Chapter Fifteen
Taylor
I’ve lost track of how many patients have asked about my cuts and bruises, and bandaged wrist. I’ve made up a stupid excuse about falling off my bike.
No one needs to know I don’t actually own a bicycle.
It’s better than saying I fell down the stairs, that will only get their brains working in the wrong direction.
I also don’t want to share that I was attacked by a psycho on a motorcycle.
It’s bad enough that Noah figured it out after seeing the news report.
I contacted the news station after he left to tell them to remove the footage of me or I’ll sue them.
Drastic maybe, but I don’t want my image out there for anyone to see.
All last night and this morning at the clinic I’ve been thinking about Noah. It’s alarming that the threat he made against the person who hurt me isn’t what is re-playing over and over. The man knows how to take care of a woman. In more ways than one.
My focus can’t stay on how he made me feel when we woke up yesterday. Not when I’m coming to understand how dangerous he is.
I’ve looked up the Blackhawk Disciples. There isn’t a lot of information about them on the internet, but from some deep and probably obsessive investigating, I learned a few things about them. From suspected crimes to their support and involvement in the local community.
The church across from the bar speak particularly highly of them. How can everyone think they’re so violent and dangerous yet a church praises them?
His road name, which I’ve also been educated on about MCs, is Nero. I looked that up too, and can confirm he is in fact strong and vigorous like the meaning of the name. There I go again thinking about yesterday.
I can’t put the two sides of him together.
Nero the leader of an MC who no doubt does very questionable things and Noah, the man who came to make sure I was okay.
The man who held me so I could sleep without being plagued by nightmares.
The father to a gorgeous little boy, and friend to Jesse who he genuinely cares about, even if he was an asshole to him that first day.
When he said he didn’t want anyone to know about his son, I thought it was weird. I get it now, after seeing the truth of who he is.
He sent me a text last night that said ‘save this, Cherry’ which made my stomach swoop and my cheeks heat. I mean, I don’t wear anything that smells like cherries, but he seems to have fixated on that and I can’t forget what he came up with it in reference too.
It also helps he listened to me about dad but didn’t try to make me feel better with words I’ve heard a million times before. No one has comforted me quite the way he did.
Oh God. I need to focus on work. At least Shannon said I could still come in. I’ve mastered covering most of the bruising with make-up.
It soon becomes too busy to spend any more time thinking about Noah.
Caitlyn walks me out to my car at the end of my shift. I try to tell her she doesn’t need to, but she pats my arm and says if she was in my shoes, she’d hope for the same. I love that she isn’t being overly sympathetic. Regardless of what Noah thinks, my friends have been there for me.
Dana wanted to stay at the house but I told her no. She spent enough time here after dad. I don’t want to inconvenience her again.
Once I’m locked in the car, I take out my sunglasses because it’s a gorgeous day. A text makes me pause in starting the car.
Noah:
I have sent a couple of guys to your place, don’t panic when you see them
Taylor:
Sent them for what?
Noah:
They’re going to upgrade your security
Taylor:
Noah, you can’t do that
Noah:
Can and am
I try to call but he cuts it off, and another text comes straight away.
Noah:
I’m on the road, Cherry. Just let them add some new locks on the doors and windows I’ll hold off having a whole security system fitted
Taylor:
You’re not doing that.
Taylor:
Why are you doing this?
Noah:
I want you to feel safe again. They’ll have a box of cherries so you know you can trust them GTG
That almost makes me laugh, in reality it isn’t funny. I slouch back in the seat, not sure how I feel about this. It’s not like anything happened at the house. I don’t dare say that, he might decide to have his men follow me around.
I gnaw on my lower lip thinking about that. Would he do that? Does he care that much? We barely know each other, except in the biblical sense. That introduction has gone way beyond strangers running into one another a couple of times.
When I get home, as he said, there are two motorcycles parked out front with men standing beside them.
They’re wearing leather vests like Noah’s and as I get out of my car, they nod like they know who I am.
One I recognize from the bar that day opens a bag and holds out a box of cherries with a grin.
Jesus Christ.
I take it and introduce myself asking their names. I relax a tiny bit more. They follow me inside, one of them carrying a toolbox. The one called Nashville smiles politely at me.
“We’re putting some extra locks on the windows, changing the deadbolts front and back and putting a new lock on the door.”
“I don’t need a new lock.”
“Prez asked for it.”
“Let me guess, he asked for a copy of the key.”
Nashville doesn’t answer that. The other guy seems quite stern and hasn’t said more than his name. Nashville on the other hand is more open, and he smiles to reassure me.
“I’ll take all copies of the keys,” I tell him. “You can tell him I decide who can enter my property.”
That gets another smile, this one much wider, then he follows the other guy. I stay back as they work their way through the house, remaining on edge until they finish up in the kitchen. Ronin leaves and Nashville brings over the keys. Both sets. I make him swear that is all he has.
“How about I let you tell him about that,” he winks. “Preferably before we get back to the clubhouse and he asks for them.”
When they leave, I lock the door, admiring the shiny new locks.
The annoying thing about all this, dad would approve.
He’d want me to feel safe here. After checking the rest of the house, not that I expected they’ve done anything additional, or gone through my things, I head back down and send Noah a text letting him know they’ve been.
My phone rings, surprising me.
“Everything good?”
I contemplate not telling him about the spare keys but don’t want his men to get into trouble. “If you want a key to my house, it’s going to take a lot more than changing the locks.”
“That so.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Well maybe I’ll swing by soon to collect.”
“Maybe I’ll let you in.”
He laughs. “I gotta go.”
“Wait about the… what you said the other day.”
“Don’t worry about that, Cherry. By the way, a picture of you eating one of those would be nice.”
He’s trying to put me off asking, and it’s kinda working. “Not a chance.”
“I’ll see you soon, Cherry.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else. I blow out a long, heavy sigh my eyes landing on the box of cherries. No, I shake off the idea. If he wants to watch me eating a cherry, it is going to have to be in person.
The following day I’m off rotation at the clinic and Dana comes round to keep me company. Dana has been with me through so much shit the last few months, she’s been a godsend.
She helps me upstairs going through dad’s things and gives me hugs when I need them. She keeps eyeing the bruises and asks what the police are doing. I haven’t heard anything from them so I doubt much.
“Bastards need a taste of their own medicine,” Dana mutters. “You know they’ve been doing this a while. Other people are coming forward. It’s like an epidemic or something.”
“Do you think there is more than one of them?”
“It has to be, they’re happening all over the city. Oh, honey are you okay?” she shuffles closer when my face drops at the thought.
“I’m fine,” I wave her off. She’s not convinced quickly but I smile and hand over some old shoes of dad’s for the goodwill box.
My mind is racing, but not because of what Dana said. If there is a whole group of them, what is Noah going to do? I mean, he said he’s going to make the guy who attacked me pay, but how will he know who he is if there are more of them? I really don’t want him getting into trouble over me.
When we’re finished Dana tells me we need to get it over in one go, rip the band aid off, so we load up her car and take everything to a local Salvation Army. They’re grateful for the donations and Dana chats with them as I watch them put the boxes behind their counter.
It’s another step in the cycle of grief. Seeing his things go on to help others less fortunate. Dad would like that. He was always giving to charity and looking out for people.
It’s hard, seeing his things go, knowing I’m never going to see them again. But like Dana says, they’re only things. I’ve kept the important items, pictures, his watch and signed baseball collection. I’ll never let those go, but this is really hard.
“You okay, honey?” Dana comes over, she hands me a tissue which I use to wipe my eyes and nose, nodding but not having the words to respond. “Let’s go home, listen to some nineties love songs and bake cupcakes.”
“That sounds like a horrendous afternoon.”
“Sooo horrendous,” she over-exaggerates the word and links my arm tugging me back to her car.
The house smells of vanilla and chocolate and we made good use of the cherries topping off the frosting with them.
“Only problem is, who is going eat them?”
“Not my fat ass. We can take them to work tomorrow. Do you have a container?” She goes looking and pauses, staring at the back door. “New locks?”
“Oh, um. Yeah.”
“What’s that uncertainty for?” she side-eyes me in that way Dana does when she knows I’m hiding something from her.
I don’t want to lie and use my attack as an excuse, that wouldn’t sit right. The only reason I went to that biker bar at their club was because Dana is interested in one of the men and he never showed.
How will she take it that the actual President changed my locks? Among other things.
Dana is my best friend and I kind of need to talk to someone about it.
“Okay so, something happened.”
“Something like what?”
“Remember I lost dad’s bracelet?”
“Yeah,” her anxiety at my initial statement changes to curiosity.
“When I couldn’t find it, I figured the only other place it could be was Raven’s bar.”
“Oh… Ohhh.” Her mouth hangs open
“And um, I might have ran into Noah… I mean Nero.”
“Nero, the President?” she asks incredulously. “Wait a second,” she holds up a hand. “Did you call him Noah?”
“Well, that’s kinda how I know him.”
“Girl you better sit your ass down and tell me what the hell is going on and how you’ve managed to get yourself on a first name basis with the President of a motorcycle club.”
She punctuates that by pointing at me, then the chair. It’s not like I don’t get where she is coming from. Who am I kidding, this sounds really bad.
“Well, it all started when a patient needed a ride.”