26. I’m Not Going To Ask You Twice
Chapter 26
I’m Not Going To Ask You Twice
HUNTER
I now completely understand why teenage boys play with their dicks so much. I can relate. With this kind of downtime on their hands, what the hell else are they supposed to do? I’ve been laying in this bed, it seems like, for months, twiddling my thumbs in between half-ass physical therapy sessions.
Physical fucking therapy.
Talk about a hustle.
All they do every day is make me walk around, check my balance, and lift light-ass hand weights. I can’t believe they get paid for that shit. I worked out harder back when I was a scrawny thirteen-year-old, hoping to be recruited by the organization. The best therapy for me would be to simply get back to my life, especially my woman.
Megan is all I need.
She’s mine.
And while she’s always at the center of my thoughts, for some reason, she is taking up a significant amount of my consciousness tonight. Fuck, I miss her luscious ass and infectious smile. Everything in my life is always better when she’s around.
It’s way too late at night for me to call and check on her, but I have an excuse. She’s carrying my child, which makes her more of a target than she’s ever been, and regular check-ins help me sleep at night.
So…I text her.
Me: How’s my baby?
While I anxiously await her response, I do random leg stretches in bed. Anything to speed up the process of getting out of this hell hole. After several repetitions, I slowly rise to get up to pee. Everything feels ache, not because I was shot but because all I’m required to do in this place between sessions is lay like broccoli. It’s infuriating and frankly counterproductive.
I check the time.
At this point in the evening, Megan should be in the penthouse by now, meticulously lotioning her skin after a long shower. Her cell phone usually sits on a dresser at her side of the bed or is parked on a charging station. I wonder if she’s seen my text yet.
She’s probably exhausted, but my gut tells me something is not quite right. And I trust my gut. It’s gotten me out of more precarious situations than I can count over the years.
I call Lars to make sure he’s dropped her off at the apartment building, but his phone goes straight to voicemail. Then I call Vaughn. Same thing. Next, I call Christian. Ditto. Finally, I call Lena. When she answers, the tone of her voice makes my chest tighten.
“Hunter?”
“What’s wrong?” I say, skipping the formalities of a greeting. “Why is no one picking up their phones?”
“It’s Megan.”
“What about her?” I skip a breath, fearing the very worst.
“Something with the baby.”
“Where is she?”
I slowly stand and head toward the closet of my room. I need my street clothes so I can get the fuck out of here. I need to get to her now. She’s probably petrified.
Hell, so am I.
Ever since Megan told me she was pregnant, I’ve been flip-flopping between polar opposite emotions. On one hand, I’m elated that the woman I love is giving birth to a human being that the two of us created. But on the other, I worry that all we’ve done is create another moving target for my enemies. If Johnathan was alive, he’d laugh in my face and tell me how soft I’ve become.
He’d be right.
“Lena, did you hear me? I asked you where she is.”
“LA General.”
“Tell me exactly what happened.”
She sighs softly over the phone. As I begin to learn all the mannerisms of my little sister, I can sense that she’s stalling. She doesn’t want to give me details, which means I’m not going to like them.
“Lena, I’m not going to ask you twice.”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
I struggle to pull up one of my socks.
“She got a phone call on the emergency line.”
“And?”
“Let me just have Christian explain.”
The fuck?
“He’s been sitting next to you this entire time?”
“Um, hold on.”
“Hey, Hunt.”
“Don’t answer the phone like it’s a casual Monday, motherfucker. Why didn’t you pick up the phone when I called?”
“Let’s argue later. You want to hear about Megan or not?”
Jackass.
“What happened?”
“We didn’t think it would happen, but she got a call. A real one. It was a clean-up job.”
“A clean-up? That sounds like–”
“I know, and I thought it was a setup at first, too, but it was legit. The body was at the Shaded Lamp, and it’s somebody from Blood Nation.”
So, it’s truly begun.
Fabre is making moves.
Bodies from Blood Nation don’t just show up dead in random bars.
First, he tried to put me out of commission, and now he’s hitting the organizations I have relationships with. But that’s not my primary concern right now. First, I need to get to Megan and my child.
“So you’re telling me my pregnant fiancee was dealing with a dead body across town in that fucking dump, and now she’s in the hospital?”
“We tried to stop her.”
“You tried to stop her,” I parrot back his words flatly. “You didn’t try hard enough.”
“To be fair, your woman is formidable when she wants to be.”
“If she didn’t put a Glock to your temple and threaten your sorry ass life, I don’t want to hear shit from you.”
“That’s harsh, man, even for you.”
I can hear Lena in the background asking Christian, “What’d he say? What’s he saying?”
“Nothing. It’s fine,” he assures her in a gentle voice that you use with someone you’re intimately involved with either emotionally or, God help him…physically.
“Hunt,” he returns to our conversation. “Lars got her to the hospital in record time. He’s with her right now. Lena and I had to help Gage close the club, but we’re on our way. We’ll be there in ten minutes. And Vaughn is dealing with the situation at the Shaded Lamp.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I tell him as I struggle to gain my balance. Even with all this physical therapy crap I’ve been doing, things are still quite wobbly.
“I imagine there’s no scenario in which you’d stay put until we can send over security to escort you to the hospital?”
“Fuck no.”
“Got it,” he huffs. “See you when you get there.”
“And Christian–”
“Yeah?”
“When we’re on the other side of this, we’re going to have to talk seriously about my sister.”
“Agreed.”
“Mr. Middleton, this really won’t do. It’s not standard protocol to allow patients to check themselves out of the facility in the middle of the night,” the no-nonsense, heavy-set nurse says to me.
I read her name tag.
“It’s an emergency, Portia.”
“A police emergency?”
“It’s personal,” is my simple response. I don’t owe anyone in here an explanation about where I’m going or what I’m doing.
“You’re not well, Mr. Middleton.”
“What papers do you need me to sign relieving you of any liability because I’m leaving,” I say sternly. “You’re holding me up.”
I’m trying to be polite because this poor woman is only doing her job, but every moment we spend in this exchange is one more second I’m not at Megan’s side.
“Give me a minute,” she huffs as she prints out several sheets of paper.
As my discharge instructions print, she grabs a wheelchair and points to the seat. “Sit.”
I do what I’m told as she hands me a pen and the paperwork. “Sign everywhere it asks for a patient signature as I roll your stubborn butt to the elevator.
“My fiancee was rushed to the hospital. She’s pregnant with our first child,” I finally explain, relieved I’m almost out of here.
“Oh, my God!” the nurse exclaims. “You should have led with that. Is there a ride waiting for you downstairs?”
“No, I’m going to have to call an Uber.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have someone at the security desk call you one. I hope everything goes okay, Mr. Middleton. Babies are my favorite thing in the world.”
As I sit in the back of the Uber, the driver tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to some mindless pop song, my phone vibrates on my lap. I snatch it up, praying it's Megan, Lars, or anyone with an update from the hospital.
But the message isn’t from anyone I expect.
Unknown Number:If you want to see Megan and your baby alive, turn back around.
My blood turns cold.
The car slows for a red light, and I glance out the window, scanning the streets for anything—or anyone—watching.
A second message pings immediately after.
Unknown Number:We’re closer than you think.