Chapter Nineteen #3
I’ve always thought it was fucking neat that he named his program after the women death spirits who haunted the battlefields to drag the doomed away. It seemed fitting for the club.
“Once Keres is awake, I’ll feed the attacker’s unmasked profile into her system and let her do her thing,” Cypher grunts, his eyes reflecting the harsh blue glare of the monitors. “Keres can dig further and faster into the dark web and municipal grids than any human could.”
“Let me know the second she spits out a name,” I order, my jaw tight.
Leaving the security room, I find the common room of the clubhouse bustling with restless energy.
Members lounge around shooting the shit with each other, trying to burn off the residual adrenaline.
Some play pool or cards, while others sit at the bar, casting bewildered glances at the massive, hot-pink dildo sitting proudly on the shelf behind it.
“Yo, Tomcat. That hellcat of yours is waking up and asking for you,” Patch says, stepping out of the infirmary with his medical bag tossed over his shoulder.
“Thanks, brother. How is she?”
“She’s stable. I’ve got her hydrated and stitched.
Any deeper and it might not have turned out so well.
She tried to swing on me twice while I was irrigating and debriding the wound, so her reflexes are still sharp as hell.
” He holds out a brown plastic prescription bottle to me.
“She refused the painkillers, but I’m giving them to you.
Her leg is numb right now, but it’ll wear off soon.
Then she’ll be sore as hell and pissed the fuck off even more.
” Patch shakes his head and huffs a laugh.
“You’ve got your hands full with her, man. ”
I laugh, taking the bottle and shaking his hand, a heavy grip of mutual respect. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Patch.”
“Better you than me. Gotta head back to my shift at the hospital. If you need anything else for her, let me know.”
“Will do. Ride safe, brother.”
I head for the infirmary, spotting the heavy wooden door cracked just wide enough for me to catch the conversation inside between her and Pope.
Should I walk away? Maybe. Do I give a single fuck?
Not even a little. My brothers wounded her when they brushed her off in the chapel instead of listening.
I need to make damn sure the President isn’t about to pull that alpha bullshit on her again.
“Look. When I’m wrong, I’ll admit it,” Pope’s deep voice starts.
“Doubtful,” Marigold mutters, her voice raspy.
“Would you stop being so damn stubborn and let me fucking apologize?”
"No. It makes you get this frustrated look, and I think that's actually good for you. Character building and all that. Not like you don't already have wrinkles, anyways. What's a few more?"
Pope lets out a low, frustrated growl, and I can’t help the real smile that tugs at my mouth.
Goddamn, I love this woman.
“I’m sorry I was a dick,” Pope grumbles.
“And?”
“Wait. That’s not it?” he replies, sounding genuinely confused.
“Nope. You’re always a dick, Pope. That’s nothing new. What exactly are you apologizing for?”
She’s fucking incredible.
Inside, his heavy wallet chains jingle against his kutte as he begins to pace the small room. I don’t need to see him to know he’s either running his fingers through his long hair or aggressively fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist.
“I apologize for not giving you a chance to speak,” Pope says, his tone shifting into something raw and entirely serious. “We doubted you when we shouldn’t have. We know you. We’ve always trusted you. When you needed us to show you that trust the most, we let you down the quickest.”
“Why did you?”
My fingers clench into a tight, white-knuckled fist around the pill bottle at how small and fragile her voice sounds.
It shows exactly how deeply their doubt cut her.
Mostly Pope. The others just sort of sat back and didn’t speak up when they should have, but sometimes, that silence says a hell of a lot more than words ever will.
I hear Pope let out a heavy sigh, and then one of the old leather chairs creaks under his massive weight as he finally sits down.
“Truth? I felt like you betrayed us.”
“What? How?”
Pope sighs again, and I lean my shoulder against the cool corridor wall to listen closely.
“Because we didn’t know the depths of who you are, Marigold. We didn’t know your past.”
“But—”
“Hang on. Let me finish. Please,” he says, a rare note of vulnerability in his voice. “Now that we’ve heard your story... well, I understand it more now. Your man pointed out to me that you didn’t owe us your trauma. And he’s right.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you all, you know?
” she murmurs, the toughness bleeding out of her tone.
“I just didn’t want to tell anyone. Not even Tomcat.
I don’t like thinking about what happened over there.
I didn’t get to say goodbye to my parents.
I didn’t get to lay them to rest. All I have left of them are my memories.
.. and this necklace. They were my family.
All I had. I originally came to you all for protection because I knew the Saint's Outlaws were the only ones brave enough and powerful enough to protect me from Damon if he ever found me. But it grew into so much more than that. You all became my family. My big brothers.” She lets out a weak, breathy snicker. “Well... except Tomcat.”
“I’m sorry we hurt you, Marigold,” Pope says. “You’re part of this club. You’re family. I know it’s hard to believe that after the shit we pulled in the chapel, but it's the goddamn truth.”
Marigold heaves a heavy, theatrical sigh, letting the dramatic pause hang in the air before she finally speaks. “I guess I can forgive you.”
The cold knot of anxiety in my chest completely dissolves.
I push the heavy wooden door open, tapping my knuckles against the frame with a quiet, warning knock so I don’t startle her.
The second she spots me, a genuine smile breaks across her pale face before she turns her sharp gaze back to our President.
“Only on one condition,” she adds, her voice dripping with playful malice.
Pope lets out a low, miserable groan, sinking back into the worn leather of the chair and scrubbing his massive, calloused hands over his face. “Why do I feel like I’m going to profoundly regret this?”
“Oh, all of you definitely will.” She beams at him, a wicked spark returning to her eyes. “Who do you all use as your tattoo artist?”
“D-Bag handles all of the club’s ink,” Pope says, his brow furrowing. “Why?”
A flicker of nervousness creeps into Pope’s voice, and seeing the club’s iron-willed President sweat under the glare of a woman in a hospital bed is downright hilarious.
“Because. I need to know who to talk to about a mandatory group design.”
“What is it?”
“Jack the Dripper, of course.”
A completely bewildered expression settles over Pope’s rugged features as he stares at her, trying to figure out if she’s hallucinating from the blood loss.
“Let me get this straight. In order for you to forgive this club, you want a pack of hardened, lawless bikers to get a hot-pink dildo tattooed on their skin?”
“Yep. And he needs a little leather kutte, maybe some googly eyes or something. Oh! A mustache, too. He’ll look so cute.”
Pope slowly turns his head, fixing a deadpan, desperate stare on me. “And you’re getting this monstrosity, too?”
I let out a rough laugh, holding my hands up defensively. “Fuck no. I didn’t doubt her. This penance is entirely on you motherfuckers.”
“Shit,” he groans, but a reluctant smile finally cracks his hard jaw.
He shakes his head, pushing himself up to his feet.
“Fine. Okay. Fuck it. I better go break the news to the rest of the guys.” He walks toward the door, his boots thudding against the floorboards.
Before he steps out into the hallway, he glances back at Marigold, his eyes softening with deep, remorseful sincerity.
“I really am sorry, sunshine. You’re family.
That means something unshakeable here, and we forgot that for a minute. ”
The moment the door clicks shut behind him, I grab the back of the leather chair he just vacated, dragging it right up against the edge of the medical bed. “I can’t believe the man who carves people up with an axe actually just agreed to tattoo a fucking fake dick on his body.”
Marigold purses her lips, a smug, exhausted little look on her face. “Me either. Especially since I would have forgiven them all anyway.”
I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head at her sheer audacity.
I take her small, cold hand in mine, bringing her knuckles to my lips for a long, steady kiss.
“You scared the living shit out of me today, baby. I knew the wound wasn’t fatal the second I checked it, but I’ve officially had my lifetime fill of finding you bleeding out on the pavement. ”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs, her eyelids drooping slightly. “It might be worth a little blood loss just to get this sweet, gentle side of you.”
“Woman. I will literally spank your ass if you start hunting down physical trauma just to get a softer version of me. Newsflash, baby. You get that side of me regardless.”
She squeezes my fingers, her eyes drifting closed as the exhaustion finally starts to win. “I kind of love you. Did you know that?”
“Fucking love you, Goldie.” Leaning over the guardrail, I gently cup her jaw, brushing a soft, bruising kiss across her lips. “How’s the pain? How are you actually feeling?”
A sharp, tight grimace crosses her face as she tries to shift her weight into a more comfortable position on the stiff mattress. “Sore. But it’s fine. I’ve had worse.”
She nervously picks at the edge of the white thermal blanket draped over her lap, her breathing growing shallow.
“What’s running through that head of yours, little shadow?”
“I don’t know where the threat is coming from,” she admits softly, her voice dropping into a vulnerable whisper.
“I really thought it was Damon at first, but this... this isn’t his style.
Not a chaotic ambush like this. Damon likes to be up close and personal when he inflicts pain.
He wants you to see his face. But this guy.
.. he just stabbed me and said, ‘Stay away from him. They won’t warn you again.
’ Could this have something to do with you, Tomcat?
Maybe a scorned woman from your past who wasn’t pleased?
Someone who thinks she has a claim on you?
I don’t know why any of them would think that, though.
Everyone in this town knows you’re mine. ”
“First off, for the record, I always properly please,” I tell her, my voice full of mock indignation to break her tension.
She lifts a single brow, her lips twitching, but she stays quiet. The faint, sleepy amusement dancing in her eyes tells me she’s just teasing me to keep her own fear at bay.
“Secondly,” I continue, my tone turning dark and entirely serious, “I can’t be certain.
I’ve fucked around a lot in this life, Goldie.
I did my best never to lead anyone on or make promises I couldn’t keep, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’ve always been a saint.
There were times in my past when I said exactly what a woman wanted to hear just to get laid.
So, yeah. It’s entirely possible I broke a heart or pissed someone off along the way, and now they’re lashing out because they can’t handle the fact that I’m yours. ”
I reach out, using the pad of my thumb to gently soothe the tight, worried wrinkles bunching between her eyebrows.
“Try to rest for the night, baby. Let me worry about the logistics of this shit, okay?
Whoever the fuck this attacker is, whether they crawled out of my past or yours, we are going to hunt them down.
You said you came to the Saint's Outlaws for a reason. Give us a chance to prove we can protect you.”
“I am pretty tired of being a baddie all the time,” she sighs, her long eyelashes fluttering against her pale cheeks again.
I bite the inside of my cheek, barely holding back the flood of affection threatening to break me open. “It’s a tough gig, I know. Even the fiercest baddies deserve a break, little shadow.”
“True.” Marigold lets out a soft, ragged sigh, her eyes opening just a fraction to lock her drowsy gaze directly onto mine. “Good thing I have my own personal badass to take over for a shift. Will you come snuggle me?”
“We both won’t fit on this narrow bed without ripping your stitches open, baby.
” Her bottom lip instantly starts to pout, and I quickly place a warm finger over her lips to cut her off.
“If you close those eyes and get some real sleep right now, I’ll have one of the prospects make up the bed in my private room here.
I’ll carry you there later tonight. Deal? ”
“Promise?”
“On my life.” I lean in, brushing a tender kiss to her forehead, then over each of her closed eyelids, before letting my lips linger softly against hers. “Sleep, Goldie. I’m standing guard. I’ll keep your bogeyman away.”
“That’d be nice,” she breathes, her small frame relaxing into the mattress as her breathing finally evens out into a deep, healing sleep.