Chapter Eight
Vivian
Day four in Steel City with the Steel Demons MC felt more like day twenty-eight.
Each hour that passed felt like the walls were closing in on me.
I laid on the bed and stared up at the freshly painted ceiling that was so out of place with the worn décor and furnishings that I started wondering what happened to prompt a new paint job.
It was another thought to distract me from everything else that was going on in my life.
Four days since I stepped back into the state where my life had fallen apart and then changed forever with one little white stick.
Four days under the watchful and suspicious eyes of Falcon’s brothers, friends, and family.
Four days of cold stares, overheard whispers, and conversations that stopped when I entered a room.
The walls that were meant to be my refuge slowly started to feel like a prison, or maybe a cage was a better word. I wasn’t locked up but I was trapped.
They were grateful that I’d helped out after the bombing. But I knew that underneath that gratitude they held me responsible, and while I was living here, I was making the clubhouse a target.
I wished I could at least get out. Helping after the explosion made me realize just how much I’d missed being able to practice medicine.
But it wasn’t as if I could sign on with an agency and get work.
The Russians would find me immediately, which was bad enough, but this was James’ stomping ground and if he learned I was back, my trouble would only increase.
So I pretended I was okay with the boredom, that the whispers didn’t bother me.
I’d repeated those words so many times in the last four days that it was starting to sound like a mantra.
I didn’t care. I didn’t need them. I’d survived worse.
And that last bit was true.
As a surgical resident, the men on my rotation were merciless, cruel bastards who hadn’t been content to wait for me to fail, they’d tried to make it happen. They let me know each and every day that I didn’t belong. But I hadn’t broken and I hadn’t failed.
They’d be waiting a long damn time for either to happen.
I hadn’t clawed my way to the top of my field to fail. I hadn’t spent endless hours perfecting surgical techniques, reading up on the newest surgical procedures, and losing sleep to break or to fail. My goal had been to be the best and save as many lives as I could, and I’d done that.
But here inside this clubhouse filled with suspicious eyes, I wasn’t a surgeon with a bright future in medicine ahead of me.
I was useless… No, useless was giving me too much credit.
I was worse than useless—I was a liability.
Because of James and the Russians, and yeah, even my own damn choices, I was a liability to everyone around me.
I needed to get the hell out of here.
It was late afternoon and I wasn’t sleepy, so I rolled off the bed and started pacing inside the small room.
I could only take about ten to twelve steps in any direction before hitting a wall.
My muscles itched with the need to do something, to do anything other than stew in my own thoughts.
I couldn’t exactly scrub in for surgery.
Couldn’t even take a job in a clinic while hiding in Steel City because word traveled too fast. Hell, I couldn’t even try and get work in another field, the Russians had eyes and ears everywhere.
I could barely stay ahead of one group of criminals, adding my ex to the mix was just asking for trouble.
I shut that door in my mind before the panic could crawl through and wreak havoc on my already tenuous emotional state.
It wouldn’t do me any good to think about all the things I’d lost. There was no use torturing myself with all the things I’d left behind because they couldn’t be recovered.
Maybe someday I’d stand inside the OR again, but that day was too far away to feel real, so I didn’t give it any space in my mind.
The only thing I could do was keep moving.
Keep breathing. Make sure TJ stayed safe.
I reminded myself that life here with his father was the best thing for TJ. Falcon would protect him, and once the paternity test came back I could leave.
Even if it felt as if I’d be tearing out my heart.
The knowledge that I was doing this so my son could have a life calmed me as much as I was capable of being calmed, so with a deep breath I went to the door and pulled it open. Staying inside the room alone had me crawling up the walls and close to a mental breakdown.
Muffled conversation and laughter sounded in the distance and I stood, looking left and then right.
Beer bottles clinked to my left, and I headed that way, finding the room packed with men and women, and even a few children.
Two women stood behind the bar mixing drinks and pouring beers, one of them I recognized so I made my way over. “Brandy, right?”
She looked up at me, her smile friendly but hesitant. “Yeah, what can I getcha?” She was one of the few people who managed a smile for me, and she didn’t walk away or turn her back when she saw me coming.
“Nothing, thanks. I was wondering if you needed any help with anything?”
Brandy blinked at me as if she didn’t understand what I was saying, and then a mischievous grin spread. I knew that expression well enough to know I was about to be tested.
Again.
I followed her out of the clubhouse and into a smaller building that looked like an industrial kitchen.
Plates clattered, water rushed from multiple faucets, while a radio played in the distance a little louder than the few conversations around the room.
Two other women, Simone and Greta, scrubbed dishes at a sink in the far corner of the room.
“Girls,” she shouted, drawing their attention from their conversation. Simultaneously their gazes landed on me, scowled, and turned back to the sink.
“Still wanna help?”
“Anything to keep busy,” I assured her with a forced casual shrug and a smile I didn’t feel.
“Okay, then. I appreciate the help,” she said, searching for something until she tossed a pair of teal rubber gloves my way. “There’s never an end to the dishes, just stack ‘em and keep moving until you’re finished or tired.”
“Got it.” I slid the gloves on, never more grateful in my life for hot, sudsy water and dirty dishes.
“Thank you.” She gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “Need anything, just holler.”
Simone and Greta kept talking like I wasn’t there, except loud enough for me to hear.
“The guys had a meeting last night,” Simone said with a forced little giggle. “About the doctor bitch.”
My spine went rigid.
“They’re not sure what to do with her yet.” Simone’s tone was smug, either from being in the know or happy I was having trouble, I wasn’t sure.
Greta lowered her voice just enough to make it worse. “Heard some of ‘em want her gone for good.”
Simone looked at Greta and smirked, eyes glittering as they looked over her shoulder and landed on me. “Fine by me. I wouldn’t mind playing mommy to that brat if it means keeping Falcon warm every night.”
The words were a knife to the gut. It didn’t matter to me. Falcon wasn’t mine. I had no claim on him. Hadn’t except for two glorious weeks three years ago.
I kept my expression carefully blank as I scrubbed at the plate in my hands until it was free of whatever crud had dried on the edge.
I’d endured worse. Hell, I’d been called worse in my life, but the images of Simone touching my son.
Smiling at him with that fake smile as she tucked him in and pretended to care about him? That made my blood roar.
Greta snorted. “Think they’ll really kick her out? I mean Falcon already seems smitten with the kid.”
He did and it was another point in his favor. “They’re waiting for some fucking DNA test,” Simone answered with a smirk. “Like maybe she’s trying to put the kid on Falcon just so she can stay here and get MC protection.”
What the actual fuck? Was that really the rumor going around the clubhouse?
Simone leaned in close but not before a bitter laugh echoed over the radio. “Wouldn’t surprise me a bit. Desperate little whores always want what they can’t have, and she can’t have Falcon. I’m working the long game.”
Greta laughed. “Eternal game is more like it. He hasn’t given you the time of day, Simone.”
That put a smile on my face, but it did nothing to stop me from white-knuckling the skillet I should’ve been washing. My hands tightened into fists, and I fought the urge to give the club girl a piece of my mind.
“Fuck off, Greta,” Simone said, pouting. “When that bitch is gone, he’ll be more susceptible to a woman to help him look after the brat.”
“If you say so,” Greta said, her voice full of skepticism. “Just maybe don’t call his kid a brat, he seems attached already.”
“Whatever,” she moaned and rolled her eyes.
I finished the last big pot and flipped it upside down before pulling off my gloves and hanging them over the edge of the sink.
My chest ached but not as much as my lower back and my forearms, but I kept my face fixed in a stone mask.
I refused to give those mean girls the satisfaction of seeing their words had any impact on me.
It was exactly what they wanted, at least what Simone wanted.
I kept my head held high as I strode out of the kitchen and collided with Falcon. “Oh,” I groaned and took a step back but not before his arms wrapped around me.
“Viv,” he said breathlessly as if being near me affected him as much as it did me. “We need to talk.”
I tried to take a step back, but his grip tightened. His expression was determined and his presence was as commanding as ever. “Falcon,” I cried out, my eyes suddenly wide and concerned. “Please.”
“We need to talk,” he said again, his grip loosened a little.
“Yeah,” I grunted and tried to free myself again. “I know you guys want me gone. Don’t worry, just consider me gone.”