Chapter 13 #2
When he nods emphatically, I list off the first three digits of the phone number, but after that, it’s a jumble that my brain can’t sort out.
It probably has something to do with the burn flexing and gnashing its teeth up my shoulder, into my neck, and straight into my head.
It’s not black that I see. There’s nothing dancing in front of my eyes.
I’m not going to pass out. I just can’t focus enough to recall what order the numbers go in, or even when they are.
My phone is underneath me. There’s no way that I can dig it out. Moving even an inch is agony. I’m hot in my skin. Melting. Hot and wet. The wet is blood, not sweat, I’m certain.
“Thanks anyway,” I offer the kid.
“Are you doing okay?” The busy brows kid asks, as they rise halfway up his forehead again. “I don’t think you should close your eyes.”
Was I closing them?
They’re heavy, but I thought I was with it. Doing just fine. At least until I see Willow’s disappointed, tear-streaked face in the back of my mind. Fuck. Someone has to call her. Immediately.
The three kids stay with me until the sirens get close. Uniformed officers walk over, but just about as soon as I get a decent look at their boots and pant legs, the roar of bikes sounds in the distance. There’s no mistaking that growl, or how the pavement rumbles under my pinned body.
Instead of asking me questions, the cops brace to talk to whoever is coming. Satan’s Angels has a good enough relationship with the police. We used to buy it, but we’ve had to do that less and less over the years.
The world gets real loud before it gets quiet.
It rushes in and out, like I’m sticking my fingers in my ears and tugging them out.
I can hear those three teens talking to the cops.
They freeze when the bikes pull up, but I hear their whispered words of admiration for the bikes and the roughhewn men riding them, as they talk amongst themselves.
I gather words like pebbles on a path, but I can’t find my way back to where I was going. The garage. The club. No, Willow. I was going to see her.
“Someone,” I croak, my voice rusty and rasping. “Someone call Willow.”
It says a lot about how well you know a group of men by the fact that you can pick them out by their boots.
I recognize Tyrant’s, Raiden’s, Crow’s, and Scythe’s.
I think it’s him. It could be Gunner, though.
I wish someone would bend the fuck down so I can see their face.
I wish my brain would cooperate and remember Willow’s number.
I wish that someone would fucking call her.
Now. I wish that my brain wasn’t blinking on and off, kicking out and getting back online.
I wish the last thing that my ears take in as one great big burst of sound was Willow’s name, and not Archer’s.
Everything goes black, but a popping sound followed by a loud scuffle brings it back. I peel my eyelids open to Crow’s face. He’s on his hands and knees, staring right at me. I’d jerk back if I could, but motor function and coordination don’t seem to be a thing right now.
“When should we expect the flashy red midlife crisis convertible to appear in the compound?”
“What?” I cough-splutter. My mouth is so dry that it’s a wonder I don’t gag when I try to swallow.
A twisted grin morphs Crow’s face into something a little terrifying.
Great. It’s not Crow. It’s his other personality, Raven.
The guy likes nothing more than being a royal prick most of the time.
It’s funny, until he starts delivering hard truths to you in ways you might not be ready to hear.
Raven used to thrive on violence, but he’s toned down lately.
The sarcasm though? That’s here to stay.
“You crashed your bike on a nice day with no other cars involved, fell hard for a girl half your age, and now you’re starting a family with her. If that doesn’t scream starting over, I don’t know what does.”
“How the fuck do you know that she’s pregnant?” I hiss. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down.
“Tarynn. Willow told her, and she said that it was fine if she told me.”
“Yeah, told Crow. She doesn’t know about you.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t go blabbing it around. That would be insensitive, even for me. It’s your news. But seriously. Are you going to buy a convertible?”
“Just because I crashed my bike like a dumbass doesn’t mean that I need to go out and buy a flashy car.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I crashed the bike because I wasn’t paying attention. I was thinking about something else.”
“Going and having a romantic evening with your son’s ex-fiancé?”
“You know, you could help get this bike off of me.”
“I plan on doing just that, right after Tyrant checks you out and decides that it’s the best option before we load you off to Archer’s.”
“Fuck that. I’m not going.”
Raven’s laugh is absolutely chilling. “I bet you fifty bucks that you’re going to have zero say in it in ten seconds.”
“What are you…” I can’t finish the sentence.
I was able to focus on his smug mug just fine, but now it’s swimming again.
The streetlights are strobing on and off in bright flashes, except I’m pretty sure they aren’t.
Everything is hot. Too hot. My skin is too tight again.
Too wet. Too cold. The black blanket covers me again, smothering all of it out, and this time, I don’t think it’s going to lift.