Chapter Eleven #2
“Tank,” Spike says. “Tilt it a bit more…almost got it.”
A few more grunts, some muttered curses, and the deed’s done.
“Thanks,” Spike says, dusting his hands. “Want a beer before you head out?”
Before I can answer, a loud thump shakes the ceiling above us.
“What the hell?” Spike says, already sprinting out of the room.
No need to ask…my gut’s already telling me it’s bad. I take off after him.
“Fuck!” Spike shouts from the upstairs bathroom. “Call an ambulance!”
Skip’s already dialing when I hit the doorway and drop to my knees beside Spike. An unconscious Riley lies face down on the floor.
“Is she breathing?” he asks, frantically as I check for a pulse.
“Barely,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “It’ll be faster if we take her ourselves. Skip, have Abby come stay with Asher. Let’s go.”
I scoop Riley up into my arms and bolt out the front door. Skip’s already got the back door of a car open and keys in hand.
“It’s Foster’s,” he says. “He’s staying here with Abby. Ambulance will meet us halfway.”
Spike slides into the backseat, and I hand him Riley before getting behind the wheel. I push the car harder than I should but my gut tells me that Riley doesn’t have much time. When I spot the ambulance coming the opposite way, I flash my brights and slam the brakes in the middle of the road.
Within seconds, Riley is being loaded into the back of the truck and whisked away.
The silence that follows feels deafening.
“What the fuck just happened?” I mutter into the void, hands still clenched on the steering wheel.
***
“I’m sorry,” Spike says, his voice flat and ice-cold. “Repeat that.”
The ER doctor glances up from the chart, visibly squaring her shoulders. “She overdosed.”
“On what ?” Spike growls. “She doesn’t take so much as a Tylenol without giving me hell.”
The doctor hesitates. And honestly? Who can blame her? She’s surrounded by five men who look like they could kill a man with a spoon and bury him before sunrise.
And we would.
“Fentanyl,” she says, voice quieter now but still clear. “There wasn’t a large amount in her system, but it was enough to depress her respiratory function. If you hadn’t gotten her here when you did, she wouldn’t have made it.”
I see Spike’s hand curl into a fist at his side. Controlled fury. Ready to explode.
“We administered naloxone to counteract the opioid,” the doctor continues. “Got her on high-flow oxygen right away. Her vitals stabilized quickly, which is a good sign. She’s still groggy, but alert and improving. We’ll keep her under observation for the next several hours.”
“You’re sure she took it?” Spike asks, his voice like a loaded gun. “There’s no way she did that willingly.”
The doctor’s expression softens. “No signs of injection. No pill fragments. No known history of use. Honestly? It was most likely ingested without her knowledge. Possibly through contaminated food, drink, or even medication. We’ve seen a rise in cases like that lately.”
Spike doesn’t respond. But the rage that rolls off him says more than words ever could.
The bastards that are pushing this poison know we’re gunning for them. We haven’t exactly been quiet. It was only a matter of time before they made a move.
Wrong.
Fucking.
Move.
Even though we kicked Billy out of Palm Springs, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t replaced. We need to deal with this shit…Now.
“She can only have one visitor at a time,” the doctor adds. “She’s in room two-fifteen.”
“Skip, you, Knuckles, and Crusher head back to the compound,” Spike orders, dragging a hand down his face. “Have Foster pull the security footage from my place. Everything from the last few hours. I want to know what happened before she hit that floor.”
They nod and head out without a word. I follow Spike toward Riley’s room.
She looks better than she did on the bathroom floor. Less gray, more alive. But it’s still jarring to see her hooked up to machines, breathing slow and steady.
Over the next three hours, she fades in and out of sleep. Each time she wakes, she’s a little more alert. Finally, somewhere around 2:30 in the morning, she opens her eyes and sits up slowly.
“Did you say I was drugged?” she asks, voice raspy but firm.
“No,” Spike says flatly. “I asked how you were feeling.”
“Earlier,” she pushes. “Someone said I was drugged.”
“Babe…”
“I’m fine, Spike,” she says, cutting him off with a tired sigh. “Just a little foggy. But I’m okay. Now someone tell me who drugged me?”
When Spike just stares at her like she’s cracked, I step in. “Doctor said there was fentanyl in something you ate or drank.”
The doctor reenters like she’s been summoned. “Or a medication you took. How’s your head?”
“A little fuzzy,” Riley says. “Feels like I’m waking up from a weird dream.”
“Do you remember anything out of the ordinary before you collapsed?” the doctor asks.
Riley frowns in thought. “I put the baby down for bed. Got in my own bed with a book and must’ve fallen asleep. Next thing I know, I’m bolting up, stomach churning, skin clammy, and everything buzzing around me. I ran for the bathroom and… well, I guess I never made it.”
The doctor nods. “That tracks with what we’re seeing. The fentanyl dose you were exposed to was enough to trigger rapid-onset symptoms such as confusion, nausea, and respiratory depression. You’re lucky your husband found you when he did.”
Spike’s glare could melt steel as he stares down at his phone. “Had my guys check the home security footage. Nothing. No signs of tampering. No one unexpected in or out.”
“What were you doing before putting your baby to bed?” the doctor asks, calm but focused. “With the concentration we found in your system, the effects would’ve taken about an hour, maybe a little more, to reach that level of severity.”
“We came home after dropping Sunny off at work,” Riley says.
The second she says her name, my heart stutters. Four weeks. Four weeks since I’ve seen her. Since I made the stupid call to stay away. She deserves better. Safer. Someone not like me.
“Once we got home, I spent a few hours cleaning the house.”
“Any contact with chemicals? Cleaning agents?” the doctor asks.
“Nothing I haven’t used dozens of times before,” Riley says. “Asher didn’t go down until close to eleven. He took a late nap. I gave him a bath, fed him, and tucked him in. Then I went to bed myself.”
“Did you take any medication? Have a snack?” the doctor presses gently.
“Just the co…” Riley’s eyes go wide. “ Oh no . Spike. The cookie.”
My gut clenches. “What cookie?”
“It came with our take-out. They said it was complimentary. Sunny said she’d never gotten one before. I ate mine while I was reading.”
I ask again, harder now. “ What cookie , Riley?”
Her voice is trembling. “She gave me one of hers. Said she didn’t want both.”
“ Fuck ,” Spike snarls.
Riley’s face crumples, fresh tears streaking down her cheeks.
“If someone else ate that same cookie,” Spike quickly asks the doctor, voice like steel on stone, “what would happen if it wasn’t caught in time?”
“That depends,” she says carefully. “On weight, metabolism, opioid sensitivity. But if the person is roughly her size…”
“She is,” Riley says through her tears. “Maybe a little bigger but not much at all.”
““The effects would be similar. And if she’s alone, without medical intervention…” She doesn’t finish.
“The meal was hers,” Riley sobs. “She had two cookies and gave me one. She was going to eat hers after work.”
“Riley,” I growl, my voice cracking with a storm I can’t hold back. I already know what she’s going to say. And I’m not ready.
“ Sunny ,” she whispers. And just like that, my whole fucking world detonates.
She’s been alone. For hours .
And I wasn’t there.
“She got off work at nine,” Riley cries. “She could already be dead.”
“Go,” Spike says forcefully when I can’t seem to fucking move.
“Wait,” the doctor says, shoving something into my hands. “Take these. It’s Narcan. Slam one into her thigh and press the button. After two minutes, if she doesn’t respond, give her the second dose.”
I don’t so much as nod. I turn and run.