Three
I t seemed really unwise for them to make a big deal of my return, but Reacher and Stitch were determined to act like nothing was going on, even while we all knew the club was under attack.
“Just a few pints, and I’m going up to my room to rest,” I muttered as Stitch followed me to the bar, which was too fucking full of my brothers, and felt too fucking oppressive right now. I’d only been back an hour, barely had time to shave my head, and get freshened up, and now I was expected to make nice with a roomful of people, while I know that one of these fuckers tried to kill me.
How was I supposed to smile and shoot the shit with everyone, when I knew that one of them was a cowardly fuck who’d literally stabbed me in the back? I should just fucking ask them to own up, so I can sort this shit out. See how they like being fucking stabbed, and left for dead.
“Torch… what’s, fuck … what’s going on?” Stitch dragged me back away before I could even get into it with anyone.
“VP?”
He groaned, shoving a hand through his long blonde hair.
“Brother, this isn’t the time, yeah? Just let them welcome you back, and we can figure out who did it, so you can kick their ass, okay?”
It was pissing me off that it had taken even this fucking long, and we still had no idea who the fucker was. Were they just sitting around and waiting for this asshole to own up, or something?
“Tell me you could just do this, man. That you could really just walk up to these guys and pretend like your shit is all together, when you know, you KNOW, that one of them stuck a fucking knife in your back, and left you to die.”
I could see he understood where I was coming from. I could see that he fucking got it, but still he expected me to make nice with these fuckers, and suddenly I was wondering if I trusted a single fucking one of them.
“Torch-”
“No, fuck this. I’m not… I can’t just fucking banter with them, knowing I could be talking to the one person who wanted me dead, and I won’t know.”
I shoved past him and headed back to my room, slamming the door hard once I was safe inside my personal space. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the ‘hiding in my room’ kinda pussy, but what was the alternative? Hanging out there, like I was just begging for another knife in my back, another attempt to kill me. Surely to fuck they didn’t think that was the right move!
“Torch?” A light tapping on the door preceded a face peeping around it at me. A face I barely recognised, and with good reason. Once upon a time, you’d never have seen Has-Been with a fucking beanie on his head, but the same fucker who tried to kill me gave him a head injury serious enough that they had to shave off his fucking dreads, and left him looking like a stranger.
“Hey, man.”
“Can I come in? I brought beer.” Like I’d say no to that. I waved him in, and he shoved the door closed behind him.
“Is Elise safe?” I knew he wouldn’t leave her alone if not, because that fucker had tried to take her twice too.
“Yeah, she’s with Stitch and Cammy. They thought you might be open to me hanging with you.”
“Like I need a fucking babysitter or some shit?”
“No, like they get that you probably don’t think I stabbed you, since I was unconscious and spray painted at the time.”
It came down to that, didn’t it? I knew it wasn’t him for that very reason. Would I have turned him away otherwise?
“Here,” Has said, shoving a beer in my direction. It wasn’t open already, and it was weird that I even checked that and took comfort in it.
“It’s safe, man. It’s just me, but I get it. This is a fucked up situation, not knowing who you can trust, and the sickening realisation that someone we consider family is out to get us.” Has looked morose as fuck, and shouldn’t he be feeling good what with his new old lady?
“You tatted Elise yet?”
Has smirked, shaking his head.
“We were going to get it done, but,” he sighed heavily, “truthfully we’re both feeling kinda exposed too. Like I’m sure I can trust Rocket, but I definitely don’t want him inking her. That means I have to do it, and that’s cool, but either way he’s gotta do me. I’m sure he didn’t do this to us, but that suspicion in the back of my mind is making me hold back.”
“This fucker’s gone after your old lady twice, man. That must eat you up.”
“Yeah, thanks. That’s really fucking helpful.”
I snorted, leaning back on my sofa and wincing, when something tweaked the healing wound on my back. I thought I was being careful, but it was easy to forget there were still wounds there, just taking a little longer to heal up than I wanted. I mean, I was a young healthy guy, so why the fuck did stab-wounds take so fucking long to close up?
“Sorry, man. Guess I just wanna share the misery right now, ya know?”
Has groaned, reaching up to drag the beanie off his head, rubbing a palm over the stubbly regrowth of his light hair.
“I know it’s not the same, but it took me fucking years to grow all that hair, my dreads were my identity, and they’re just gone. I feel like I’m looking at an overgrown baby when I look in the mirror now.”
“As opposed to what?”
“Kiss my ass. All I’m saying is, the sooner we find this fucker, the better. Our ladies need to be safe, and so do we.”
I hear that. I just wished I had a fucking lady of my own, but the sneaky little minx was playing so hard to get right now. I briefly wondered if I should get injured again, just to end up under her ‘care’ again for a while.
“I guess if I asked you to stab me, you’d say no, right?”
“What the fuck!”
Grace
A week had passed since he’d been my patient, and I had to admit that I thought of him often. It wasn’t like I was pining for him, or anything that lame. It was just that he’d made my days feel fuller, and more vibrant, even if I’d spent so much of that time irritated by his behaviour, or at least feigning it.
I’d never admit it, but I’d actually driven around on that first day, between shifts, locating the biker clubhouse he’d told me he lived in. You couldn’t really see much, because of high walls surrounding the complex, and big solid metal gates, but I knew where it was now. There was a small fairly empty high street to one side of the biker complex, and a therapist situated in one of the units there.
A week later, I drove there again and parked up, walking the high street to check out the one business there. That wasn’t like I was loitering to see him, right? I was admiring an intriguing sign for a business, that’s all.
The sign above the door was beautifully designed, almost like it had been done by artists rather than sign-painters. I was probably doing them a disservice for thinking of it that way, but it was intricately painted, almost like a tattoo, and as I absorbed the words on the sign, I realised why. Phoenix Therapy, right beside the Phoenix MC complex. It had to be connected to the bikers, right?
“Hi, are you going in?” There was an actual biker standing behind me, as I gazed at the sign and blocked the door like a moron. I hadn’t seen this one at the hospital, but he smiled sweetly at me as he reached for the door, and gestured to me to step in first. What was I doing? I found myself following his gesture when I’d never meant to step inside the place at all. He had very short, buzzcut hair and pale eyes, and those eyes instantly moved past me like I didn’t exist, but landed on the beautiful redhead who emerged from the office.
“Hey babe, you’ve got a client waiting… is it client? Customer? Victim?”
They both laughed as she came over to us.
“Please ignore my inappropriate man. I’m Lissa. I’m afraid I didn’t see any appointments booked apart from his one this morning? Did you arrange an appointment?”
“Oh. No, sorry, I was just uh… looking, that’s all. You see non-bikers here too?”
The woman, Lissa, smiled and leaned up to kiss the biker, a brief touch of her lips before she eased back down, waving him past her.
“I’ll be there in a minute. Get settled, and wait for me?”
He smirked, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.
“Might start without ya,” he murmured, offering me a wave as he headed for the door, and I suddenly wondered what kind of therapist she even was. Had I noticed that on the sign anywhere? What if this was some kind of sex therapist office, or something equally embarrassing?
“Please ignore Ice. He’s just being an ass, but at least he’s here.”
I glanced around the small reception again, taking in the details. It honestly looked like any therapy office, for any purpose, but what did I expect? Graphic pictures on the walls if it was something sex related?
“Uh… what kind of uh… It just says Therapy, so I was just wondering-”
“We mostly focus on healing the mind here, so some clients come here with anxiety related issues, and some have drug-related issues. I’m expanding my training all the time, to try and help anyone who walks through the door,” Lissa offered me a smile, and gestured to the seats in the waiting area.
“Would you like to ask any questions to see if what we offer is a good fit for you?”
I sat and then shook my head.
“Oh god, no, you’ve got someone waiting. I can… I can come back another time.”
Lissa sat beside me, and patted my arm as I moved to stand again.
“Please, don’t worry about Ice. He’s my uh… other half, so it’s fine if I keep him waiting, okay?” Oh. She had hinted at that enough times, hadn’t she?
“I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest. I was admiring your sign, and then I was just… I don’t think I need therapy though.” Who was I kidding? Most of us needed it at some point, and maybe I needed the help to avoid men like the one I couldn’t stop thinking about, but would she be the right person to talk to? She clearly had similar tastes to me.
“It doesn’t need to be ‘therapy’ as such. Sometimes people just need to talk things out, even just to hear them out loud. I can be a listening post just as easily as trying to offer any further support.” Something about her made me want to talk to her, but why would I do this here? I was literally trying to avoid the wrong type of man, so I’d ended up at a therapist’s office connected to the very man I was trying to avoid.
“I need help with a man… oh, avoiding a man. That’s not coming out right at all. I have really bad taste in men. I go for the wrong men. I need to forget someone.” Oh nice. Word vomit time, borderline gibberish, even, and to the one person who would know the man I was trying to avoid.