Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Hannibal
I ’ve just finish restocking the trauma kits and am locking the meds cabinet when I hear someone walk in behind me.
Turning, I see Circus strolling in with a bloody towel wrapped around his hand.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I was making a sandwich and the knife slipped.”
“Sit down and let me look.”
He hops up on the bed using his good hand and peels the towel away.
“Yeah, that’s gonna need stitches. You work on bikes and cars every day, and you get taken out making a fucking sandwich?” I snort, grabbing a suture tray.
“Macy and Kiki were getting each other off on the kitchen table. Trust me, you’d cut your hand open, too.”
I shake my head.
“Those bitches better be careful. If Amity or Nevaeh catch them, there’ll be hell to pay.”
I take his hand and start cleaning it, making him hiss.
“They’re not hurting anyone.”
“Maybe not, but the girls eat at that table. Would you wanna eat off it if a bunch of brothers jizzed all over it?”
He grimaces.
“Exactly. Plenty of other places they can do that shit.”
I give him a local and wait for it to take effect before I start stitching him up.
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose a finger,” I say after the first couple stitches.
“You won’t be able to work with these in.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve worked with worse.”
I grunt but don’t argue.
It’s his hand—he can do whatever the fuck he wants.
“Any news on Khan and Driller?” When Havoc returned from Ohio, church was called and he filled us in on everything that happened.
We also learned that Khan and Driller took off.
Havoc had sent Circus and Capone out to see if anyone from our other chapters or our allies had seen them.
“If they have, no one’s talking. Not that I’m surprised. They’ve been in the game long enough that people are loyal to them, and Driller knows how to turn on the charm. He could sell condoms to Durex if put his mind to it. Plus, Khan probably have some off-the-grid place they’re holed up in for exactly this situation.”
I focus on his hand as I keep the stitches as neat as possible.
“The fuckers have to know running only makes them look fucking guilty.”
“I don’t think they give a shit. We know they’re planning something. They probably think it’s solid.”
“Honestly, I have no clue what their reasoning is––and I don’t care. Driller’s always been a waste of space. And Khan… I didn’t like the guy, but I respected him as president. But now he’s making Driller look smart.”
Circus chuckles.
“Now, there’s a scary thought.”
I tie off the last stitch and wrap his hand in gauze, taping it in place.
“Try and keep it clean and dry for a few days. No heavy lifting, and for fuck’s sake, don’t pick at it.”
“Sure thing.”
I roll my eyes.
“If you get an infection and your hand falls off, don’t come crying to me that you can’t jerk off anymore.”
He jumps off the bed with a grin.
“That’s what bunnies are for. Appreciate the patch-up. Catch you later.”
He’s out the door before I’ve even finished.
Shaking my head, I get to work cleaning up.
Once I’m done, I peel off my gloves, toss them in the trash, and wash my hands before heading over to the saloon for something to eat.
My phone starts ringing the second I step outside.
Pulling it out, I curse when I see the social worker’s number.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Mr. Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, it’s Jane Taylor from CPS. I just wanted to call to give you an update. Melissa was transferred home this morning.”
I frown.
“What do you mean she went home? She’s fucking sick.”
“She’s not sick, Mr. Shaw. She’s dying—and she wants to do that at home, where she’s most comfortable.”
“What about Millie?”
“She’s with her, of course. A hospice nurse has also been arranged and is with her now too. She’ll be staying with the family until the end. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I mutter, trying to wrap my head around it all.
I guess some part of me was still holding out hope she’d beat it—become one of those medical miracles you hear about.
“Have you thought any more?—”
“Gotta go.” I hang up before she can finish, already knowing what she was gonna ask, and and head straight for my bike instead of the saloon.
A few people call my name as I pass, but I ignore them.
I’m too focused on what I’m doing to care about anyone else.
When I reach the warehouse, I take my helmet from the handlebars and pull it on before straddling the seat.
I start her up, and before I can second-guess myself, I’m heading out toward Melissa’s place.
The ride helps clear my head, but it doesn’t answer any of the fucking questions swirling around.
Like why the fuck is she just giving up?
And what does she want me to do with Millie?
We haven’t talked since she got her diagnosis, but she gave permission for the hospital and CPS to keep me updated.
So she has to know what they’re suggesting.
She was more than happy to keep Millie away from me because she knew it was the smart thing to do.
Her dying doesn’t suddenly make me a safe choice.
”
I pull up outside Melissa’s and turn off the engine.
I don’t make a move to get off my bike.
I just sit there, staring at the house, wondering how everything can look so normal on the outside when everything inside has fucking changed.
I don’t know how long I sit there—ten minutes, maybe an hour—before the front door opens and Melissa steps out.
The woman I remember was always curvy and vivacious, with wild auburn curls and a big smile.
But this Melissa… she’s a shadow of her former self.
Hell, even when I saw her after the crash, she didn’t look half as bad as she does now.
She’s thin, too thin, and all hunched over like she’s trying to hold herself together.
I’m afraid the breeze will blow her over.
She’s wearing a bright pink head scarf and using a cane for balance.
When she starts to make her way toward me, I hop off my bike and meet her halfway.
“Millie home?” I ask, my voice a little rough.
She shakes her head.
“I made her go to school.”
Before she can say anything else, I scoop her up, ignoring the cane as it drops to the ground.
I carry her inside, despite her protests, and settle her in one of the oversized armchairs in her living room.
“I have legs, Hannibal,” she huffs.
But I can hear how out of breath she is just from that short walk.
“Yeah, and you looked like you were about to keel over.”
“I’m dying, Hannibal. What do you expect?”
The silence stretches between us until she sighs.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
A woman pokes her head in the room, her eyes landing on Melissa.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine, Nina. This is Hannibal—Millie’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, Hannibal. I’m Nina, Melissa’s nurse. If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen making lunch.” Melissa thanks her as she leaves, and the room goes quiet again.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I admit, sitting on the arm of the couch.
She looks at me, her eyes filled with tears, but she takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders.
“Tough,” she snaps, and I narrow my eyes at her.
“You think I want this? You think I’m ready to let her go? I’m going to miss helping her pick out a prom dress, Hannibal. Maybe that doesn’t mean much to you, but it does to me. I won’t be there to wipe her tears when she gets her heart broken for the first time, or when she finally meets the guy who’ll look at her in a white dress and know he’s the luckiest man alive. I won’t be there when my baby has babies. I’m gonna miss all those amazing moments, Hannibal. But you won’t—because I’m giving them to you. Millie was the greatest gift you ever gave me, but… but now it’s time for me to give her back.”
Tears slide down her cheeks and fall from her face.
“What if I fuck her up?”
“Don’t you get it? We’re all fucked up. She’s about to lose her mom, her home, and most likely her friends, if she has to change schools. She’s already lost her grandparents and her aunt. That kid’s seen more death than any child ever should. And its slowly killing her. But if there is anyone on God’s green earth, that can keep her safe, it’s you. She needs you. I’m not asking—I’m telling you. You’re going to take Millie in. You’re going to make her a part of your life and carve out a space in your heart. And you’re going to love her like you’ve never loved anyone before. She deserves nothing less.”
“I don’t know how to love anyone,” I roar, jumping to my feet.
“Then let her teach you,” she whispers before she drops her head and sobs.
With a heavy sigh, I walk over to her, slide my hand behind her head, and pull until she’s resting against my stomach.
I don’t say anything, and neither does she.
I can’t tell her what she needs to hear—not now, maybe not ever.
I’ve never wished for a fucking thing in my life, but right now, I wish we had more time.
Time for me to figure shit out.
Time for Melissa to spend with Millie before it’s too late.
When she pulls back and looks up at me, I can see the plea in her eyes.
I cup her jaw, my thumb brushing away a tear.
“I’ve gotta go.”
Her shoulders drop, but she doesn’t argue.
She just nods and turns to look out the window.
I leave, wishing I was the kind of man that could offer her words of comfort.
But I won’t lie to her.
She knows what kind of man I am.
If she pushes, I’ll push back out of pure spite.
Still, as I straddle my bike and pull my helmet back on, I can’t help but wonder what kind of person Millie turned out to be.
Is she stubborn like her mom?
Or maybe she’s a little odd like me.
I almost smile at the thought.
I rev the engine and peel away from the curb, taking the scenic route back to the clubhouse.
The farther I get from Melissa’s, the easier it is to breathe.
But I can’t stop thinking about what she said, about all the things she’s gonna miss.
Am I okay with missing them too?
Letting some other guy to scare off her boyfriends, or walk her down the aisle?
And then I wonder—what if she never even gets the chance to do those things?
What if foster care’s the last fucking straw, and she decides she’s done with this world because she’s got no one left?
I roll up to the gates with a snarl and wait for them to open.
Once they do, I drive into the warehouse and kill the engine.
Climbing off my bike, I pull my helmet off and head straight for the saloon, hoping I’ll find the answers at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.
Hours later, and still no answers, I head up to my room, put on a slasher flick, and jerk off to the soundtrack of blood-curling screams, reminding myself just how fucked-up I really am.