Chapter 16
Shooter
Eight weeks.
Eight weeks since she had laid in my bed, sleeping away the ghosts that haunted her.
Eight weeks since I had my first taste of her.
Eight motherfucking weeks.
Eight weeks of bidding my time, eight weeks of having Amelia within reach and I couldn’t do anything about it. She was a flight risk every day. The moment I thought we would be past a certain point she was back in her armor.
Eight weeks of my dick in my hand, listening to her say my name over and over again from her little message.
I didn’t have to look for the video footage of her saying my name, she gave me her voice willingly.
And each time she left me after the PT session, I’d play that recording over and over again until I shot my load like a fucking teenager getting off for the first time.
The doctors wanted twelve weeks; I gave them ten with a slight promise that I wouldn’t end up in their emergency room from my own stupidity.
After they allowed me to be boot-free, there was nothing stopping me from what I really wanted, Amelia in my bed, in my arms every night.
I just needed her ass to be near me. The freedom of the boot came with a price, one that wouldn’t allow me to see her.
To see the smile that she’d crack when she thought I wouldn’t see.
Eight weeks I kept my hands to myself, giving her space to see me, the good and the twisted evil.
The more she was around me, I kept seeing the once very short strands start to grow.
The freckles on her cheeks, I counted almost all of them and thought I wasn’t done.
I wanted her comfortable, I wanted her to feel safe and maybe on the edge to explore.
I just had to wait and see what little hints she’d give me.
Every moment with her was a gift.
Even after the messages, I was surprised that she came back.
She would say it was a sense of duty. But I couldn’t go anywhere without hearing her voice say my name like she wanted everything I could give her.
She sparked that little fire that kept me warm until I could have her by my side without a fight.
Okay, she could fight me, slap me, or even scratch me with her nails leaving her mark on me. I’d like to see the fight she had in her, only for her to cave in and admit she wanted this. At the end, have her safe in my arms again.
I was the sad simp of a man.
I still watched her, and she still didn't know it. But I watched the cameras, making mental notes of when her ex-husband attempted and or succeeded in hurting her. A couple of times she had called Greene at the station. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Greene couldn’t do anything about getting her out of harm’s way.
I could make him, but Amelia might hate me for it.
She would have to tell me, or else my mind would spin too many scenarios and act on each one of them.
Like I care what she would think, she'd be lucky I didn't just end his pathetic life for having his hands on her. Maybe I should have cut off his hands and delivered it to her in a pretty box. The possibilities were endless.
As fucked up as it was, I watched her sleep, watch her toss and turn, hoping that I’d hear her call out my name in the dark.
A knock at the door broke my thoughts. “Shooter, man, come on and load up. Fight night.”
Fight night was happening and I knew with being down for so long and recovering, I needed a night full of mayhem and chaos.
My mind had been too quiet with calmness and innocence.
I craved a shred of violence, even if I wasn’t the one fighting.
I wanted blood to be shed, someone so on the brink of death that they ultimately surrendered.
My hope was that the young Dillon would show the world what he was made of, and that one last fight would carry his ass out of a hole and I could get him a job teaching.
He didn’t need to enter my world of caged up anger and a thirst for blood on the floor.
MC life would not be for Dillon if I had anything to say on the subject.
Another knock. “Shoot, man. B.B. is chomping at the bits. Hank and Otis are already on the way.” Stray’s voice echoed through the door.
I grumbled, “Fuck, man. Yeah, I’m coming.”
I also needed the ride to clear my head; she was swimming in my thoughts.
That’s where she stayed. People always talked about the “love at first sight” or “you’ll know when it’s time”, I just thought it was just something you said to the single people to keep their hope alive. Fuck, were they ever right.
I ripped open the door, and there stood a tired Stray looking like he was ready to pass out. He glanced down at my once-injured leg and snapped his attention back to me. “Bet it feels good to have the shit off.”
“Bittersweet,” I grunted out, pulling the door behind me.
“You’re just saying that because your little nurse won’t be around anymore,” Stray joked, taking a few steps in front of me. “Surprised you ain’t leaving a trail of condoms around.”
Something snapped in me and all I saw was red and my body writhing with adrenaline.
I reached for the back of his cut, yanking him clean across the hall and up against the wall.
Stray let out a hard grunt, trying to catch his breath at the same time.
My arm smashed against his throat, pinning him flushed against the wall.
“Shooter,” Stray coughed out. “Easy, man.”
I felt the growl in my voice rumble through my body. The pure, intense anger flooding my vision. “Talk about her like that again, Stray, and I’ll gladly do jail time. That nurse is my ol’ lady.”
Stray struggled under my hold, scrambling to find his footing. Stray hadn’t found a partner of his own, yet at that moment, I didn’t fucking care. He doesn't know what it feels like to be obsessed.
“You ain’t fucking claimed her yet, how the fuck was I supposed to know.” Stray tried to reason with me, gripping at my arm. I would end up bruising him and have to explain all the marks left behind.
I saw the panic in his eyes, it was a look that I knew all too well on the battlefield, especially looking into wounded soldiers who didn’t know if my face was the last one they would see or if they would be returning home to their loved ones. I never wanted to be their last image.
“Shooter, let go, man. I’m sorry, okay,” Stray kept pleading as the rage in me still had a hold on me.
River.
I heard her voice in my mind. Like a lullaby easing the mind into a happier state. Like the bright sunlight early in the morning after the best sleep of your life.
River.
All I heard was her. My mind flashed to moments of her pressing against me, my arms wrapped around her, never letting her go. A happy moment, one I was hanging on to.
Thoughts snapped back to a pinned Stray, my hold easing up, my body winding down from the burst of heated frustration. The realization that I said certain words already and part of me never regretted it.
I stepped back as Stray hunched over, attempting to find his breathing. A rush of guilt for my behavior plowed through me. I fucked up in so many ways. I needed to keep my head on straight for the remainder of the event.
How could I console my brother without feeling like a caged demon that reared its ugly face.
“I’m…” I started to say, trying not to fuck it up anymore. “I’m sorry, brother. I don’t… I don’t know what happened.”
Stray straightened up, stretching his neck from side to side, and rolled his shoulders back, “I do. You got protective.”
Well, that was one way of looking at it, better than possessive.
“And then slightly possessive over a woman that is way too good for you,” he continued.
Well, I was adding possessive to my reasons why I needed her in my life.
He stepped toward me, placing a rough hand on my shoulder and giving it a slight squeeze, “Listen man, before you add a casualty to your running list, make the shit official, and maybe get laid.”
I was fucking trying, at least on the “making it official” shit, but it was more than just getting laid by Amelia.
It was about consuming her, making her know who and what she needed.
I didn’t know how Hound Dog or Blue or even Hellfire did it.
And Blue and Hellfire had kids, they were truly idols.
If they could hold their own and have their family protected and cared for, it makes you wish for the same thing, something fierce.
“Now, let’s get to the fight night before they send the prospects to come fetch us.” Stray joked, almost brushing the whole incident away.
I tried, on the other hand, to clear my mind. Dillon was going to be fighting. A fight that was his way of trying to better himself. One fight would give him a leg up on his education and one that strengthened him, maybe giving him a confidence boost the way I know his fighting style and ego was.
We tried to keep the fight nights to invite only, screening process at least with the help of Greene on the side. It was nice having a man on the inside of the police force.
Though it seemed that it was packed, the moment I stepped in. The crowds rolled in, nervous energy filling the room from the spectators to the fighters and their coaches.
The only fear I had was that Dillon wanted to fight that night in MMA style, while I tried to convince him to change because his strength was in traditional boxing.
He argued that he had more power behind his defensive style and the youth to keep him going.
I rolled my eyes but thought maybe his youth had a leg up on the competition.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a complete say on who he was going to be fighting, something about being “biased” which was complete bullshit. Stray and Hank handled that; the less I knew the better.
Coaching Dillon with a boot was hell, what Amelia didn’t know was that I was already up and walking better than expected.
I would have Hank or Stray take me to the gym on the days that Dillon was there, and I’d coach him the best I could and then hurry my ass up back to the compound, making it seem like I was in bed all day.
Yeah, I wasn’t the perfect patient.
There were a couple of other fights before Dillon but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a chance for him to psych himself out and second guess his own ability. I took my time getting over to his corner of the area, watching him bounce on his touches, tossing his neck from side to side.
A man strode up to me with gusto. “Want in, boss?”
It was an average sized man, bit on the heavier side, he didn’t seem familiar to me. I turned to look around for one of the brothers, no one was in sight.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Lenny.”
“Lenny what?” My voice grew louder.
“Lenny Holts,” he said a little too proudly.
“Lenny, do me a favor and look at the back of my cut and ask me that again,” I challenged him.
If he was a regular, he should have known that the brothers are never allowed to bet.
Hound’s condition on allowing fight nights to happen behind the scenes.
“Let someone else have that addiction, not us.” His words rang true.
Gambling addiction was just as dangerous as any other addiction.
His eyes widened, taking a step to the side to look at the patch on the back.
Slowly coming to the realization that he fucked up, he nodded and quickly walked away.
Not before I noticed that he scurried away to a couple of men in suits.
Business looking professionals, a typical type that we get during these nights.
What the fuck was that interaction?
There were usually one or two bookies that we allowed on these nights. I made a mental reminder to ask Hank about it after the night.
The crowds grew restless, wanting the night to begin. For me, it didn’t matter. I had one goal in mind; focus on young Dillon, get him to win, and get him back to burying his nose in those books.
As the night progressed, I stayed by his side. I saw the nerves that started to rattle his body. The fight before his was on the last round, I finally turned to him. “You ready, champ?” I knew I was teasing him, but his face turned white as a ghost.
“Don’t say that, man.” His body became tense.
“What the fuck just happened?” I asked him, twisting him to face me.
“I don’t need you to jinx me or nothing. We don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“What the fuck you talking about?”
His eyes drifted away. Everything around me was blocked out, now he had me confused and slightly worried. “The odds are against me.” The fire in him felt like it was dying down, like he was already admitting defeat.
I knew that look, far too well from back in the day in the war zone.
“Let me tell you something. Never look at the odds, because the only person that you can control is you. This is your fight, not anyone else’s.
You have worked too damn hard and come this far to look at me and say that dumb shit.
You are a fighter inside and out. Do you want to win this fight? ”
He sheepishly nodded. That wasn’t going to cut it. “Let’s try that again. Do you want to win? Do you want to prove everyone in this arena wrong, for anyone that fucking doubted you, for anyone that said you could never win. Fuck them and win this fight.”
Dillon’s eyes looked like a spark ignited. It only took words to get him back to the mindset he needed to win it once and for all. Blaze, one of the prospects and one of Dillon’s friends, came up from behind, slapping a hand on his back. “You ready, motherfucker?”
“I’m ready to win.”
Atta boy. I’d be lying if I said that a little sense of pride didn’t fill my chest. The boy had worked too hard to not win, his dedication and drive is what made him a perfect fighter and a perfect opponent. He wouldn’t back down from a challenge.