Chapter 1
Chapter One
Marie
Ifeel suspended between reality and horror, moving through the motions as people sweep me into my work. It’s as if I’m walking through molasses as I do blood work, set up IVs, and clean up cuts. It’s busy despite the late hour, and this is what I need so I won’t crumple into a corner.
Please be okay. You promised!
I offered to stay late so I could find out what’s happening with Lore’s five hour long surgery once my shift is over, and no one told me to go home.
I haven’t seen Wilder or Storm, but then, I haven’t gone into the waiting room to look either.
I’m terrified of striding over the line of what I think I know, to what actually happened.
If I have too much information, my mind will tell me there’s no way Lore can recover.
I haven’t even peeked at his chart outside of what I originally wrote inside of it when he first came in.
I can’t bear to.
“I have to deliver this news to the motorcycle thugs,” the doctor groans, scrubbing his face in frustration as he begins to walk past me.
Checking the time, I see Lore is still supposed to be in surgery, yet we don’t have any other bikers in the ER at the moment.
“Wait,” I rasp, practically stumbling after him. I’m only an hour past my shift, but I’m dead on my feet. “He’s out of surgery?”
The doctor stops abruptly, glancing at me as if in surprise. His surgery cap is still over his red hair, and his eyes appear tired. “Marney, aren’t you supposed to be gone?”
“If you can’t remember my name, then I don’t have to respond to your question,” I reply, equally exhausted. I think my filter is broken. “What happened with the biker?”
“Oh. I worked on him for hours and he coded. We were so damn close,” he says, blowing out a breath as he taps the chart against his hand. “There was too much damage, and his heart couldn’t take it.”
But he’s so young… I have a mask of indifference on my face. My entire world is shattering around me. Lore promised me so many things. It’s funny, a little thing like a weak heart could break mine.
I can’t think of him as dead yet, so instead I drag oxygen into my lungs and hold my hand out.
“I’ll tell his friends,” I rasp. “My name is Marie for the record. Your bedside manner could use a little work, sir.”
“I know,” he says sheepishly. “Marie, shit. I’ll try to remember that. Names get jumbled in my mind with everything else bouncing around in there. Are you sure? I heard his friends were rough around the edges.”
“I got it.”
At least he’s not forgetting my name on purpose. The inane thought is all I can hold onto, as my soul screams for what could have been. Now, I’ll always wonder and grieve.
I wish Lore and I were bonded despite our issues so I could share his last moments. No. Marie, that’s masochistic. I suppose in a way, this is why I am offering to tell Wilder and Storm their president, best friend, and lover is dead. At least then, I’ll be able to silently be part of their pain.
“Folder, please,” I say patiently, holding out my hand.
“Promise me you’ll get out of here after this?” the doctor asks. “You’re weaving on your feet.”
“Promise,” I grunt, tugging the slim chart with the details of a dead man inside of it away.
My feet do the walking as I lock myself in a storage closet to look through the chart.
Except, there are no details about the actual surgery, which means I’m flying blind.
All it says is that a white, tattooed male came in with a gunshot wound, along with some other random details I fucking charted myself.
“Worthless damn doctor,” I whisper. I have a feeling he only had the chart in his hand to have something to hold.
Blowing out a breath, I refuse to break.
I have to keep my shit together, be a professional, while bringing some of the worst news possible to two people who made Lore the center of their universe.
Little things I’ve seen float through my mind as I remember interactions I’ve been a part of or witnessed.
They always seemed to be watching him, they followed his orders easily while still sassing them in a way that shows they’ve been together a long time.
I know they told me they’re quiet about their relationship, but the little ways they’d take care of each other were as loud as the neon signs you see at a strip club.
“Time to go, Princess,” I whisper to myself. As much as I fought Lore for his nickname for me, there were moments when that’s how he treated me.
We didn’t get enough time.
Swallowing hard, I slip out of the storage closet, drop off the useless patient folder since it doesn’t have the answers I need, and exit the emergency room to find Storm and Wilder. They rise as one when they see me, their jaws ticking with emotion.
God, can they tell he’s gone?
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice cracking as I stand in front of them. “Lore died on the table while they were working on him. His heart gave out. That’s—”
“That’s enough,” Wilder says gently, his hands wrapping around my wrists. “You’re still here.”
“I had to know,” I say, tears beginning to break free. “Please don’t give me shit for staying past my shift.”
“He was yours too,” Wilder says simply. “He wanted you to be the last person he saw. The moody bastard wouldn’t let us take him anywhere closer.”
“It’s not fair,” I gasp.
“It’s not. Let’s go, Kitty. No one else deserves to see your tears but us,” Storm says.
Glancing around, I realize it’s not just Storm and Wilder in the waiting room, but other men as well. I recognize some of them from my unfortunate experience on the highway, their eyes are so full of pain, it’s all I can focus on.
“But if he hadn’t waited,” I say, exasperated and becoming angry.
One of the men rises to his feet, his face tanned and weathered with grief.
“Don’t do that,” he growls. “The only goddamned thing he wanted was to know you’d be the last person who would see him if he didn’t make it. This was his way of saying goodbye. I know you’re new to this world, but this was his choice. Don’t dishonor our President.”
Words evaporate as I nod, unable to do anything else.
“Time to go, baby,” Wilder murmurs, sweeping me into his arms. “Arsenal, will you help us get our bikes back? I’m driving her cage home.”
The words don’t mean anything as I lay my head on his shoulder. The hospital can’t fire me for letting my scent match drive me home, even if he is a biker.
“Yeah. You got it,” Arsenal mutters, already moving as one with the other club members. “When you have a chance, call me.”
“Yep.”
Wilder’s voice is terse as his heavy boots strike the linoleum floor as he walks away with Storm close behind him.
“It’s so hard to breathe,” I whimper, the air in my lungs feeling syrupy and heavy.
“I know, baby.” He kisses my temple as he walks toward my SUV, his steps heavy. “Storm, let the guys take your bike back. She’s going to have a panic attack.”
Arching my neck back, I try to breathe in his scent to settle the emotions building inside of me. I want to scream, but Arsenal's voice is loud inside of my mind.
Don’t dishonor our President. He may not have been my President, but he was still mine. Or rather, he was trying to be, and now that’s all gone to shit.
“Why do you all have to be such pushy assholes?” I ask, my voice small. It still feels like gunshots in the early hours of the morning, and Wilder huffs out a chuckle as he pulls out a pair of keys from his pocket.
“We’re your prepared assholes,” he says, as if he can feel my surprise. “The dealership gave us a few extra pairs of keys for emergencies.”
My lips twitch but I can’t find a smile right now. The sky is gray with impending rain, and it’s tinging the world in those same shades. Everything feels sad and heavy.
“In we go,” Storm murmurs, opening the back door for Wilder to climb in with me tight against his body.
“I need…to know what happened,” I gasp, my eyes closing as the door shuts quietly behind us. It feels as if the rest of the world is taking a breath, and there’s no sound left inside it.
My skin pebbles with goosebumps as I wait to see if Wilder will tell me, and he inhales sharply as Storm gets into the front seat.
“We were betrayed,” Wilder says. “Ace went inside the garage to scope things out ahead of us, and called the man who runs the shop out on his shit.”
“Was he armed?” Storm asks. The vehicle quietly hums as he turns it on, and then we’re in motion with barely a moment in between. Wilder isn’t the only one in a hurry.
“Yes,” Wilder replies, and I open my eyes. His hands move over my arms, making me realize I’m shivering. “Ace went in guns blazing before we got there, and they shot him down. I have to call his uncle to tell him he’s dead.”
“Who is his uncle?” I ask, as if I’ll know anything about Ace’s life. It’s an immediate response, and neither scoff at my question.
“Henry,” Storm tells me. “He runs the garage your car was at.”
“He doesn’t like bikers,” I remember. “He asked if I was going to bring trouble. I guess I did.”
“No,” Wilder says sadly. “What other people choose to do, isn’t your karma, nor should it stain your soul, baby. You didn’t kill Ace. These are hands that heal.”
His hands move down my arms until they’re cupping my hands, and his fingers swipe down the length of them with measured force.
“Henry may be salty about it, but at the end of the day, Ace chose this life, Kitty,” Storm says.
“They threw his body at our feet,” Wilder says, his voice fucked as he recalls what happened.
“Things went south quickly, but I don’t think their president knows Chester screwed us over.
He sold the parts to pull the wool over his president’s eyes, and called us to force our hand to blackmail us in exchange for our lives. ”
“Lore wouldn’t have accepted that well,” Storm snorts. “I’m also the money man.”
I can hear Storm is hearing this story for the first time as well, and it helps not being the only one in the dark.