Chapter 10
BEX - IN THE MIDDLE
The smell of blood stays with me as I finally step out the trauma bay.
That metallic, antiseptic-scrubbed version that lingers after everything is over.
After the doctors stop shouting and the machines go quiet and the room settles into that hollow stillness that means someone didn’t make it.
I brace both hands on the nurses’ station for a second and close my eyes.
Rough shift doesn’t even begin to cover it. Three back-to-back trauma calls. Two stabilized.
One… not.
The one we lost was a biker.
You can tell immediately when they roll them in. If the cut he was wearing and the club ink wasn’t enough… The ER waiting room filling up with Devil’s Ride brothers tells me exactly what this is.
He came in with two gunshot wounds to the chest and one to the abdomen. Whoever did it wasn’t aiming to scare him. They were aiming to end him.
The doctor and I worked on him for almost two hours. Two hours of compressions, suction, blood bags, shouted instructions. Two hours of refusing to give up.
But… he died anyway.
Another club brother is gone due to the violence of this life.
I walk down the hall and keep my head down, I don’t have it in me to look at the eyes in that waiting room right now. I pull my hair back into a loose knot and grab my bag from the locker room.
My hands are still shaking. Part adrenaline. Part exhaustion.
But what I am feeling most right now is the quiet kind of grief that settles into your bones without you ever being able to name it, after too many nights like this. It just stays with you, layers of grief for the ones you can’t save.
I push through the staff exit and step into the cool morning air and immediately stop.
It feels like I walked out into the middle of something I don’t fully understand yet.
To my right a group of brothers wearing Devils Ride cuts, with not so concealed weapons.
They are all staring to my left, I track what they are looking at and instantly regret it.
Five men are on motorcycles wearing black cuts with deep red stitching and a wolf's skull with a serpent coiled beneath it.
There's a menacing aura coming off of the group, but it’s the man at the front of them that makes my skin crawl.
With long oily dark hair, and a scar over one of his eyes… he looks every bit his reputation.
Preacher.
Fuck what do I do?
I look straight ahead to the staff parking lot and my stomach rolls, because Razor is leaning against my car. His bike is parked beside it.
I can’t go back inside now. But walking through this mess feels…
But I can’t back down, I can’t show fear in the pool with all these predators.
A man with a cocky grin, intense blue eyes and messy dark hair steps out of the group of Devil’s Ride.
He has tattoos from his knuckles up his neck.
He winks at me and then turns his attention on Preacher, lifting the hand not holding the gun and wiggling his fingers in a taunt of a wave.
Fuck… I need to move.
I take a deep breath, stand tall and walk straight for my car.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Razor through gritted teeth.
His eyes lift slowly, but before he can answer, another voice comes from behind him.
“We came to make sure you got back home safe.”
Angel steps into view. I only now notice his bike off to the side of Razor’s.
That realization does nothing to calm the tension knotting in my chest. Angel looks tired. Not the usual controlled, immovable president everyone else sees. His hair is slightly disheveled and there are dark circles under his eyes. He looks like a man who hasn’t slept since his sister disappeared.
“I heard about the shooting last night,” he says.
Part of me wants to feel relieved seeing him. Angel has always been the steady one. The one who keeps the club from spinning out of control. But another part of me remembers something else.
Mara.
His own sister. And Razor was able to do whatever he wanted inside that compound without Angel questioning him.
Not that Angel knew. But still. Why didn’t his own sister trust him? Was it simply that she was worried about what was going on with the club… or was it something else?
Razor pushes off my car slowly.
“How is he?” Angel asks.
I swallow and try not to show my nerves as I hear a rumble of more bikes incoming.
“He didn’t make it.”
“Was he one of your patients?” He asks.
I close my eyes for a moment pushing away the vision of blood and loss.
“Yes.” I answer.
“Which club?”
“Devil’s Ride.” I answer.
Razor snorts quietly. “Figures.”
My eyes flick to him.
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs and gestures to where Preacher and the Blood Reapers sit.
“There’s been whispers of a blooming war between the Blood Reapers and Devil’s Ride. Convenient that you couldn’t save one of Preacher’s enemies.”
Angel’s gaze sharpens slightly.
“Preacher’s men were the ones shooting?”
My pulse ticks up.
“I don’t know,” I say carefully.
And it’s the truth.
“I was working in a trauma bay with the doctor the entire time trying to keep a man alive. The rest is for the sheriff to figure out. I am a nurse, not a sergeant.”
Razor watches me for a second too long, then he smiles. That same thin smile he’s been wearing for too long.
“Right.” He mocks.
I don’t respond.
“Fuck, is that what this is?” Angel asks, his eyes scanning the standoff between two clubs in front of him. “I heard rumors that Spike stole from Preacher, and burnt one of his warehouses down.”
I turn slightly so I can keep my eyes scanning all the threats around me. The rumble of bikes coming closer.
“Do you think that has anything to do with what the DA is trying to pin on Four?” I ask.
Angel steps closer to me, as a line of bikes that I recognize pull up beside the staff parking lot. They are his men, Dawnbreakers. I look for Clutch’s bike, but don’t see it.
“You think Four is innocent?” Angel asks, an eyebrow cocked.
I give him the same look in return, focusing my whole attention on him now, asking, “You don’t?”
He gives me a soft smile and then taps the top of my car.
“We are here to escort you home.”
Home.
There are so many things I want to ask.
Why isn’t Clutch here if they were worried about me? If they didn’t know who was involved why did they come? Is this protection or a statement to me… to the clubs behind me?
But I don't ask… Instead I unlock my car and slide into the driver’s seat.
Angel steps back so I can pull out.
“Drive safe,” he says.
I nod once, but I don’t feel safe. Then I leave the parking lot, half of the Dawnbreakers leading me out and the other half following Angel and Razor behind me.
The drive back to the compound feels longer than usual. Every sound makes my shoulders tense. Every red light feels like it lasts too long. I keep replaying the conversation from before…
Preacher’s men were the ones shooting?
He said it like he already knew the answer. Like he wanted to see if I did.
By the time I pull through the compound gates, my nerves feel frayed and then I see Clutch, he’s standing outside the clubhouse waiting. Relief hits me so fast it almost hurts. I park and step out of the car and he crosses the yard immediately.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shrug, “Long shift.”
His hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me in so he can press a kiss to my forehead. For a second I lean into him.
God, I needed this.
“I waited. I wanted to see you before I head out,” he says.
The words make my stomach sink. No.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, trying to keep the tears from falling.
“Club business,” he says with a shrug.
Of course.
“There’s still a lot we’re trying to sort out. A lot of activity. Too many threats.” He adds.
I nod. Because what else am I supposed to do?
“I’ll be back before the party tonight,” he continues. “If something happens and I am running late, go without me.”
I stiffen.
“I don’t want to go without you.” I whisper.
He hesitates, just for a second.
“It’s mandatory, Bex. I will be back as soon as I can.”
“Declan…” I try.
“Angel wants everyone there.” He cuts me off.
Behind him, one of the brothers, I think Cage, speaks up. “We’ll make sure she’s there, brother.”
Clutch nods like that’s reassuring, like that’s helpful. But my stomach twists. Because it doesn’t sound like reassurance to me. It sounds like a warning.
I step forward and wrap my arms around him anyway.
“I need to talk to you,” I say quietly.
He squeezes me tighter.
“I know.”
“When?” I beg.
“Later.”
He pulls back and cups my face briefly.
“Okay?”
No it’s not ok.
“I don’t want you to go.” I try again.
He leans into me and gives me a deep kiss. But the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.
“Get some rest, I will be back before you know it.” He reassures me.
“Please?” I whisper, hoping it's only him who hears me beg.
“I have to go, Bex.”
I nod, blinking back the tears.
I hear engines start around us and I know they are waiting for him. So I don't say anything else, I step out of his hold and walk into the clubhouse.
Conversations stop, eyes follow me and whispers start the second I pass. I keep my head down and walk straight for the stairs. My pulse is pounding by the time I reach our room.
I shut the door and lock it. Then drag the dresser across the floor until it completely blocks the door. The wood scrapes loudly against the floor, but this time I don’t care if anyone hears it.
I strip out of my scrubs and crawl into the bed. The exhaustion hits me immediately.
But sleep doesn’t come.
Every sound outside the door makes my eyes open again.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall.
Tonight there’s a party.
A mandatory gathering.
Unity.
That’s what Angel called it.
But lying here in the quiet, something in my gut keeps whispering the same thing over and over.
This doesn’t feel like unity.
It feels like a setup.
And somehow… I’m standing right in the middle of it.