27. Judge
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Shocked doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel as the door opens, and I come face-to-face with a naked Myla, screaming something about demons. I try to grab her, to bring her into my arms, but she fights me with superhuman strength she shouldn’t have. Then, out of nowhere, her eyes close, and she collapses. I don’t have any idea what’s wrong with her, but I don’t have time to question it. I have to get her out of here right the fuck now.
I lift her into my arms and run. Anywhere else, and I’d worry about someone calling the cops—it can’t be every day you see a biker carry a naked and unconscious woman down the street—but in this neighborhood, people mind their business. They might find it odd, but after an initial peek, they’ll close their curtains and move on.
I don’t hear the shot so much as I hear the bullet whiz by my head. Whoever’s shooting has a silencer on. I briefly glance down at Myla, making sure she hasn’t been struck before I turn the corner to where I parked Myla’s car. Thank fuck I had the foresight to drop my bike at her house before heading out here.
I place her in the backseat, trying to be gentle but efficient, when another shot is fired. This time, I know it hits the car door window and shatters, pieces of tempered glass falling on my back. Fuck. I’m running out of time, so I apologize as I shove Myla’s legs into the vehicle, pausing for only a second to take notice of a blood-soaked bandage on her arm before ducking behind the door to see what I’m up against.
A glance down the road shows a man with blood dripping from his nose and onto his white dress shirt. Goddamn, someone got him good. Pulling out my Glock that definitely isn’t silenced, I aim and fire, trying to buy enough time to get around the car and into the driver’s seat. I miss—which doesn’t surprise me since I don’t get as much practice in as my brothers—but it makes the asshole realize this is now a fair fight. He dives behind Myla’s bike, not hiding his body completely, but all his major organs are covered.
Aiming again, I fire off a couple rounds, this time hitting the seat, windshield, and frame of Myla’s bike. She’s gonna be pissed at me for that one. He returns fire, blowing out the rear window of the car and leaving holes in the trunk. I won’t have a running car if I don’t get out of here soon.
My heart pounds in my chest as I take a deep breath, adrenaline surging through my veins like a raging river. With a silent prayer on my lips, I count to three and slam the door shut, my instincts taking over as I sprint around the rear of the car. The lingering threat of danger propels me forward as I keep my aim steady and unleash round after round.
My eyes lock onto a second figure crouched behind the corner of the house, using it as a shield. I have not one but two assailants aiming their weapons at me. Perfect. I take aim and fire, hitting the first one in the gut and dropping him to his knees, but before I can celebrate, the second one unleashes a storm of bullets in my direction.
I narrowly dodge the barrage of deadly projectiles as I open the car door and throw myself into the driver’s seat before slamming it shut. My hands shake as I press the ignition button and slam on the gas, only to hear the engine rev. Shit, shit, shit. I’m not in fucking drive. I need to get it together because one mistake could mean life or death. Shifting into gear this time, I shove the gas pedal to the floor. The tires screech, and the backend fishtails as I pull away from the curb, hearing the ting of bullets spraying the car.
I keep my eyes on the rearview mirror, making sure no one follows us, but I’m not used to this, and every car looks the same when your heart is pounding and there’s a whooshing sound pulsing in your ears you can’t make go away. Is that normal?
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I see I have several missed calls and texts. Before calling them back, I get on the freeway, then off the freeway and over to a side street, only to get back on the freeway. Is that how you shake a tail? Am I even doing this right? I’ve never felt more inadequate than I do right now. I wear the SOE cut, but I might as well be playing dress-up for all I really know about being in an MC.
Once settled in the slow lane, I call Cy, putting it on speaker.
“Where the fuck are you?” he roars.
“I have her,” I say, looking in the rearview to the backseat, where Myla is still flopped over, unconscious. At least, I hope she is. Shit. Should I pull over and make sure she’s okay?
“What do you mean?”
“I have Myla. Are you guys back at the clubhouse?”
“You mean after you sent us on a goddamn wild goose chase for no reason? Yeah, we’re back here wondering where the hell you are.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Call Bones, tell him to come right away.”
“Shit. Okay, yeah.” He snaps his fingers and whispers something. “Is it you or her who needs medical?”
“Her. Fuck. I don’t know what they did to her.” My lower lip quivers and my voice raises an octave. “What if she’s not okay?”
“Listen to me, son. Don’t go borrowing trouble. All you need to worry about is getting her here safely. Can you do that?” He gentles his tone, which makes my nose sting. Even pissed off as all hell, he’s still helping me through this.
“I love her.”
“I know.” He stays on the line in a comfortable silence, just showing me support.
Turning onto the road that leads to the clubhouse, I say, “Almost there. Is Bones coming?”
“He’ll be here in three.”
“Can someone meet me outside with a blanket?”
“I’m sure Tinleigh will want t?—”
“No! Not her. Have Lucky keep her away until we know what’s going on. She won’t want to see her like this.”
“Shit. Okay. I’ll meet you out there.”
I hang up as I pull through the gate and park. Cyrus walks out with a blanket before I can even shut off the engine. The second he sees the state of the car, he scrubs a hand down his beard that went gray many years ago. The look he gives me says he won’t wait for answers. Well, that’s too damn bad.
“Not now. Myla first,” I say, jogging over to the passenger side.
Opening the door, I get my first real look at her, and what I see nearly brings me to my knees. There are so many injuries that I don’t even know how to assess which is the worst. I lean in and rest my head on her chest, feeling her chest rise and fall and hearing her heartbeat, both of which sound too slow to be normal. At least she’s alive.
There’s a goose egg forming in the center of her forehead and blood dripping down her temple for an unknown reason. Her delicate fingers are bloody, and a few of her fingernails popped up, as if she’d been clawing something to escape. Then there’s the bloody gauze around her arm. My stomach turns. I can’t believe so much happened to her in so little time. Her poor, fragile body is basically one bruise, each individual one bleeding into the next and topped with cuts and abrasions scattered all over. She’s been through hell.
Bones can fix it; I’ve seen him fix worse.
“Get her out, son. Bones’ll be here any minute, and he’ll want to look her over.” Cy hands me the blanket I use to cover up her nudity before scooping her into my arms. She doesn’t even startle, her limbs hanging and her head lolling.
“Where to?”
He clears his throat. “We cleared off a couple tables, just like last time. Seemed to work well.”
He says last time because this has happened to her before, and if her entire personality changed after that, how will she cope after this time? I can’t even think about it.
As I enter the clubhouse, Rigger, Dutch, and Golden step forward to assist, but I motion for them to stay back. She’s unconscious and vulnerable. I trust my brothers and know they wouldn’t harm her, but she’s been violated and exposed too many times. If I can enforce this small amount of respect, then I will.
“Don’t touch her,” I growl.
“We won’t. Just here to help,” Rigger says, holding his hands up.
Two tables have been brought together and covered with blankets. I lay her down and do my best to make her comfortable, arranging her legs and arms at a comfortable angle, putting a pillow under her knees, and brushing her hair off her face, all while keeping as much of her covered as possible.
Bones walks in carrying a backpack, and I feel relief for the first time today. Wasting no time, he sets it next to Myla and begins pulling out instruments. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She came running out of the house screaming like the hounds of hell were after her. I don’t think she even recognized me when she ran into me. She thought I was trying to hurt her. Then she passed out and has been like this ever since.”
“How long ago was that?”
“About twenty minutes, give or take.”
He places his stethoscope over her heart. “Bradycardia.”
“A slow heartbeat?”
He hums a reply as he pulls a penlight out of his pocket and pries her eyelids up, moving the light in and out of her vision. “Her pupils are dilated.” Tucking away the pen, he pulls a small blood pressure machine out of his bag and places the cuff around her wrist. The only sound in the room is the slight hum as it inflates then releases. “Low blood pressure.”
“Everything is low. Is that bad?”
“It’s not good.” He pulls her arm straight, searching for something. When he doesn’t find it, he moves to the other arm. After carefully lowering it back to the table, he moves her head to the side and inspects her neck. “There you are.”
“What?”
“She was drugged. My guess would be ketamine. It’s the only drug I can think of that has to be injected, and when given in high doses, it can cause severe hallucinations, like what you described. See the injection site?” He points to a small red dot I would’ve missed.
“Motherfuckers,” I spit out.
“There’s not much we can do now but make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit if she throws up and keep an eye on her vitals,” Bones says, each of his hands holding onto an end of the stethoscope draped over his neck. “Whoever did that to her is a fucking idiot. Ketamine is crazy dangerous in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand dosing. My guess is he didn’t consider how small Myla is.”
“When will she wake up?”
“When she’s ready. As long as her vitals don’t tank any more than they are now, let’s leave her be.” Myla’s body jerks as her stomach convulses. Bones quickly gets behind her and tips her on her side as vomit bubbles out of her mouth and splatters all over the floor. All the while, I just watch, terrified at seeing her this way. “Judge, snap out of it and help her.”
Blinking, I take a deep breath and round the table. It’s bizarre to see her throwing up yet unconscious. I move her hair off her face and scan everything the guys set up, looking for a rag. It’s then that Sugar walks over with a bucket, a mop, and a handful of damp washcloths. “Here, sweetie. Clean her up with this.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, wondering where to start. I’ve never taken care of someone when they were sick. I’ve never even been around someone sick like this. The only person I’ve looked out for is myself, and I’ve always been able to make it to the toilet.
“First, wipe all the mess off the table so it doesn’t pool around her,” Sugar instructs, and I do what she says. “She seems to be done for now, so take a clean one and wipe her face off.”
I follow her instructions as Bones tucks a few pillows behind her to keep her on her side. Worry claws at me with sharp teeth of fear. She hasn’t made it through so much to die now.
“I’m going to look at the rest of her to make sure she doesn’t have any other injuries that need attending to right now, okay?” Bones asks, and I nod. He holds up her hand, crusted in dried blood and with multiple fingernails standing up straight. A chill runs down my spine. “I don’t feel any broken bones in her hands, but gotta tell you, for her nails to be like this? Fuck man, that’s gnarly.”
“Is that the technical term, Doctor?” I fire at him.
“Don’t get all pissy with me. Looks like cement under her nails.” He holds her hand up for me to see, and he’s right; gray, gritty matter is stuck under the nails that are still fully attached.
“I can’t even think about—” I choke on the words, unable to finish.
“She’s a survivor, that’s for sure.” He undresses the wound on her upper arm, and we both gasp. “She’s been shot. It’s a graze, but a nasty one.”
“How do you even fix that?” I ask, noticing the shredded skin around a huge gash.
“She’ll need open wound care. The muscle’s intact, and the bone is good. I know it might not look like it, but it’s really just a flesh wound. It’ll heal.” After disinfecting the wound and putting on a fresh dressing, he moves to her lower extremities and hisses, which does nothing to settle my anxiety.
“What?”
“Nothin’, it’s just. . . goddamn, what the hell did she go through? She has abrasions on the bottom of her feet and a deep contusion on her heel. Both her legs and arms are covered in bruises. Physically, it’s nothing serious, but all these injuries added up tells me she went through hell.” He moves to lift up the blanket but stops to look up at my brothers standing guard, wincing and cursing with each injury Bones lists. “I think maybe some privacy would be good for this part.”
“Right,” Rigger says and takes his leave. “You better make it quick, though, because Lucky’s blowing up my goddamn phone, telling me he can’t contain Tinleigh much longer.”
“When you’re ready, I’m gonna need you at church,” Cy says with a hand clamped on my shoulder. His fingers skim my scars unknowingly, and the touch burns, making my skin itch. I tolerate it, though, because it’s nothing compared to what my girl is going through.
“Okay. After she wakes up.”
He nods and walks out the front door where Rigger disappeared.
“No broken ribs. Her tummy feels normal. She’s got some nasty abrasions on her backside, but I don’t want to look any further. You can call Monroe for that if she needs it,” he says, referencing the gynecologist over at the Honey Pot as he covers her back up. “She’ll be okay, brother. Swear to God.” He pulls out some gauze, antiseptic, and bandages. “After I pop a stitch or two into that gash on her head, I’ll just get some of these deeper scratches cleaned out and her fingernails taken care of, and then it’s just a waiting game. Why don’t you wipe off some of this dirt and blood?”
“Yeah. Good idea.” I wet warm washcloths and gently clean her up while Bones works. Cringing, I watch as he carefully plucks a couple of her nails off that were barely hanging on before he bandages each finger up. Once that’s done, he cleans the worst of her wounds, putting even more bandages over them and giving me instructions on care.
A half-hour later, he cleans up before stretching his back. “Now that she’s good and doesn’t need me, I’m going to go smoke a fatty and try not to think about what or who could’ve done this to her.”
“Thank you, brother.”
“All good.” We bump knuckles, and he walks away, belting out the lyrics to a Rusted Root song like the damn hippie he is.
Sugar takes it upon herself to clean up the floor and get rid of all the used gauze and trash Bones left on the table. It’s just another reason this club wouldn’t be shit without her. It’s the least glamorous job to ever exist, but she never complains, at least to our faces. She has a group of friends she gets on with on the weekend. Maybe she bitches to them.
Taking a seat, I rest my elbow on the table next to Myla and hold my head in my hands. All my worries about her high-risk behavior came true today. Well, not all of them because she’s still alive. Will this be the wake-up call she needs to let the list go? If not, can I stick around not knowing if she’ll make it home each night? Because right now, looking at her ashen face with drool dripping down her cheek, I don’t know if I can go through this again.
“How about we get some clothes on her and move her somewhere more comfortable? Somewhere she feels safe. She won’t want to wake up like this,” Sugar suggests.
“Yeah, okay.”