Chapter Two. #2
“Belladonna, what the fuck?” Sparrow demanded. She was the one who teleported—and the VP, considering the patches. She actually teleported!
Sapphire, still supporting Belladonna, came close. “I know what’s happening to Drake,” Belladonna gasped, decidedly pale and holding my gaze.
“What?”
“Somebody is psychically attacking him,” Belladonna whispered.
“What?” I demanded.
“Let’s take this inside. Sparrow, can you bring him? Phoenix has already seen what you can do,” Sapphire said calmly. “I’m Sapphire, President of the Portsmouth Chapter.”
“Would someone please explain what just happened and what Belladonna means?” I pleaded as Drake suddenly rose into the air. I gasped and tried to grab him.
“Phoenix. Sparrow has telekinesis and teleportation powers. Come with us, we’ll explain everything,” Sapphire ordered, but not unkindly.
“Fine,” I said, shaken. This was beyond my comfort zone.
Sapphire
Considering the shock that she’d just experienced, Phoenix Michaelson was handling herself well. I led her to one of the spare rooms that the girls could appropriate when working and needing a quiet place.
“Coffee? Pop? Something harder?”
“I’d kill for a Jack Daniel’s.”
“Good choice,” I said as Sparrow floated Drake in and laid him on the table. Nun disappeared and returned a few moments later. By the amount of liquid inside, she’d made Phoenix a double. Phoenix took the glass, knocked it back, and slammed it down before blowing out her cheeks.
“Right. I know the Royal Bastards in Camden, Maine, have powers. I’ve met them.”
“Yeah,” I replied with a grin as Nun reappeared with two glasses of Jack Daniel’s. She handed one to Phoenix again and the other to me.
“And I’m guessing you have too. I can’t believe what I just saw.”
“Yes. We do, and it’s not something we flaunt,” I stated.
“No, I understand why. What happened out there?” Phoenix demanded.
“Bells?” I asked Belladonna, turning to her.
“I heard Phoenix outside and was going to meet her. There was a surge of pure hate, completely unadulterated loathing. I screamed at Nun to stop Drake from leaving, because whoever sent it told Drake to jump in front of a car. They’re unaware of where Drake is, but they guessed he’s getting help.
They weren’t prepared to let that happen.
Heart and I simultaneously felt it. That’s why she’s knocked out,” Belladonna explained as a woman wearing a cut saying Stitch entered.
“Storm’s taken Heart to bed. She’ll be unconscious for hours. Someone wanna tell me what the fuck happened and if she’s behind this?” Stitch demanded, pointing to me.
Belladonna repeated her explanation, and Stitch frowned. “Why’s he not waking up?”
“Well, after Bells screamed, Dagger threw a monster in his path, making Drake stop. Then Tinkerbell iced his feet, and Sparrow teleported and punched him to stop him running. Finally, I think Belladonna knocked him out with a psychic punch,” I summed up.
“Yeah, that was a freaky fuckin’ creature. Where the hell did you get that idea from, Dagger?” Tinkerbell demanded, turning to the Royal Harlot enforcer.
“The cop was watching a horror movie; I planned to scare the pants off him,” Dagger replied.
My eyes narrowed before I grinned. “Do it. And when Wylde scares himself stupid, I can be the big, brave girlfriend.”
Phoenix stared incredulously. “You’re all whacked.”
“Yeah, but we’re going to help you. Belladonna, did you get anything else?”
“Whoever this is, really wants Drake dead. There was no hesitation in the order. Without scanning Drake further, there’s not a lot I can suggest, but it’s worrying. This hasn’t happened overnight. Not the way the guy punched into his brain. They meant business,” Belladonna said.
“Somebody’s doing this to Drake?” Phoenix gasped.
“Yes, Drake has definitely been targeted. There’s no doubt in my mind.
And the level of hate was so extreme, it knocked Heart unconscious.
She has her walls up constantly because of shit like this.
I can’t elaborate further unless Drake is awake and I can examine him.
Give him twenty minutes, and he should wake up.
I punched him rather hard.” Belladonna shrugged.
“Oh well, he can take it,” Phoenix quipped.
I smiled. Maybe she wasn’t a stuck-up English bitch after all. I nodded in approval and tipped my glass to her.
Drake
“What the hell hit me?” I demanded, opening my eyes.
“Me,” two women spoke together.
I blinked. “Where am I? Phoe?”
Phoe appeared and held my hand. “We’re in Portsmouth.”
“As in New Hampshire? Why?”
Phoe frowned and exchanged a worried look with a couple of the strangers. “You don’t remember?”
“No. Phoe, what the fuck is happening?” I growled out and sat up from where I lay on a table. A woman stared at me expressionlessly. “Royal Harlots MC? I’ve permission to be here?” I demanded aware of the courtesy of being in another MC’s territory.
“Yes, you have. What’s the last thing you recall?” a woman asked, stepping forward. “I’m Sapphire, the president.”
“Yo. And I don’t know. Everything seems a blur, almost foggy,” I replied.
I searched my mind for my last clear recollection, and there was nothing.
It felt like I was detached from my life.
It didn’t make sense. The concern on Phoe’s face was worrying; why was she so scared?
I began to get slightly alarmed; something had happened, and I’d no idea what.
“Someone start talking, tell me what the fuck is going on,” I demanded, and Phoe burst into tears.
“That’s my real husband!” she exclaimed as a woman placed a hand on Phoe’s shoulder.
“What the hell, Phoe?”
“You’ve been depressed, moody, and avoided the club and your brothers. You won’t spend time with the kids or me, and basically, Drake, you’re suicidal!” Phoe sobbed.
I scoffed. Suicidal, my ass.
“You’ve been like that for the last few months, since the war,” Phoe continued…
I flinched as I felt it. The moment Phoe said the word war, I began slipping.
Guilt swamped me, followed by a grief I’d no right to experience.
I saw Inglorious as sorrow nearly broke him.
A decent man who should have his club brothers standing by him and not in the ground.
That was my fault. I’d put them there. The Allies had lost members because I was too selfish to hand over president.
I felt the tears as Inglorious stood at each funeral, wounded and dignified as he buried those he called brother.
Why were mine alive when his weren’t? I should be the one who’d died.
Too many decent men were pushing up the daisies while I walked the earth still.
I had to be devil’s spawn because he certainly blessed me.
“Damn, Judas is good,” Belladonna muttered, and I didn’t even bother looking at her.
What was she to me? Another victim waiting in the background.
I had to get out of here before my cursed luck came down on her and brought her low.
The Royal Harlots MC didn’t deserve to lose people like everyone else had.
“Belladonna?” Phoe asked.
“Drake’s sunk completely into a different mindset. The word ‘war’ triggered him,” she explained.
Triggered me? I was beyond that. The truth was, I deserved death. Walking in front of a car or drowning in the sea would do it. But, I argued, I should suffer. Why should I get a peaceful end when thousands hadn’t?
A sharp pain made me flinch; my mind cleared, and I gazed into the concerned eyes of Phoe.
“Houston, we have a problem,” Belladonna whispered as she held my gaze. There was worry in her voice, which scared me because I’d no idea what she was so anxious about.