Chapter Eleven #2
"He's going to regret ever hearing the words Lucifer's Hounds because it will be all that he can remember, when he is nothing but a soul, floating in the void," I grit.
In the midst of the blinking lights, I see Shorty walking back over from the ambulance where the women were getting looked at.
"Carrie's leg has a pretty good gash on it and they think Lilly might have a concussion. They want to take them both to the hospital," Shorty says.
My head is definitely going to fucking explode. My chest is so goddamn tight that it's going to rip me wide open, straight down the fucking middle of my ribcage.
"Fuck!" I shake my fists.
"I can go with her, Prez," Shorty offers.
I huff in frustration. "Yeah. I'd appreciate it, thank you. I have to stay behind but I will get there as soon as I can."
"You want to tell her that yourself?" he asks.
That almost makes me laugh. "Yeah."
I follow him to the ambulance that has her strapped in mostly against her will.
I didn't see it before, but there's a gash on the side of her head and blood is matted in her hair and down her neck.
My blood boils staring at her like this.
I'm going to rip Gater's throat out with my bare fucking hands.
"Baby, I need you to calm down," I say, my voice a bit more calm than I feel.
"I don't want to go. I can't. They're going to stick me with a needle," she whispers, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. I realize in this moment that she isn't reluctant to go because she's mad. She's fucking terrified. Her hands are trembling while she blinks tear after tear away.
My heart is going to fucking shatter inside my chest if I leave her. I'm so torn. I don't know what to do. I'm trying to make sense of where I need to be versus where I want to be. There's not even a question in my mind. Lilly needs me. My club has my back.
"Shorty, go ahead and stay. I'm going with Lilly. Conner's got it handled. Call Scott and get him up here," I say as the paramedics are trying to close the doors.
"He's already here," Shorty yells before the doors are closed.
I drop to my knees at Lilly's side in the bright back of the ambulance. She appears a little more at ease, but she's still a panicked mess.
The paramedic is a young guy with glasses and a clean-cut look.
"Miss Summers, I'm going to have to start your IV before we head to the hospital," he says softly.
Lilly's eyes widen, but she doesn't say anything. She just cries a little harder. I slip my hand inside of hers.
"Don't look at him or the needle. Look at me. I got you, baby," I whisper, looking so deep into her eyes. Urging her to feel the strength of my love. To feel at ease because I'm here with her, every step of the way.
She doesn't speak. She just keeps staring into my eyes. She flinches when the needle pricks her skin and her feet move in a rhythmic back and forth motion as she tries to steady her breathing. The IV is in and she's still very unsettled.
The paramedic notes her discomfort and makes a call, informing hospital staff that she is agitated but unable to receive a sedative due to her concussion.
My sweet, fierce girl. She's got her eyes shut tight, but her grip on my hand is firm.
She's crying a little harder now, her chest heaves with her quick, shallow breaths.
My eyes never leave her face. She slowly begins to calm down on the ride to the hospital and by the time we arrive through the emergency exit, the wet streaks of tears on her face have dried.
Lilly is wheeled into a room, and I stay right there with her the entire time. I'm not leaving her side for even a millisecond. We sit for three hours, she gets prescribed some strong Tylenol basically, and I'm assigned caregiver to watch her like a hawk and monitor her symptoms.
We're at the hospital halfway between the rally and home.
I'm not going back tonight. My main concern is getting her home and making sure she's okay.
If I wasn't already planning to marry her, I'd propose again.
Any woman who's willing to go through the shit she's been through for me and stay with me despite it is most certainly worthy of more than marrying.
I'll spend the rest of my life figuring out what it is she deserves on top of a ring.
And a house. I don't know that I'll ever meet the quota of what she deserves, if I'm being honest.
Scott is waiting outside for us when they discharge a very disgruntled Lilly.
She climbs into the backseat of his truck and angrily buckles her seatbelt.
Scott chuckles and I'm certain he's going to get us stabbed.
Scott drops us off in the driveway and he and I do a sweep of the entire house first before bringing Lilly inside, just for good measure.
I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight between watching her and making sure she's alive and not concussed, and also making sure no one uninvited shows up.
I've triple checked the security system.
There's a pistol on the nightstand and a shotgun leaning against the bed frame, right where my hand rests when I sleep.
I cat nap for most of the night, waking up every thirty minutes to check on Lilly and check the cameras. By the time the sun comes up, I'm exhausted. Bud dog hasn't left her side since we got home. He's nestled at her feet right now, in what is now known as his spot.
My phone is on DND and I swipe down to see the notifications.
The club group text has twelve messages and I skim through them.
Leo updated about Carrie's leg. Scott confirmed that he dropped Lilly and I at home.
Shorty met with the Tattered Saints. I sigh, locking my phone and clanking it on my chest.
I can't help but think of how much simpler life was when I first joined the club.
Hardly anyone had a cellphone. There was definitely no texting at first. You actually had to pick up the phone and call in order to get a message through to someone.
Otherwise, you just didn't know what the fuck was going on. Different times. Simpler times.
What a fucking dream that'd be.
I'm tired and mad at the world, so it seems sleep isn't on the agenda. I get out of bed, double check the lock on the sliding glass door to our bedroom, and head to the kitchen to do the one thing that makes my life feel somewhat normal. Cook breakfast for my future wife.
Bacon, eggs, and grits with buttered toast. Her favorites.
As long as the eggs are scrambled and extra cheesy.
My wrist gets to work and I have a full-spread of breakfast done in no time.
I've got music playing softly while I plate her eggs and grits.
The toast is just popping out of the toaster when those dainty arms snake their way around my waist.
I spin around and kiss her gently on her forehead.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty," I muse, leading her over to the table.
"Good morning," she rasps.
"This looks great," she grins, cramming a bite of toast into her mouth.
"Eat up. Mindy and Linc are coming over to babysit you while I go make some decisions and figure out my plan," I tell her.
She nods. "That sounds like a good idea. Can I come?" she jokes.
I kiss her forehead again. "I wish. Unfortunately, you're injured so you're SOL," I shrug, feigning hurt that she can't come.
She rolls her eyes and scoops a spoon of grits onto her toast before taking a hefty bite, chewing it angrily. "Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. CDC."
As soon as Mindy and Linc arrive, I take Trigger to the clubhouse where the rest of the club, the Tattered Saints, and Micah await.
Linc wasn't bothered by missing out on this; Mindy's due any day now and he isn't leaving her side.
I don't blame him, either. If it were Lilly that were about to pop, you couldn't pay me to be away from her.
“What do you have for me?” I ask Reaper, sitting down at the bar beside him.
“A whole fucking lot, including where that slimy traitor is hiding out,” Reaper says smugly.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”