Casper (Steelwood MC - Meadow Falls #6)

1. Casper

one

Casper

Today just isn't my day. Talk about a streak of bad luck.

Meeting Davis was supposed to be the easiest part of today. All I had to do was get some information on the Outlaw Sinners, but instead, I found myself targeted by a bunch of dogs. The Ironwood Hounds, specifically.

Discovering I’m betrayed by one of our informants marks the beginning of my string of misfortunes.

Am I an idiot for thinking I could take three of them on myself? Sure. Didn't stop me from trying.

Despite killing one of them with one of the blades tucked at my side, I don't feel like a winner. After all, they're not the ones who are clutching their side and making a run for it with their tail tucked between their legs.

None of them had drawn a gun on me, leading me to believe they wanted me alive—likely to capture and torture me for my club's secrets.

Bastards.

Not only are my feelings hurt, but they've stabbed me and broken my glasses. Now I can't see a thing. Not that it matters. I don't need my eyes to know how fucked I am.

Holding my jacket tightly to conceal the blood leaking through my clothes, I attempt to quicken my pace. What I need is somewhere to hide before someone notices and calls the cops. Hell, or worse, those surviving assholes find me to finish the job.

Davis better pray I don't find him. When I do, I'm going to make sure to give him the same love those hounds gave me.

Cursing under my breath, I clutch my jacket closed as if it'll make much of a difference as I stumble forward. With one hand clutching the faded leather, my other hand grazes the different buildings at my side.

Before I torture him, I'm going to make sure he pays me back for those glasses. My prescription isn't cheap, and even worse, they're the only ones I had left.

My last backup got broken in one of the friendly tussles over with our Willowbrook Ridge charter.

Trying to force my eyes to focus only sends a spike of agony straight through my skull. Without my lenses, the world is just a bleeding smear of signs on display windows and a clear sky with nothing but sunshine, so I give up and rely on my boots to find the pavement.

I need somewhere to hide until I can get some backup. Hell, am I going to make it that long?

I can hear traffic up ahead, followed by the chatter of life. Knowing I can't risk going deep into where it's the most lively, I'm desperate, turning to using one of the shops on this strip to disappear.

Without much of a choice, even with the risk of entering one with a lot of life, I'm reaching out for the first door handle I can find.

The bell above the door chimes—a sharp, cheerful sound that slices right through my skull. I slam the door shut and fumble blindly for the lock, my palms smacking against cold metal until the deadbolt clicks. Thank fuck.

Feeling around for a cord of some sort in hopes of cutting off this blinding light, I find what I'm looking for and yank on it, making blinds cascade down. Now that the blinding sunshine cuts out, the heavy scent of old paper, leather, and vanilla hits me. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Before I can feel an ounce of relief, the quiet is broken by a sharp, tiny intake of breath—a startled feminine gasp that cuts right through my pounding headache.

I freeze, tracking the rustle of fabric, the nervous shuffle of sneakers on carpet, and then the distinct plastic clack of a phone being fumbled, and I can't stop a curse from leaving my lips.

"Whoa, hey, please don't—" I stammer, my hands coming up in a placating gesture before I can even stop myself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to burst in like a crazy person.

Just... Please don't call the cops, sweetheart.

I promise I'm harmless." Even with a blade to the gut, the last thing I want to do is terrify a girl in her own shop.

Just when I start questioning if what I've heard was my imagination becoming delirious, I hear more steps. This time, stumbling toward me.

I squint against the overhead glare, but the fluorescent lights just turn everything into a blinding white fog.

All I can make out is a fuzzy silhouette of someone short, topped with a soft blob of burgundy.

When I step closer, a sudden flash of pale motion cuts through the blur, her hands reaching for me, and I instinctively reel back.

"Clearly, you're harmless. You're hurt."

Her voice is like an old song I'd long forgotten. A sweet melody that's already latched on, ready to run on repeat.

"I'm fine," I murmur, though it's a clear lie as I close my eyes, hoping to soothe this pounding headache. "The lights. Can you shut them off? Oh, and don't let anyone in. Sorry, but you're going to have to close shop for a minute."

Whatever sales she loses because of this, Steelwood will take care of her. We're good with that.

I'm thankful when her form darts to the side to meet my request. The moment the shop is doused in darkness, I'm already feeling better. Unfortunately, my greatest enemy, the sun, isn't making it completely dark. Enough that I can look down and see my wound isn't stopping.

A few more steps forward, and I'm hunting down somewhere to sit. Feeling a little woozy. There's a wooden table paired with chairs with my name written on it.

"You need an ambulance." The sweet voice is back before I even register her moving. Now that she’s hovering right in front of me, the blurry world finally resolves into a soft, round face.

I can't catch every little detail, but I can see the warm wash of pink flushing her cheeks.

Even a blind guy could guess she's terrified, but man, she’s pretty.

"Got a name, sweetheart?"

She sputters at that, not giving me the information right away. Finally, she lets out the softest of groans. "Kylee."

"Listen, Kylee. If you can't tell, I'm in a tough spot right now, and I really don't want the people who did this to know where I am. If any cops come here, you're putting a target on me. So please, believe me, I'm okay."

Shifting against the seat, I can't get comfortable no matter how I try to twist.

"You're bleeding all over everything," she murmurs, the words sounding more like a complaint than a worry. I can't help but crack a grin at that.

The sooner we can address this issue, the sooner I can get out of her hair so I don't risk having to replace everything here in this...

I look around, wondering if this is some kind of bookstore from the way it smells.

Focus, man.

"Here, take my phone." Pulling open my jacket, I hear another startled gasp come from the woman as I grab the device from an inner pocket. "Oh, it's not that bad, I promise."

I can't tell, really, but I can feel the wetness from my wound having stained the inside of my jacket. Okay, maybe it's a little bad.

Reaching out with my other hand, I search for something that is hers before feeling fingers wrapping around my hand.

They're soft and gentle, and I can't miss the slight tremble in them.

Pressing my phone into her hand, I instinctively brush my thumb over her knuckles, smoothing over her shakes.

It's meant to calm her down, but honestly, the physical contact is the only thing keeping me upright.

She’s trembling, and it makes me want to pull her close and shield her from the whole damn world. If I make it through this rough patch of mine, I'm going to have to come back and apologize for everything.

"Go to my messages. There's a group chat right at the top. I need you to text your address for me." Folding her fingers around the device, I smile. "Think you can do that for me? I really don't want to make you witness some random guy die in your shop."

Thankfully, Kylee does as I ask of her. Her nails tap nervously against the screen of my phone. She’s fast.

"What else should I tell them?" Her voice wavers, shaking at the core.

"Uh, the less you know, the better, I think." Wincing, I slouch and sigh. Closing my eyes, I feel the dizziness replace the headache. "Send them a skull emoji. They'll get a kick out of that."

She scoffs, and I know she must've from the next tap of her finger. Suddenly, the device starts vibrating.

"Dante is calling." The panic is back, and she drops the phone on my thigh.

"Let it ring. He'll get here faster if he thinks I'm dead.

" Shifting, I hear it hit the ground, the vibrations swallowed up by the carpet beneath us.

"He's going to be scary when he comes here, but I promise, he's a good guy.

Listen, Kylee." Cracking my eyes open, I curl my finger to make her lean in.

When she does, I'm hit with the warm, clean scent of glue and old paper. Man, she smells like a quiet library, and after the day I’ve had, it’s the most comforting thing I've ever inhaled.

"Don't open the door for anyone but a guy with a wicked scar on his face, alright?" Trying to cover all the bases, I hear her quick inhale of breath.

"Oh my God. You're dying." Suddenly, her hands are on me, pushing open my jacket as she pleases.

Fuck, it hurts when she presses her hand against my wound.

She’s throwing her whole weight into it, adding a hell of a lot more pressure than I could manage on my own.

It hurts like a bitch, but having her leaning over me like this makes the darkness creeping into the edges of my brain feel a little less terrifying.

“Yeah,” I breathe out, letting my head drop back with a weak chuckle. She scolds me with a soft gasp, and even with the room spinning, I can't help but smile. “Definitely going under, sweetheart. Don't miss me too much. Just remember... guy with the scar.”

My words become muffled, and I try to explain Dante better. God, Dante better be the one to come save my ass. All those times I've saved his?

Before I can even consider the chance of someone else getting here first, blackness is swallowing me whole, leaving nothing but the shakiness of her breathing.