Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Three days later
Lore
“Are you just going to continue to take up space in my house, or will you eventually leave?” Dr. Royal drawls.
“Are you telling me I’m starting to smell?” I ask.
“You’re so much fucking trouble.” Turning toward his pack mate, he says, “The next time I decide to pick up a shift and I find a mostly dead biker, please remind me that I should let him die.”
“Is this an affliction that happens often?” I ask.
I’m so fucking lucky to be alive. I know this. Fuck, I felt my heart stop, heard the doctor call the time of death in the deep recesses of my mind.
Basically, I thought I was a goner.
Instead, Dr. Royal came in while the others had left fifteen minutes earlier and was shocked to find that I was still breathing. The anesthesia was doing its job so I didn’t wake up, and he told me he hauled my ass out of the hospital in a body bag and arranged for someone to pick me up.
Since it was practically the graveyard shift, I believe it. He’s done nothing to prove he’s a liar. I didn’t feel the rest of the details were important, so I didn’t press him for them.
Ultimately, the only thing that matters is that I’m alive.
“It’s an affliction I have as the on-call mafia doctor,” Dr. Royal, Adrain, grunts. “I live down the road from some of them, and they refuse to forget it. It’s not like I’m already overworked.”
“Despite how grumpy Adrain is, he’s right. How long are you going to pretend to be dead?” Cyrus asks.
“At first, I needed to get rid of anyone who could hurt my pack,” I remind them, sitting heavily in a chair.
Lyker and his club had to be executed. I may catch hell for scraping them off the face of the earth, but I had every right. I wasn’t expecting my brother to appear when he did with Wilder, so I had to walk my bike out a mile so they wouldn’t see me.
I ripped my stitches all to hell, and I barely made it back to Adrain to fix me up. It was worth it though, even if I almost fell off the damn bike several times. This shit used to be easier when I was younger.
Who can’t bounce back from a little near death experience? Apparently I’m having trouble with it.
“And you did,” Adrain confirms, rolling his eyes. “Less than a fucking week out from almost dying, I may add! Crazy dick. So now what’s your next move?”
“I need to see Marie and my pack. Hopefully they can forgive me for this,” I sigh.
“For what? Almost dying?” Wilhelm snorts, leaning against the wall as he watches us. “You’re being dramatic. I’d rather choose my packmates alive and well over dying on a moral hill. You fucking coded on the table.”
“Your heartbeat didn’t show up on the machine,” Adrain adds.
“Granted, I figured out it was faulty, and forced the hospital to get rid of it, but still. For all intents and purposes, you did die. Dr. Stewart isn’t my favorite doctor, yet even he can tell the difference between a patient that’s alive or dead. ”
“Doesn’t feel like he can,” I grumble.
I’m nowhere near healed. I can’t raise my arms over my head without effort, firing a weapon brings tears to my eyes from the pain, and my chest is going to be a mess of scar tissue once it’s all said and done.
But I’m alive.
“I have no idea if Marie is back from visiting my brother,” I sigh.
“It’s hard to call people as a dead man, huh?” Adrain replies.
“You’re a dick,” I groan.
“Yep. But he’s our dick,” Wilhelm says, amused.
“You’re going to need people to help you rehabilitate,” Adrain says. “People that aren’t me or mine preferably. You can’t just show up like a bull in a china shop, Lore. You’ll give someone a heart attack or get shot for being a ghost and ruin all my hard work.”
“Wouldn’t that be a shame,” Cyrus drawls.
Fuckers.
“I’ll go to the house first,” I grumble.
Hell, I don’t have keys, a cell phone, or anything else that’ll be even kind of helpful. I do have contacts, and I rode hard to dig up the dirt I needed on Lyker. He fucking knew that Chester was planning to screw us over and he said nothing.
That’s essentially a death sentence in my book for him and his entire club. If I can’t trust any of them, then I’m not keeping them alive. I had a contact who dug up Lyker’s bank statements, and they were dismal.
The entire club is less than worthless. I had the contact transfer money from my pack’s finances to help the widows and their children since I’m responsible for killing their packs, and then called it a day.
I’ve spent the time since then making sure none of this will affect the people I care about.
I pretended to be a faceless, nameless Anarchist and visited the outlying chapters.
The presidents were all very helpful telling me all about what they thought about Lyker’s betrayal once I got some drinks into them, and the consensus is that you shouldn’t fuck around because you’ll always find out.
My club and Devon’s won’t have any issue for this execution.
It’s never good business when chapters are beefing.
It’ll always lead to bloodshed and cops breathing down the collective chapters’ throats.
No one wants to be concerned that they’ll be wiped off the face of the earth due to a passing shitstorm or insult.
It’s a dance that weaker men than I have failed to grasp, which is why I went underground to get shit handled.
“Thank you for everything,” I finally add, once I realize I’ve been silent for too long.
It doesn’t seem to affect Pack Royal because they merely nod as I stand up. I have more weapons strapped to me than I should need, but I’m feeling twitchy after my near miss with death.
Gingerly standing, I watch as Adrain’s lips press together until they pale from the strain. I shouldn’t be doing fuck all other than laying in bed while someone plays nursemaid, preferably my omega.
Something tells me that may not be the welcome I receive, though. There’s too much uncertainty between us. I left with promises I couldn’t keep, Grim Reaper or not responsible for it.
All I can hope for is that she and my pack will be able to forgive me for my decisions after the shooting. I have a lot of explaining to do.
Maybe I’ll even be able to do it without any more bullet holes too.
Thankfully, I have my cut because Adrain managed to see it and recognized it may be important to me, or it would be a hell of a lot harder to move through the world as a one percenter. The cut signifies that I’m a brother, even if I’m not giving my name out.
You’d think it would be easy for people to recognize me, but my facial hair is out of fucking control. Apparently almost dying has made my body kick start into action to heal, and it’s made my hair and nails grow faster too.
My beard is full, even if it’s messy because I can’t get the effort up to groom it. The hair on my head is longer too, and a pain in my ass. I don’t look like myself, which is a blessing and a curse, and my balaclava simply adds to the mystery.
I’ve been a passing nightmare moving through the clubs, before continuing on to haunt someone else.
Lyker called me a ghost, even though he recognized me.
I brought my hammer out of retirement just for him, though it’s not the same one I used to keep with me when I needed people to take me fucking seriously.
While theatrical, it did the job.
Pack Royal bought me clothes and provided me with medical care when they didn’t need to, despite Adrain’s oath to care for others. Not once did any of them complain about the cost either, and that means something.
I’m lost in thought as my heavy steps take me closer to the front door, and I lean back onto the wall once I open it, already out of breath. It seems that without adrenaline running through my veins, my body has less stamina than I’d like. It enjoys reminding me that I’m indeed not immortal.
The skin around Adrain’s eyes pinch with disapproval, but he’s the one fucking throwing me out. He can’t really complain about how fucked my body is still, even if he and his pack have followed close behind me.
Something tells me it’s not simply to walk me out, and instead in case I keel over.
“Are you planning to walk through the front door like someone civil, or break a window like the criminal you are?” Adrain asks, his lips twitching in slight amusement.
“Storm once thought he saw a ghost and shot into the dark like a crazy person. What do you think he’ll do if I try to walk through the front door?” I ask, snorting.
“You’ll be visiting the morgue instead of me,” Adrain says simply.
“Pretty much. Listen,” I sigh. “If you ever need anything at all, please just say the word. You’ve gone above and beyond to help me.”
“I’d tell you not to worry about it, but I know you’re not the type to say that lightly,” Adrain grumbles. “Thank you. I really can’t explain why you’re alive, but I have a feeling it’s because you’re not done with this life yet.”
Marie’s face appears brightly in my mind, and I nod in agreement. I haven’t had enough time with her yet. Storm and Wilder shouldn’t have to live this life without me either, and my responsibilities are fierce.
But mostly? I miss my pack, and need to see them immediately.
Waving goodbye, I step outside of Pack Royal’s home and walk slowly down the stairs. Minneapolis is firmly locked into fall weather now, and my hair whips around my face as I pull up my neck gaiter. I don’t want to scare anyone quite yet, not until I’m home first.
I’m not really sure how I’m going to explain this to them, but I hear the truth is a good place to start. Grabbing my helmet, I place it on my head, disgusted by the fact that I had to drive all the way to Lyker’s sleepy little town in a damn cage to find my baby.
By that I mean my motorcycle, which was still parked near Chester’s garage. It’s a custom built bike, and I’m just glad no one trashed it or broke it down for spare parts. It’s an extension of me, and has never failed to take me where I need to go.