Chapter Five
Colter
“Hit me again,” Raff said with a boyish smile.
The woman next to him, dressed in a damn nurse’s Halloween costume, reached for his electrolyte drink—complete with a hot pink twisty straw—and held it up to him.
“Not a fucking thing wrong with his arms,” Slash said as he walked past, shaking his head.
“I’m under strict orders,” Raff said, feigning offense.
“To stay on your ass. Not to not reach for your own drink,” Slash shot back.
Was the guy milking his injury?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
But we were so damn glad he made it that we generally ignored his revolving door of women wearing various kinds of nurse’s dresses or scrubs that had been around the clubhouse for the past day and a half.
It really had been touch-and-go for him that first night.
Dr. Price said that Raff had been putting on a good show for us so we didn’t worry, that he was in the beginning stages of shock when he got to the office.
But because it was a small town and we wanted to avoid the hospital if at all possible, there was no chance for a transfusion.
He’d been pumped full of fluids, cleaned and stitched up, and slowly stabilized.
Raff came home with an IV drip—something Dr. Price said was not normally done, but he was bending rules for him since he would be doing daily house calls—and under strict orders to eat lots of red meat, spinach, and beans.
He was also instructed to move around as little as possible.
To not pull his stitches, sure. But more so, because it was going to take his body up to six weeks to replace his red blood cells.
And until then, he was going to be weak.
He wasn’t kidding, either.
Raff got winded and pale as fuck each time he even needed to go to the bathroom. So we’d planted his ass in the living room where everyone could keep an eye on him and get him whatever he needed.
He took it a step further by inviting half the female population over to wait on him hand and foot. Despite there being no option for any… pain relief.
“Babe, don’t wanna be rude, but I’m gonna need your, ah, shift to be over,” Slash said.
“That’s okay. I have to get to actual work anyway,” the woman said, patting Raff’s good leg, then grabbing her bag and heading out, still wearing her costume.
“I was this close to getting a sponge bath,” Raff said with a long-suffering sigh.
“We’ve put this off long enough. Rook is on his way over to tell us what he figured out about this club. And I want to know more about this woman.”
“What woman?” Raff asked, brows pinching as he pulled another blanket off the stack sitting beside him. With all the blood loss, he wasn’t able to get warm enough anymore.
Sway hadn’t seen her either.
If it wasn’t for the guy dead with a plug in his heart, I would think I’d fucking imagined her.
But she’d been there, dammit.
Why was the real question.
“The one who shot the guy who was gonna off Colter,” Sway said, bringing a cup of coffee over to Raff.
“How’d I miss that?”
“You were busy getting stabbed,” I explained.
“I heard the shot… but I figured it was one of us with how the other guys ran off.”
“No, there was a woman who must have been watching. And she saw the guy behind me, she took him out.”
“Bitter ex?” Slash suggested.
“With that good of an aim from that far away?” I asked. “Maybe. But… I dunno. I’m not sold on that.”
“No one saw a car?”
“No,” I said. “But we were trying to get the hell out of there.”
“Did you remember anything else about her?”
“Pretty. Gorgeous. Long dark hair, pulled back. Full lips. Cleft chin. Eyes… dark. Can’t tell you if they were brown or blue, but definitely on the dark side.”
“Build?”
I shrugged at that.
“On the taller side. Five-eight, maybe. Fit, but not thin. She had hips and tits. All black outfit. Leather jacket.”
“Leather jacket,” Sway repeated. “Wasn’t it warm that night?”
It had been.
“You know chicks, though,” Sway said, shrugging. “They tend to run colder than us.”
“What is it?” Slash asked, watching me, as we heard a couple of bikes rumble up toward the club.
Which also had me stiffening.
“The jacket wasn’t something a woman would have bought herself.”
“Why?”
“It wasn’t a woman’s jacket,” I recalled, thinking of the closure. “The zipper was on the right.”
“What?” Slash asked.
“Women’s zippers and buttons are on the left side,” I explained. “Men’s are on the right. Hers were on the right. And the jacket looked old. Worn. Well-loved. And too big for her.”
“Boyfriend, maybe,” Sway suggested.
There was no logical reason for the way my stomach twisted. So I went ahead and ignored that shit.
“Maybe,” I agreed.
“Connected to the club somehow?” Raff said.
The door opened, then and in walked Rook, Judge, and Coach.
“Tell me you got something,” Slash said.
Because he was looking for vengeance.
Not for the sideways deal, but because one of Roach’s men thought they could try to kill me.
Negotiations and fights, that was shit that could be forgiven.
Attempted murder?
Not so much.
They’d have to pay for it.
But we needed to know more about them first.
It wasn’t like we fully vetted every organization that bought guns from us. It wasn’t necessary. So we just knew the basics about these guys. Bikers. President named Roach. A general area. That was it.
“Not as much as you probably want,” Rook said with a sigh.
He looked sleepless—eyes red-rimmed, lids swollen, and purple smudges underneath. The jumpy nature of his movements said he had a shit ton of caffeine in his system.
I didn’t have much hope for what he had to say if he’d been without sleep.
“Whatever you have now is more than we have.”
“Roach’s real name is Rodney Harris.”
“Rodney,” Syn snorted as he came into the common area.
“Says someone named Syn,” Sway shot back.
“Fair. Is my brother here yet?”
“He looked like he was on his way, but Mike’s beater pulled up,” Rook explained.
Saint wasn’t living fully at the club yet, thanks to being on parole and needing to be around for random checks. Sure, Mike Ellers—with his four ex-wives, alimony, and child support—was easy to bribe. But we tried not to push shit too far with his easygoing nature.
“You can fill him in later,” Slash said. “Rodney Harris…”
“Has a criminal record,” Rook continued. “His juvenile record is sealed, but if it’s anything like his adult record, he’s been a problem his whole life.”
“Prison?” Slash asked.
“One short stint for solicitation. Mostly jail, though. For a revolving door of things: more solicitation, possession, pandering…”
“Pandering?” Syn asked.
“Nice way of saying pimping,” Slash explained. “Why didn’t he go away for any bids?”
“Fucking luck,” Rook said. “Charges got reduced, witnesses didn’t cooperate or disappeared, sat rotting in county for how long he would have gone away to prison.
He just kept slipping through the system.
And he’s never triggered the three-strikes because the felonies were mostly non-violent. But make no mistake, he’s violent.”
“How do you know?”
“The girls he used to pimp,” Rook explained. “Anytime they got pulled in on a solicitation or drug charge, they were roughed up. The mugshots are… ugly,” Rook said.
The man saw a lot of fucked-up shit.
So if he said it was ugly, that was really saying something.
“Maybe she could be one of his former girls?” Slash proposed, looking at me.
“I dunno. Anything is possible.”
“I dunno,” Rook said. “The description you gave me doesn’t match any of the girls I came across. I mean, it’s entirely possible that she just never got called in.”
“Or maybe it was a sibling,” Saint said, making us all turn to find him striding into the room. “Big sister, bet she’d do anything for a little.”
He would know.
He’d done years to save his brother.
“I’ll dig deeper,” Rook said.
“After some sleep,” Slash demanded. “Did you find out anything else about Roach?”
“All those charges, they stopped about two years back. Since then, he’s fallen off the radar. Can’t even find a current address for him.”
“He had no biker ties before he fell off the face of the earth?” Slash asked.
“Not that I can find. From what I can tell, he didn’t even have a motorcycle license.”
“Interesting,” Slash said. “Alright. I need you to get some sleep. Maybe get some pictures of the girls for Colter to go through—see if you see her or someone who looks like her.”
“On it,” Rook agreed. “Mind if I crash in your room?” he asked, looking at Raff.
“I’m not allowed to go up, so have at it,” Raff invited.
Slash waited for him to walk off before turning back to us. “He’s gonna be out for the next eight to ten hours,” he said. “I know no one else has the hacking skills he does, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look into this.”
“Should get the girls on it,” Raff said. “What? Women can figure out everything about a guy before a first date, from credit score to dick size. Trust me. Ask the girls to start doing some digging. Probably have a five hundred page portfolio before Rook wakes up.”
“It’s worth a shot,” Slash agreed. “I’ll ask Nyx to get the word… who is that?” he asked when there was a knock at the door.
“Knock knock,” a familiar voice said as she cracked open the door.
Then there she was.
Detroit’s cousin.
Raff’s crush.
Lula.
Anyone who saw the woman could understand why Raff had set his sights on her since the first time he saw her.
Lula was pure feminine softness, both in face and body. She had high cheekbones, a soft jaw, big light brown eyes, wide hips, thick thighs, a killer rack, and a snatched waist.
She was always dressed to the nines.
She had on one of those professional-type dresses with a hemline that fell below the knees and a neckline that was up above the collarbones, but the whole thing was tight enough to show off every curve and the crisp white color looked stunning against her copper skin.
“Lula. Did I actually die? Is this heaven?” Raff, dramatic as ever, asked.
Lula rolled her eyes at that.
“I was told you nearly died,” she said, her heels clicking across the floor.
“And you came to declare your undying love for me,” Raff said, sitting up straighter. “Okay. I’m ready. Sway, get the tissues. I see tears in the future.”
“Do you take anything seriously?” Lula asked.
“I take you very, very seriously.”
“Do you?” she asked, leaning down to grab something off the floor. Then she held up a nurse’s hat and gave him a raised-brow look.
“I have medical care,” Raff said, wincing.
“Is that what we’re calling it?” she asked, shaking her head. “Cillian wanted me to drop by and ask if you need anything.”
He hid it fast with his easy smile, but I saw the flash of hurt across his eyes at realizing she hadn’t dropped by out of her own genuine concern for him.
“All of you,” she added, looking over at Slash.
“Tell him I appreciate it. But we’re still… researching now.”
“I will share it. So, how are you doing?” she asked, looking at Raff.
“I’m a little cold,” Raff said. “And could use someone soft to curl up with.” He lifted the blankets to invite her in.
“Somehow I’m sure you won’t be cold and uncomfortable for long,” she said, placing the nurse’s cap down on the table.
“Glad to see getting stabbed hasn’t affected your spirit.
Well, I’ve done my check-in. I have to get to work.
I’ll tell Cillian you’ll be in touch,” she said to Slash, then walked out.
She didn’t look back at Raff.
He watched her all the way to the door.
“Alright. I’m out. Detroit said he will be over to cook you some more iron-rich food,” he said to Raff.
“I’m pretty sure my body can replenish my red blood cells if I, you know, eat some pizza too.”
“You’re following doctor’s orders,” Slash told him on the way to the door. “Next time I stop in, I want to hear some progress on who the hell this woman is.”
He wouldn’t have to wait that long.
Because the next day, there was a knock on the door.
And there she was.