42. Kevlar
Kevlar
Sledgehammers pounded against Kevlar’s skull. His right bicep and his left side were on fire. With each inhale, his skin pulled. His bones ached. The hardness beneath him didn’t help at all. What the fuck was he lying on anyway?
No matter how many times he blinked, he couldn’t get his vision to clear.
“He’s waking up,” a woman declared.
Who?
Where was he?
“That’s a good sign,” someone else said.
Softness skittered over his hand. Fingers wrapped around his palm and squeezed it. “Kev?” the original woman asked.
Turning his head slightly was a monumental task. An ocean sloshed in his brain. He was fucked up worse than he’d ever been before.
One more time, he closed his eyes and opened them. The world finally came into focus.
Tender pale-blue eyes glittered with worry. Messy, knotted blond hair framed her features. The fluorescent bulbs behind her made her glow. There she was, safe and sound.
“Kitten?” he rasped as razor blades sliced the inside of his throat. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of water.
Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded and brought his hand to her lips. She brushed his knuckles with soft kisses.
Someone else grabbed his chin, turned his head back, and the world spun. A bright light shone in his left and then his right eye. Briefly, he couldn’t see anymore.
“Fucking hell,” he hissed.
“Weston?” the unfamiliar woman said. “Do you have any idea where you are?”
He squinted and grunted through the rough examination. “Home.”
“More specifically,” she said.
“I don’t know.” He winced when she touched his side. “You fucking blinded me. I can’t really see.”
“Why does he sound like that?” Kelsey asked. “Is he okay?”
“You’re at the shop.” Remi came into his line of sight wearing her ever-present pissed-off expression. “You got stabbed.”
“And shot,” he said as he tried to push himself up to a seated position.
Kelsey stepped back and bit her lower lip.
The woman he didn’t know cocked her head to the side as she assessed his ability to move his body.
“Don’t help,” he groaned as he struggled to get upright. “I got this.”
Tightening his abdominal muscles hurt like a son of a bitch.
Wheezing and out of breath, he finally found a way to hold himself that didn’t hurt too badly. He rested his forearms over his slightly bent knees. He was at the Oberlin Body Shop. They’d laid him out on a desk. No wonder it was as uncomfortable as shit.
But then again, this situation beat being dead.
Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he supposed.
He eyed the unknown woman who was in charge of his care. “Who are you?”
“Janell Cleary, APN,” she announced with a bit of pride.
Had he heard that name before? It sounded familiar. Didn’t matter.
He wasn’t sure what APN meant, but he nodded as though he did. He shifted his attention to his sister. “Friend of yours?”
“Yeah,” Remi responded curtly.
That was good enough for him. As much of a pain in the ass as his sister could be, she’d never let him stay injured if she could help.
Blowing out a breath, he returned his focus to the APN. “So, what’s the verdict? Am I dying?”
“No. A bullet grazed your shoulder. Not even worthy of a stitch. Superglued it.”
He rotated his arm as though to test that theory. It hurt like hell but was manageable.
“Your side is a different story. Whoever poked you managed to miss everything important. It was clean between the ribs, though a bit wide and jagged. I guess he twisted it.”
“Yeah,” Kevlar agreed as he ran his hand over the wound. The stiff strings sewn into him felt like a porcupine. “How many stitches?”
Janell shrugged nonchalantly. “A bunch. I’m no surgeon. It’s going to heal ugly as shit, but you’re not dead.”
He snorted, appreciating her blunt honesty. “Fair.”
Then he flicked his attention to Kelsey. “What about her?” He jutted his chin in her direction.
All eyes turned to her.
Kelsey’s cheeks flamed red. “I’m fine.” She waved a hand, dismissing his concerns.
Kevlar narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.”
“Superficial cuts,” Janell explained. “Nothing a Band-Aid won’t cure.”
He scanned the room, seeking his men. A butterfly bandage held Lionel’s eyebrow together. The swelling kept his eye shut, but he stood, hands in his pockets beside Torch, who looked as though his face had gone through a meat grinder. His arm was bent and rested in a makeshift sling.
“We’re okay. Nothing to get your panties in a bunch over,” his redheaded club brother said with a wink.
Beyond them, he found Kid’s back. His heavily tattooed arms were maroon with dried blood. Nervously, he shifted his weight back and forth. What, or who, was he focused on? Kevlar couldn’t see more than a foot, but he definitely stared at someone.
“Kid,” he barked.
Chewing his nails, his brother glanced over his shoulder.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” he said before returning his attention to his charge, whoever the fuck that was. Kevlar had a lot of questions. In time, they’d be answered. Maybe when his headache went away. He was pretty sure the answers would cause a new one. He didn’t need that now.
“Carrie’s in rough shape,” Janell offered.
Who the hell was Carrie?
He peered between Janell, Kelsey, and Remi as though they would answer his unspoken question.
“Bad shit happened,” Kelsey admitted, wrapping her arms around herself in a tight hug. “I don’t know if she’s going to be okay.”
“What kind of shit?” Kevlar demanded. Had the same thing happened to Kelsey? His vision tinged red. His muscles tightened as he clenched his fists. More pain throttled through him, but it only fueled his anger.
Kelsey shook her head.
“We got her Plan B,” Janell offered. “We did some basic over-the-counter STI screenings, but she can follow up to make sure.”
What the actual fuck?
Kevlar locked his gaze on Kelsey.
“Not me,” she mouthed. “I’m okay.”
He wanted to believe her. Rage had him shaking, though he couldn’t discount the shock. The night had been rough for everyone. If he could, he’d resurrect that piece of shit, Yogi, and rip his dick off so he could shove it down his throat.
Torch approached him and clapped him on the back. Lightning shot through him from the pain, drawing his focus to his club brother.
“You did well, Pres,” he said. “They’re gone. Chased those fuckers right out of town.”
Warmth blossomed on the other side of him. Kelsey’s fingers grazed gingerly over his injured shoulder before she pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.
He couldn’t help but grin like a buffoon. She did that to him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For always rescuing me and not dying.”
Closing his eyes, he let out a breath. Everyone looked beat to shit, but their spirits were high.
He’d won a war with barely any brothers.
If that wasn’t a good sign for the Royal Bastards in Oklahoma, he wasn’t sure what was.
Everything was finally in order. He had his club, his brothers, and his woman. What more could a man ask for?