remind them, "and fully capable of hearing you talk about me."
They both smile at that, and something in my chest eases. Two people I care about, getting along, safe for the moment.
"You had us worried, bro," Dice says, his tone more serious. "That was a lot of blood you left in the woods."
"Sorry to inconvenience everyone," I say dryly.
Rebecca checks my bandage, her touch gentle but clinical. "The stitches are holding well this time. You'll have a scar, but as long as we keep infection at bay, you should recover fully."
"Thanks to you," I say, catching her eye. "For everything."
Her cheeks color slightly. "Just doing my job."
"We both know it was more than that."
Our eyes hold for a moment too long, and Dice clears his throat.
"Hey, Rebecca, could I get ten minutes alone with my brother? Club business."
She nods, gathering some used supplies. "Of course. I could use some fresh air anyway." She pauses beside my bed on her way out, then leans down and places a quick kiss on my cheek. "Glad you're back with us," she says softly, then she's gone, closing the door behind her.
Dice raises an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Well, well."
"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no heat in it. "It's not like that."
"Sure it isn't," he says, pulling up a chair beside the bed. "She's only spent the last two days barely leaving your side, checking your fever every hour, changing your bandages, talking to you when she thought you couldn't hear."
I don't know how to respond to that. The thought of Rebecca maintaining that vigil stirs something in me I'm not ready to think about.
"How are you really feeling?" Dice asks, his expression turning serious.
I consider lying, saying I'm fine, but this is Dice. He deserves the truth.
"Broken," I admit. "Literally, like someone dismantled me like a bike and put me back together wrong. Everything hurts. And I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that I'm now an escaped convict when I was three days from a legitimate release."
Dice nods, understanding in his eyes. "I know. It's fucked up. But you didn't have a choice."
"There are always choices," I say, shifting slightly and wincing at the pain. "I made mine when I decided to run. Now I have to live with it."
"You made the right call," he insists. "Those Irish guys weren't there to rough you up, James. They were there to kill you."
"About that," I say, remembering fragments of conversation from the forest. "You said you dealt with Walsh? What happened?"
Dice runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognize from childhood. He's deciding how much to tell me.
"Walsh showed up in Pine Haven about a week before your scheduled release.
Reaper—he's the president of the Outlaw Order—called a meeting with him.
" He pauses. "Walsh agreed to back off, but apparently he'd already put the hit in motion inside the prison.
Couldn't—or wouldn't—call it off. He wanted revenge. "
"But it's handled now?" I confirm.
"Yeah. Walsh is gone, and he's not coming back. Reaper made that very clear."
I nod, relief mixing with lingering concern. "And the club? Why are they helping me? I'm not a member."
"You're my brother," Dice says simply. "That makes you family to them. Besides, the Outlaw Order looks after its own, and I've been a prospect for eight months now. I've earned some loyalty."
Pride swells in me. Dice has found his place, a brotherhood that values him. It's all I've ever wanted for him, somewhere to belong.
"How long until they patch you in?" I ask.
"Few more months, maybe. Depends." He shrugs, but I can see how much it means to him. "It's good, James. These guys. They're solid. They've got my back. They've got your back too."
"I've noticed," I say, gesturing to the room around us. "Not every MC would risk harboring fugitives."
"Speaking of fugitives," Dice says, his tone shifting, "Rebecca's in a tough spot. She could've walked away at any point, but she didn't. She chose to help you. That's rare, man. Special."
"I know," I say quietly. "I told her to go, to save herself. She refused."
"She's got a good heart. And she clearly cares about you." He hesitates, then adds, "You struck gold there, brother. Don't waste it."
The thought of Rebecca—brave, principled Rebecca—throwing away her career, her freedom, her future for me is both wonderful and terrible. She deserves so much better than being dragged into my mess.
"What happens now?" I ask, changing the subject slightly. "I can't stay here forever. And she can't either."
"We're working on it," Dice assures me. "Reaper's got connections. We'll figure something out. For now, just focus on healing up."
I nod, then notice something in Dice's expression—a subtle tension, like he's holding something back.
"What aren't you telling me?" I ask.
He shifts in his chair, almost uncomfortable. "There's one other thing you should know." He takes a deep breath. "It's about me and Maddie."
"Maddie?" I repeat, confused. "What about her? Is she okay?"
"She's fine," he says quickly. "Better than fine, actually. We're...together."
I stare at him, certain I've misheard. "Together? As in...?"
"As in together," he confirms, a mix of defiance and uncertainty in his eyes. "It happened a few days ago, when she got to town to wait for your release. Neither of us planned it. It just...happened."
I continue staring, processing this unexpected development. Maddie—my wild, fiercely independent best friend. And Dice—my equally independent, commitment-phobic little brother. Together.
"You're surprised," Dice says, watching my face.
"Surprised doesn't begin to cover it," I admit. "You two are the last people I'd expect to pair up. You both hate feeling vulnerable. You both value your independence more than anything."
"I know," he says, running a hand through his hair again. "It doesn't make sense on paper. But..." he trails off, searching for words. "She gets me, James. In a way no one else ever has. And I get her too."
The genuine emotion in his voice catches me off guard. I've never heard Dice talk about a woman like this before.
"Are you happy?" I ask finally.
A smile breaks across his face, transforming him. "Yeah. Really happy."
"Then I'm happy for you," I say sincerely. "Both of you. Though if you hurt her, I'll have to kick your ass. And if she hurts you, well... I'll probably still have to kick your ass because there's no way I'm taking on Maddie."
He laughs, the tension leaving his body. "Fair enough."
"Does she know you told me?"
"Yeah, we talked about it. She wanted to tell you herself but thought it might be better coming from me." He stands, stretching slightly. "She's around here somewhere. Probably terrorizing someone else."
The thought makes me smile. That sounds exactly like Maddie.
"I should let you rest," Dice says, moving toward the door. "Need anything before I go?"
I shake my head, then wince at the movement. "Just answers eventually. About what happens next."
"We'll figure it out," he promises again. "Together."
After he leaves, I lie back, staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. My brother and my best friend together. Walsh dealt with but not before he nearly killed me. A prison nurse turned guardian angel watching over me.
The door opens again, and I expect Dice returning with something he forgot to tell me. Instead, it's Rebecca. She approaches the bed with a hesitant smile.
"Too tired for company?" she asks.
"Never for you," I reply truthfully.
She sits in the chair Dice vacated, looking more relaxed than before. "How was your talk?"
"Enlightening. Apparently my brother and best friend are an item now."
Rebecca's eyebrows raise. "Really? That's... unexpected."
"You're telling me. But they seem happy, so..." I shrug slightly, then grimace at the pain the movement causes.
"Careful," she cautions, leaning forward to adjust my pillows. "Your body's been through significant trauma. Every movement will hurt for a while."
"Noted," I say, breathing through the discomfort. When it passes, I ask, "Dice said you've barely left this room for two days."
Her cheeks color slightly. "You needed monitoring. Infection risk was high."
"Is that the only reason?" I press gently.
Our eyes meet, and the professional mask she wears slips just slightly. "No," she admits quietly. "Not the only reason."
Something warm blooms in my chest, something that has nothing to do with pain or fever. "Thank you," I say. "For staying. For everything."
She smiles, a real smile that transforms her face. "You're welcome."
For a moment, we just look at each other, a hundred unspoken things passing between us. Then she stands, professional mode returning.
"You should rest," she says, checking my IV. "Your body needs it."
I catch her hand before she can move away. "Rebecca."
She pauses, looking down at our joined hands.
"I'm glad you're here," I tell her. "I know this isn't what you signed up for, and I'm sorry for that. But selfishly, I'm glad you're here."
Her fingers tighten around mine briefly. "Strangely enough," she says, "so am I."
She gently disengages her hand and moves toward the door. "Sleep," she instructs. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit."
After she leaves, I close my eyes, feeling the pull of exhaustion. My body aches, my future is uncertain, and I'm a wanted man. But somehow, with Rebecca nearby and my brother and Maddie close, I feel something I haven't felt in a very long time.
I feel home.