Chapter Seven
T he screeching of the tires in the quiet, affluent neighborhood would no doubt wake the dead, but Trouble didn’t give a shit. He jumped from the truck even before Odin had put it in park.
Pulling his Sig Sauer P-226 from the waistband at his back, he approached the condo. Two stories with a postage-stamp front yard, a concrete walkway that led to a small porch, and another walkway that led around the side of the building, probably to a small backyard. Everything was well-manicured. But it felt off. This was where Skizzy was living? He almost smirked at the nickname. He’d given it to her a few weeks after they’d gotten together. One thing about Liz was that what you saw was what you got. She wasn’t afraid to just be herself with you. The night of their first pre-planned sleepover, instead of putting on something sexy and easy to rip off like most women he’d been with over the years, Liz had surprised the shit out of him. To say he was shocked when she’d come out of her bedroom wearing an oversized Niners T-shirt, and a pair of cutoff sweatpants, was an understatement. She hadn’t even been trying to be sexy…still, she’d failed. She’d looked hot as fuck no matter what she wore. At his shocked look, she’d shrugged and said, “This is what you get. You want Beverly Hills, look elsewhere. With me, you get the skid row trailer park.” He hadn’t ever wanted anything else. From then on, he’d called her Skizzy, Skidrow Lizzy. And his Skidrow Lizzy was sweatpants, greasy pizza, and comfy couches, she wasn’t angles and concrete and cold, uninviting porches.
And Trouble was uninvited, just as the fucks who hurt his Liz had been.
Falling into his training, Trouble threw a glance at Odin, whose expression was hard, unreadable. His prez was gone; his commander was standing there. Signaling Odin that he should take the back while Trouble took the front, Trouble waited until the behemoth moved around the building and out of sight, knowing that the man was large but fully capable of sneaking up on any enemy.
Moving up the six stone steps to the porch, Trouble noticed the door was ajar. On the left side of the door was an opaque glass wall, meant to offer the resident a better view of people on the stoop. Had Liz seen the men who hurt her? Why had she let them in? Had they forced themselves in? And who were these fucks that dared to come into Liz’s home, where her daughter lived, and hurt her?
Fuck. Too many questions…and Liz was still waiting for him to save her.
At the door, he leaned in, putting his ear to the gap, listening for movement.
Silence.
Finally, he pushed the door open, slowly. He knew time was of the essence, that he had to get to Liz and Erika quickly, but one thing he learned in active duty was that rushing in could lead to dead bodies. And the last thing he wanted was to die, especially since he now had so much to live for.
Erika.
His daughter.
Peering around the door, Trouble took in the scene immediately. The door opened up into a small foyer with a short hallway, and he could see the kitchen off to the right. Beyond that was a living space. All he could see of that from the door was the large flat screen TV playing some animated movie, and the back of a deep green couch.
Liz loved her greens—and she’d especially loved his eyes.
Maneuvering around the door and into the hallway, he leveled his Sig and continued to listen. The only sounds were of his racing heart and the movie playing.
Where was Erika? Was she hiding again? She was probably terrified.
Get to her, get to her , his mind cried, and the air in his lungs turned to soup.
Behind, him he heard the quick, shrill whistle, about the volume of a bird chirp, and he knew it meant that Odin was there, and to not shoot.
Turning only his head, he saw the large man come through the door.
“There’s no one in the back. And I couldn’t see anyone through the windows. Unless they’re hiding upstairs, it’s clear.”
He doubted that whoever hurt Liz would stick around, hiding upstairs, when they could remain downstairs were escape was easier in a hurry.
Thank fuck.
Dropping his weapon, but keeping it in his grip, he hurried from the hallway into the kitchen, and nearly collapsed.
There she was. Liz.
She was laying in an expanding pool of crimson, and beside her, kneeling in her own mother’s blood, was the most beautiful little girl he’d ever seen. His heart stuttered, his whole body seeming to tense, and then release all at once, like an electric shock zapped through him. His green eyes, his blond hair…one look and he knew, without a doubt, he was her father.
But he didn’t have time to focus on what that meant, he needed to get to Liz.
“Erika, darlin’,” Odin spoke, tucking his Glock G47 into the back of his pants. “I’m Odin, we’re here to help your mama.”
The girl, whose eyes were large in her pale as paper face, began to cry.
“Mr. Odin?” Her voice was small and filled with fear.
The urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her was nearly as great an urge as the need to make sure Liz was okay.
Dropping to his knees and tucking his own weapon into his waistband, Trouble made quick work of checking Liz’s pulse. Weak but steady. Immediately, he could see that the blood on the floor was coming from a wound on the back of her head. The fucks had cold-cocked her from behind. Like goddamn cowards.
Odin nodded at him, silently acknowledging what he’d seen of the wound as well, and moved to crouch beside Erika. If it weren’t such a fucked-up situation, Trouble would have laughed at the sight of such a large man, squatting to get on the little girl’s level—the man could never make himself look small enough to not appear like a giant next to her.
“That’s me, I’m Odin.” He flicked a thumb over his shoulder. “And that’s my friend, Trouble. He’s a friend of your mama’s, too.”
Friend, former lover, father of her child…currently most hated person in her world.
Leaning over Liz, he checked her pupillary responses. Her pupils reacted to the kitchen’s overhead LED light. Good. No brainstem damage.
Next, he checked her body for any other wounds. None that he could see without removing her clothes. That she was still wearing her sweatpants and t-shirt told him she hadn’t been raped, at least. He lifted her shirt enough to check for broken ribs. He didn’t feel any, but the deep purple bruising beginning to show along her side and on her belly meant there was plenty of damage he couldn’t see. If the men who hurt her were professionals, they would have aimed for her kidneys, and he bet money that if he rolled her over, there’d be bruising on her lower right and left side of her spine.
Finally, he checked her limbs—
Shit. Her right forearm and wrist were broken. The fuckers must’ve stomped on her after she’d already fallen to the floor. What kind of sadist fuck beat an already unconscious woman?
The kind of fuck that will die screaming.
As he quickly examined Liz, Odin kept speaking in low, soothing tones to the little girl, who only responded with nods and shrugs. This had to be a lot for her, but Trouble knew that Odin was handling the girl with the utmost care—and not just because they both realized that the girl was now officially a club princess, but because it was what she needed: comfort, and a sense of safety and security. Trouble knew that he and Odin were two big, scary motherfuckers, and to a nine-year-old girl, they seemed like monsters from childhood nightmares.
Looking up, he met the little girl’s gaze—a gaze so much like his, it made his breath catch.
“Hey, baby, your mama is going to be okay, yeah?”
Erika hiccupped a breath, then jerked a quick nod. “Okay.”
He couldn’t help but smile at his brave little girl.
“You are so brave, you know that? I know your mama is going to be so proud of you, mitt hjerte .” My heart. The endearment felt right on his tongue. He’d only known about her for a few short minutes, but she already owned his heart.
Just as her mom had for more than ten years. Regret at what he’d done to her…to them …still ate at him every day, especially now that he saw her all the fucking time. He thought that once she left for college, he’d be able to forget about her, move on, maybe even claim another woman as his ol’ lady, but that never happened. It couldn’t, not when he still loved Liz Simpson with every piece of his heart and soul. Hell, no one looking at him, his choices, and his lifestyle would ever believe that he’d been in love…was still in love. He’d fucked so many women, even callously rubbing the club women in Liz’s face, that anyone who knew him wouldn’t believe he had a heart at all.
Odin knew. He’d been there ten years ago when Trouble had done what he’d done, and he’d been there when Trouble had drunk himself to blindness every night for weeks afterward. And Odin had been there when Liz had finally moved out of her apartment, leaving him and Vegas in the dust. For years after that night at the bar with Bonnie, he’d wondered how Liz was; did she love her new town? Had she made new friends? Had she graduated? She’d received her MD, but what about the rest of her life? Boyfriends? Lovers? Had she ever gotten married? Had she forgotten about him until she moved back to Vegas?
When he’d hurt her, he’d broken his own heart—not that she would ever believe that what he did, he did for her. Staying in Vegas would have been a mistake. She had to leave to live her own life, to become a successful doctor as she’d always dreamed of doing, and that meant letting her go.
I could try to explain….
For what purpose? It wasn’t like she’d ever forgive him for what he’d done. She fucking hated his guts, and from what she’d said just that afternoon, her pain was still as fresh as it had been ten years ago. They couldn’t just pick up where they left off. But…Erika…. That was a complication he never saw coming. A complication…and an advantage.
In the distance, and closing in fast, were the sounds of sirens.
“Hear that?” Odin asked, a soft smile on his otherwise intimating face. “That’s the police and ambulance. When they get here, I want you to stay with me, okay? We’re going to let them take care of your mama, and Trouble is going to stay with your mama, alright? He’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
Only a minute later, there were feet pounding on the porch steps, and the front door he’d left ajar was slapped against the wall behind it.
“Back here!” Trouble yelled, knowing exactly how it would look to have two men in kuttes kneeling beside a bleeding woman. He raised his hands and flicked his gaze to Odin, who did the same.
The small kitchen area filled with men with guns drawn, and Erika let out a squeak of terror.
“Hands up where I can see them!” the officer in the front commanded.
“Hold up, we’re here because the little miss called us when her mom wouldn’t wake up,” Odin supplied.
The officer sneered. “Yeah right, likely story. You boys don’t do enough shit out at that compound of yours, you got to cause trouble to good people?”
Trouble grit his teeth, biting back the words that would no doubt land him in lockup. Fucking pigs.
“The men who hurt her are gone. She was like this when we got here—”
“The scary men are gone. They hurt my mama and she won’t wake up. Mr. Odin said he would help. He-he told me to call 9-1-1,” Erika announced, her little lip trembling, her bright green eyes glistening with tears not yet shed.
Behind the officer still holding his weapon aimed at Odin, who was obviously the biggest threat in the room, someone cursed.
“Vikander, looks like you’re in the shit,” a familiar voice called out, then cursed again. “Lower your weapon, Dolwyn, for fuck’s sake. There’s a little girl in there!” Detective Benson pushed through the group of five officers crammed in behind the one sticking his gun in Odin’s face. Benson was a longstanding ally to the club, having been given commendations based on some of the…err…shadier work the club had done. They cleaned up a few messes, and handed the glory to Benson, who’d used the “cracking of the case” to ascend the LVPD ladder.
Dolwyn, the cocksucker, hesitated, anger and hatred bleeding into his cheeks, turning his pallid skin a glowing red.
“Dolwyn!” Detective Benson barked.
Dolwyn finally did as he was commanded, lowering, and then holstering his gun.
Standing up to his full height, Odin glared down at Dipshit Dolwyn, then turned to pull Erika into his side—and everything in Trouble pinched tight. That should be him holding her, making her feel safe, but he knew that right then wasn’t the time to unload all the shit that needed to be said and done. He’d missed nearly ten years, he could wait another hour or two. Maybe.
“This is Liz Simpson, this is her house,” Odin supplied, pointing at the woman still bleeding and unconscious on the floor. At the sight of her an invisible fist slammed into Trouble’s chest, then his belly, then his skull—never in his life had he felt such helpless agony.
He could only watch as the EMT’s appeared at the door and Benson waved them through to the kitchen.
Trouble finally breathed a full breath when the EMTs hurried to Liz, forcing Dolwyn and his cronies out of the kitchen. The EMTs made quick work of examining Liz, and Trouble rapidly listed off the things he’d observed during his field exam.
“She’s stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital,” the first EMT reported, taking his time splinting Liz’s arm and wrist. The other EMT was checking the depth of the wound on Liz’s head. Trouble knew that head wounds bled like a bitch, but that did nothing to stop his soul from bleeding into the pit at the core of him.
She had to be okay.
As the EMT’s moved the unresponsive Liz from the floor to the gurney, Trouble knew he had to go with her. Be with her.
“She’s club,” Trouble announced without a single moment of hesitation, refusing to acknowledge the life-changing claim he’d just uttered. Then, he dipped his chin toward the little girl in Odin’s arms. “So is she.”
Benson cast a knowing look toward Odin and Erika, then back to Trouble.
Trouble looked at the EMT at Liz’s head and demanded, “I’m going with her.” The EMT, hearing the unbending command in Trouble’s voice, only nodded before heading out the door with Liz.
Detective Benson nodded. “Right. I’ll let you get Ms. Simpson settled at the hospital, then I’ll be in to get her statement once she’s been checked, and is able to speak with me. Call me if anything…comes up.”
Trouble bit back the urge to tell the fucker not to bother, since he’d be taking care of the fuckers who hurt Liz all on his own. The club took care of their own, using law enforcement only when necessary. Over the two years, though, they’d had to rely on the LVPD more often than they would have liked. Couldn’t have been helped though, not with the kidnapping of a public figure, the raiding of a cartel’s warehouse where the fuckers had stashed women they’d trafficked, or the arrest of a cult leader and his disgusting pervert cronies, who’d been marrying and raping children for over a decade.
As Trouble passed Odin on the way out the door, Odin stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’ll be behind you as soon as we get this little one all she needs for a sleepover.”
“Sleepover?” For the first time since they arrived, Erika’s eyes lit up.
Odin smirked. “Yeah, you like that? You want to have a sleepover with Uncle Odin and Aunt Skathi?”
Erika’s smile dimmed. “Will Mama be okay? Can I see her?”
Trouble crouched down to meet her eye to eye, though she was a little thing, so he still seemed to tower over her. God, the urge to lean forward and wrap her in his arms was strong as fuck, but she’d probably freak out to have a strange man take such liberties with her. No doubt, Liz taught her all about “stranger danger.”
Smiling softly, his heart warming at her tiny return smile, Trouble offered, “She’ll be just fine, little one. And I’m sure Uncle Odin will bring you to see her real soon.” Trouble smirked at Odin’s new title, loving the warmth that spread over Odin’s features. The man was made for a family.
And you’re not , that insidious voice that sounded too much like his pa hissed in his head. You aren’t worth the shit on my boots, boy….
Ignoring that voice and the look of concern that darkened Odin’s face, Trouble hurried out of the condo and jumped into the back of the ambulance.
There’d be time to deal with those thoughts later.
After Liz woke up.
After she explained what the fuck she’d been thinking, keeping his daughter from him.
But she had to wake up first.
She just had to.
What would his world look like if she didn’t?