Chapter 15 #2
A knock at the door interrupts us. Tiana pokes her head in, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes conveying urgency. “Dr. Blane, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for you. Says it’s important.”
I nod, turning back to Daphne. “I’ll be right back. Take a moment to think about what we’ve discussed.”
In the hallway, Tiana grabs my arm, her voice low and urgent. “There’s a guy in the waiting room asking for her. Looks rough, has a Reapers support shirt on. Says he’s her boyfriend and needs to take her home.”
My stomach drops. “Call Zach. Now. And stall the boyfriend. Tell him she’s in the middle of an exam and can’t be disturbed.”
Tiana nods, already pulling out her phone as I return to my office. Daphne looks up, instantly alert to the change in my demeanor.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, that hunted look returning to her eyes.
I consider lying, then decide against it. She deserves the truth. “Your boyfriend is in the waiting room.”
All color drains from her face. Her hands begin to shake, and for a moment I’m afraid she might faint. “He followed me. I knew he would. I was so stupid to think—”
“Daphne, listen to me,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm. “You’re safe here. He cannot come back to this office without your permission. That’s the law. And I have people who can help make sure you stay safe, if that’s what you want.”
She looks at me, desperation and hope warring in her eyes. “What people?”
“The same people who helped open this clinic,” I say carefully. “People who understand what it’s like to need protection.”
Understanding dawns on her face. “The Devil Souls? But Jason’s family… they’re Reapers.”
“I know,” I say simply. “That’s why I think we can help.”
The door bursts open before she can respond, a young man with wild eyes and clenched fists filling the frame. Jason, I presume. He’s tall and wiry, with the nervous energy of someone riding a chemical edge. His eyes lock on to Daphne, who shrinks back in her chair.
“There you are,” he snarls, ignoring me completely. “What the fuck, Daphne? You said you were getting rid of it.”
I stand, placing myself between them. “Sir, this is a private medical consultation. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
He looks at me for the first time, taking in the lab coat, and the stethoscope around my neck. His lip curls in contempt. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m Dr. Blane, and this is my clinic. Daphne is my patient, and you’re interrupting her appointment.” I keep my voice level, professional, though my heart hammers against my ribs. Where is Tiana? Where is Zach?
“She’s my girlfriend,” Jason spits, taking a step forward. “And she’s leaving with me. Now.”
“That’s her decision to make,” I reply, not backing down despite the threat radiating from him. “Daphne, do you want to go with Jason?”
She looks between us, terror evident in her face. But something else flickers there too, a spark of the same determination I saw earlier. “No,” she whispers, then louder, “no, I don’t.”
Jason’s face contorts with rage. “You fucking bitch,” he snarls, lunging forward. “After everything I’ve done for you “
I step fully in his path, blocking his access to Daphne. “That’s enough. Leave now, or I’ll call the police.”
His laugh is ugly, unhinged. “Police in this town? They don’t give a shit about clinic trash.” His hand shoots out, shoving me hard enough that I stumble back against the desk. “Get out of my way, faggot doctor.”
The slur barely registers. I’ve heard worse, but the physical contact crosses a line. I straighten, drawing myself to my full height. “Last warning. Leave my clinic, now.”
“Or what?” he sneers, taking another step toward Daphne, who’s pressed herself against the wall, one arm protectively curved around her still flat stomach. “You going to stop me? You and what army?”
“Not an army,” comes a cold voice from the doorway. “Just me.”
We all turn to see Zach filling the frame, his expression carved from stone. Eye’s locked, coldly focused. He’s in full club regalia—cut, boots, the works—and the look in his eyes makes my blood run cold. I’ve seen that look before. It never ends well for whoever it’s directed at.
“Zach,” I say, relief and worry warring in my voice. “This is Jason. He was just leaving.”
Jason’s eyes widen as recognition dawns. “Slaughter,” he breathes, taking an instinctive step back. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“This is my clinic,” Zach says, his voice deceptively calm as he steps into the room. “And that’s my doctor you just put your hands on.” He glances at Daphne, his expression softening marginally. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She nods, too terrified to speak.
“Good.” Zach’s attention returns to Jason, all softness vanishing. “Now, I think the doctor told you to leave. And I suggest you listen.”
Jason’s face cycles through fear, confusion, and finally, a desperate bravado. “You don’t understand, man. She’s carrying my kid. She’s trying to keep it when we agreed—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you agreed,” Zach cuts him off, moving closer with the fluid grace of a predator. “What I care about is that you came into my clinic, assaulted my doctor, and frightened a pregnant woman. That’s three strikes. You’re out.”
Jason’s hand moves toward his waistband, a motion I recognize from too many ER traumas. “Gun!” I shout, already moving toward Daphne to shield her.
But Zach is faster. Before Jason can fully draw the weapon, Zach has him slammed against the wall, one hand crushing Jason’s wrist until the gun clatters to the floor, the other at his throat. The move is so quick, so efficient, that it’s over before I can fully process what’s happening.
“Bad move,” Zach growls, his face inches from Jason’s. “Very bad move.”
Jason struggles uselessly against Zach’s grip, face reddening as oxygen becomes an issue. “You’re dead,” he chokes out. “When my family hears…”
“Your family?” Zach’s laugh is cold, humorless. “You mean Riggs? The Reaper president?” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper I can barely hear. “I’m the one who killed him.”
All fight drains from Jason’s body, replaced by naked terror as the implications sink in. Zach releases him, and he slides down the wall, legs suddenly unable to support him.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Zach says, stepping back but keeping himself between Jason and the rest of us.
“You’re going to leave this clinic. You’re going to leave town.
And you’re never going to contact Daphne again.
If I hear you’ve come within a hundred yards of her or this clinic, what happened to Riggs will look like a mercy killing compared to what I’ll do to you. ”
Jason’s eyes dart between Zach, Daphne, and me, calculating his odds and apparently finding them insufficient. He nods once, a jerky motion born of fear rather than agreement.
“Good boy,” Zach says, the false praise dripping with menace. He bends to retrieve the gun, checking it before tucking it into his waistband. “I’ll keep this as a reminder of our agreement.”
Tiana appears in the doorway, two prospects behind her. “Everything okay in here?”
“Fine,” Zach says, not taking his eyes off Jason. “These gentlemen are going to escort our guest out. Make sure he leaves town.” He glances at the prospects. “Follow him to the county line. Make sure he understands the consequences of returning.”
They nod, moving forward to haul Jason to his feet. He goes without resistance, the fight completely drained from him. As they pass Daphne, he looks at her one last time, something unreadable passing across his face before the prospects hustle him out.
The silence that follows is deafening. Daphne remains pressed against the wall, her arms wrapped protectively around herself. I move to her side, medical instincts taking over.
“Are you all right?” I ask gently. “Do you need to sit down?”
She nods, letting me guide her back to the chair. Her eyes never leave Zach, a mixture of fear and gratitude in her gaze.
“You killed Riggs?” she whispers, the question hanging in the air between them.
Zach’s expression softens slightly as he looks at her. “In self-defense,” he says, which isn’t exactly a lie. “During the club war. He attacked our clubhouse.”
She absorbs this, one hand unconsciously moving to her stomach. “Jason said his cousin died in a club dispute. Said it was murder.”
“It wasn’t,” I interject, feeling the need to defend Zach even though I wasn’t there for the actual confrontation. “Riggs came after us. After me. Zach protected his family.”
Something shifts in Daphne’s expression, understanding, maybe, or recognition of a shared experience. “What happens now?” she asks, her voice small but steadier than before.
Zach looks to me, deferring to my judgment in a way that makes my chest tighten with affection despite the circumstances. This is my clinic, my patient. He’s made his point, now he’s letting me lead.
“That depends on what you want, Daphne.”
“I want to give the baby up for adoption, he or she needs an amazing life and chance, but I still want to see them to make sure they’re okay,” she spouts off, and I want to hug her so bad.
“Well, we can sort that out.” I smile at her and she relaxes.
Zach is giving me a strange look, and it takes all of my effort to not ask him what it means.
* * *
Jason
The prospects shove me through the clinic doors, my shoulders aching where their fingers dig into my flesh. My mind still reels from what just happened inside. Slaughter’s face inches from mine, his voice a deadly whisper. “I’m the one who killed him.”
The words echo in my skull like a death knell. Slaughter killed Riggs. My cousin. The man who practically raised me after my own father went to prison.
“Keep walking,” one of the prospects growls, giving me another push toward the parking lot.
I stumble forward, legs still weak from the encounter. My throat burns where Slaughter’s fingers pressed against my windpipe, cutting off just enough oxygen to make black spots dance in my vision. The memory of his eyes, cold, merciless, and promising death, makes my stomach clench.
“Get in your car,” the taller prospect orders, his hand resting casually on the gun at his hip. “We’re following you to the county line.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. My gun’s gone. Slaughter took it like it was a toy he was confiscating from a child. The humiliation burns almost as much as the fear.
They watch as I slide behind the wheel of my beat-up Camaro, the engine sputtering to life on the second try. In my rearview mirror, I see them mounting their bikes, the Devil Souls patches on their cuts catching the midday sun. My hands shake as I put the car in gear.
The drive to the county line takes twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of sweating, of glancing in my mirror every few seconds to see the prospects following at a steady distance, of my mind racing through what just happened and what it means.
Slaughter killed Riggs. The Devil Souls enforcer murdered my cousin, and now he’s threatening me. Protecting Daphne and that faggot doctor like they’re his family.
When I reach the “Now Leaving Devil Souls Territory” sign—not the official county marker, but everyone knows what it means—I pull over. The prospects stop behind me, engines idling as they watch me from behind mirrored sunglasses.
“Remember what Slaughter said,” one calls out. “Don’t come back. Ever.”
I nod again, waiting until they turn their bikes around and head back toward town before I let out the breath I’ve been holding. My whole body trembles with rage and fear and something else. A desperate need to make someone pay.
I pull back onto the road, driving another ten miles before pulling into the parking lot of a run-down gas station. My phone feels heavy in my pocket as I cut the engine. I stare at the cracked windshield for a long moment, gathering my courage before making the call I know will change everything.
Mom answers on the third ring, her voice tight with the perpetual worry that’s aged her ten years since Riggs died.
“Jason? Where are you? You were supposed to be home an hour ago.”
“Mom,” I say, my voice cracking. “I need to talk about Riggs.”
A pause, then rustling as she presumably hands over the phone. My uncle’s voice comes through, hard and flat like it’s been since we got word of his son’s death.
“What about Riggs?” he demands without preamble.
I take a deep breath, fingers tightening on the phone until my knuckles turn white. “I know who killed him.”
The silence on the other end stretches so long I wonder if the call dropped. Then my uncle’s voice, lower now, dangerous, demands, “Who?”
“Slaughter,” I say, the name bitter on my tongue. “The Devil Souls enforcer. Zach. He told me himself, right to my face.”
Another moment of silence, this one charged with a tension I can feel through the phone. When my uncle speaks again, his voice is eerily calm.
“Where are you?”
“Gas station off Highway 16,” I reply. “Just outside Devil Souls territory. They ran me out of town.”
“Stay there,” he orders. “I’m coming to get you. We need to talk about this in person.”
“They took my gun,” I say, shame burning my cheeks. “Slaughter has it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” my uncle says, and I can hear him moving, car keys jingling. “We’ve got plenty more. And we’ve got family, real family, not whatever’s left of the Reapers. Riggs had friends in other clubs, people who owe him favors.”
Hope flares in my chest, pushing back some of the fear. “So we’re going after them? After Slaughter?”
“We’re going to make them pay,” my uncle confirms, his voice hardening with resolve. “All of them. Starting with that clinic and the doctor Slaughter’s so protective of.”
Relief washes over me, mingled with a vicious satisfaction. Daphne thinks she’s safe now, thinks she’s found protection with the Devil Souls. She’ll learn. They’ll all learn.
“How long until you get here?” I ask, already imagining the revenge we’ll take.
“Forty minutes,” my uncle replies. “Start making calls. Everyone in Riggs’s contact list. Tell them we found his killer, and we’re gathering tonight to plan.”
I hang up, fingers already scrolling through my contacts, a smile spreading across my face despite the lingering pain in my throat. Slaughter may have won today’s battle, but he’s just started a war he can’t possibly win.
Not when the combined might of Riggs’s connections comes down on him and everything he loves.
Starting with that doctor.