Chapter 9
Callan
Carter’s phone rang just as we were straddling our bikes, getting ready to leave the gas station.
I paused with my hand over the key in the ignition, something in my gut telling me I was going to want to hear whatever Carter was about to be told.
The acid in my gut boiled, threatening to turn against me and make me vomit.
I’d been against leaving Rachel, but the club came first. I took a fucking vow.
And for the past few hours, I’d been regretting the fuck out of that vow, even if this club had given me a home and freedom I wouldn’t have otherwise.
Because when I’d met Carter, I’d been on a path of self-destruction, and it would’ve only been a matter of time before I ended up in prison. This man—my best friend—had saved me.
I trusted Brittany and Genesis… but I didn’t trust them enough with Rachel.
Not with the Souls of Grim after her specifically.
We still didn’t know why. Carter’s grandfather was still in a coma, so we had no fucking answers.
And I had a feeling that the old man knew everything we needed to know so we could protect her better.
He’d sent her running straight to us without a stitch of clothing packed for a reason. But other than the Souls of Grim MC being after her, we knew nothing of the why.
Since I’d left home early this morning though, my gut had been so tight, I couldn’t even stomach a cup of coffee when we’d stopped a few hours ago, and while Carter, Orlando, and Bruce had grabbed a bite to eat from the backwoods gas station we’d stopped at, the thought of food or drink made me nauseous.
Carter’s face paled. “What?” he growled. His eyes flickered to me for a moment, and then, he cursed, yanking his fingers through his hair. “Fuck!” he shouted. He looked at me, but I already knew.
I already fucking knew.
“Rachel is missing—”
I punched him in the face. He stumbled, his back slamming against the pole holding up the covering over the gas pumps we were parked next to.
He worked his jaw around, mumbled something to whoever called him, and then shoved his phone into his pocket.
Blood ran down his chin, and he spit some out on the ground.
“We’re turning the fuck around,” I snarled at him before he could say a word. Fuck this run. Fuck this cut. Fuck this club. “I told you I didn’t want to fucking leave her. This is why.”
He spit more blood onto the ground, his lips bloody. “They’re searching for her—”
“Who?!” I barked, turned my bike on and strapping my helmet to my head. He could follow me or not. I didn’t give a fuck. But I was turning around.
I should have never left her.
“Brittany,” he told me over the roar of my bike engine. “Genesis is on her way to the hospital. Henry is…” Carter swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “He didn’t fucking make it.”
I shook my head and gunned the engine, the beast roaring beneath me as I tore out of the parking lot, heading back home, not even waiting on Carter.
Fuck ranking. Fuck how we were supposed to ride.
My fucking woman was missing, and I was about to rain hell down on whoever took her from me.
The Bluetooth earpiece connected to my burner began ringing in my ear. I cursed and reached up, pressing it to answer the call. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to someone, but it could be news on Rachel. “What?” I growled.
“Brittany found her,” Carter told me. My heart clenched in my chest because there was something in his voice that screamed he had bad news for me. “Head for the hospital.”
My grip tightened on the handlebars. The hospital…
The fucking hospital.
I tried not to picture the worst-case scenarios, but it was damn near impossible not to. Because why the fuck would Rachel need a hospital unless it was really fucking bad? We didn’t go to the hospital over minor shit. I hadn’t even taken her when she’d clearly been suffering from a concussion.
I aimed my eyes on the road, inching the speedometer up higher to deadly speeds.
I had to fucking get to her. Because clearly, I was the only fucking person capable of protecting her. And right now, she was vulnerable as fuck and unable to protect herself.
I rushed through the emergency room doors, my gaze immediately homing in on Brittany. Her shirt was ruined, blood staining the fabric. Her jeans were splattered in mud, and her boots were coated in the dark substance. A smear of dirt was on her cheek, and her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.
Nausea churned in my gut.
Please don’t let that be Rachel’s blood.
“Callan…” she breathed, rushing to me.
I crushed her in a hug, and she immediately dissolved into tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs. As if she’d been remaining strong until someone could come home and take the strain off her shoulders.
“Talk to me,” I rasped, gently easing her back some. “I’m going out of my fucking mind.”
She stepped back and brushed at a tear as it ran down her cheek.
“Rachel had the shit beaten out of her before I got to her.” I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
“The president of the Souls of Grim had her, and his sergeant at arms and his secretary were with him.” She swallowed thickly.
“I only managed to incapacitate the SAA and the secretary. The prez got away. I tied them up and got Rachel to the hospital as fast as I fucking could. She was already unconscious, and her pulse was too slow. I didn’t have time to get them to the clubhouse.
She needed immediate medical attention, or she wasn’t going to make it. ”
I ran my hands down my face and tugged roughly at my beard, letting the pain settle me so I wouldn’t spiral out of control. I could find them again if they’d gotten away—no problem. Rachel was my only fucking concern.
“She’s in surgery.” Brittany swiped at her cheeks, smearing the dirt there.
“Her spleen is ruptured. Her wrist is broken and has to be reset. She’s got some broken and cracked ribs.
A severe concussion. And um…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath, then licked her lips and grabbed my hand in hers.
“Rachel was in the very early stages of pregnancy.”
No.
Fuck no.
“She miscarried, Callan. And the damage done there is so bad… the doctor doesn’t think she’ll be able to carry more kids. They beat her nearly to death. We’re looking at a possible hysterectomy.”
I blinked. Blinked again. And then, I sagged heavily into a chair, my hands trembling. Brittany sat beside me, her hands still grasping mine. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shook my head, trying to resettle myself. I couldn’t bring back what we’d lost, but I sure as fuck could make someone pay. And I was going to. Vengeance would be mine.
“The two men,” I rumbled, looking at the club’s VP, “where are they?”
Brittany blew out a soft breath. “Carter said he was going to get them to the clubhouse if they’re still where I left them.”
“And Genesis?” I asked as I stood back to my feet.
Brittany tried to force a smile to her lips, but she couldn’t. It was rare to see Brittany, who was always so strong because her position called for it, splintering apart at the edges.
“Concussion. She lost a tooth when her mouth hit the steering wheel. Fracture around her right eye socket. Two broken fingers. Ruptured her spleen and fucked up her knee, but she’s okay otherwise.”
I nodded once. It was better than dead, I supposed. Fucking sucked we lost Henry. He hadn’t been the brightest tool in the shed, but he’d been loyal and eager to prospect.
“Call me when Rachel is out of surgery.”
She nodded once, and I could feel her eyes burning holes into my back as I walked back out of the hospital, an eerie calm settling over me where there’d just been burning anger and raw, searing loss.
These fuckers were going to pay for what they’d done to my fucking woman.
Carter shook his head when I walked in. “They were gone,” he told me when I stopped and stared at him, wondering what the hell he was doing at the bar instead of down in the basement.
I rolled my jaw around before stalking to the other side of the bar and pouring a shot, not bothering to say a word.
I downed it before pouring another, throwing that one back, too.
Then, I set the glass down loudly and flattened my hands on the countertop, staring down at my fingers.
Brittany had done what she could, but she’d done right by choosing to save Rachel instead of getting those fuckers back to the clubhouse.
But fuck, I was so angry that I couldn’t beat the shit out of them.
Couldn’t torture them. Cut them open and rupture their spleens like they’d done my woman.
Couldn’t cut off their dicks like they’d taken a child from us—a child we hadn’t even had a fucking opportunity to find out about.
Couldn’t rupture their insides like they’d done her, preventing her from possibly ever having children.
“Callan?” Carter asked quietly. I shook my head at him before pouring another shot, my hand shaking so badly, more of it splashed onto the table than made it into the glass. I slammed the bottle down, blowing out a shaky breath. “Callan,” Carter called, his voice firmer this time.
I looked up at him, knowing my eyes were bleak and empty. “Talk to me, brother,” he pleaded.
I shook my head, a cruel, humorless laugh spilling past my lips. I pushed back off the bar, my hands trembling at my sides.
“She would’ve made a fucking fantastic mom,” I rasped. Then, I grabbed the bottle and tipped it up, swallowing three mouthfuls of the bitter, cheap vodka.