Chapter Six
McKayla
The second we stepped through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, that sharp, sterile smell hit me in the face and dragged up memories I had no interest in unpacking before lunch.
Disinfectant, coffee that had been sitting on a burner too long, and the faint rubbery scent of gloves and machines.
It all mixed together into one very specific smell that made people sit straighter and talk softer even if they weren’t the ones lying in a bed.
Push walked beside me. Anchor and Pearl were a few steps ahead of us, moving through the lobby like they’d done this more times than they wanted to count.
I didn’t ask where we were going.
Bob.
That was the name they’d dropped in the parking lot.
He’s part of the shit going on with the island too. That had been Push’s explanation, which was about as clear as muddy lake water, but I had a feeling this whole day was going to be nothing but half-answers until we got back to the clubhouse.
Maybe that should’ve irritated me more, but after the motorcycle ride and the motel and the weirdly domestic breakfast at the clubhouse, I was running on a mix of caffeine, pain, stubbornness, and just enough curiosity to override my common sense.
Which was how I ended up willingly walking through a hospital with two bikers and a woman who looked far too cheerful for someone dating the president of a motorcycle club currently being targeted by a serial killer. Or suspected serial killer. Or island ghost murderer.
Honestly, I needed a whiteboard.
Push glanced down at me. “You okay?”
I looked up at him. “You ask that a lot for someone who insists he isn’t emotionally useful.”
“I never said I wasn’t.”
“No, but you have the face of a man who would rather chew glass than have a feeling.”
Pearl snorted ahead of us.
Anchor glanced over his shoulder. “She’s not wrong.”
Push grunted. “Thought you were on my side, Prez.”
“I’m on the side of accuracy.”
Pearl smiled back at me. “You’ll learn that Anchor likes to pretend he’s terrifying, but really, he’s just bossy with good cheekbones.”
Anchor stopped walking.
Pearl almost ran into his back.
I almost laughed.
Push did laugh, but it was low and short, like he tried to catch it before it escaped and failed.
Anchor looked down at Pearl. “Bossy with good cheekbones?”
She patted his chest. “Don’t worry. It works for you.”
He shook his head and started walking again. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Like?” Pearl echoed.
Anchor didn’t look back. “Love. Worship. Whatever keeps you from giving me shit in front of people.”
“Too late,” she sang.
The banter was easy. It didn’t fit with the heavy feeling sitting in my stomach as we headed toward the elevators.
That was something I was starting to notice about this club. They joked even when things were bad. Maybe especially when things were bad. The humor wasn’t there because they didn’t care. It was there because caring too much without a release valve probably made people explode.
I understood that.
Sarcasm had been my release valve for years.
The elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside. Anchor hit the button for the fourth floor. Pearl leaned into his side, and he automatically wrapped an arm around her shoulders like it was muscle memory. Push stood beside me, close enough that his shoulder almost brushed mine, but not touching.
I decided not to call him out on it because the elevator was small, my head still hurt, and I wasn’t entirely sure I could win an argument while boxed in with two giant bikers and one woman who looked like she was already planning to adopt me into this weird little family.
The elevator chimed, and we stepped onto a quiet hospital floor.
Anchor’s entire demeanor changed. The joking dropped off him like a coat.
Pearl noticed it too because her fingers slid into his hand.
Push shifted beside me, his jaw tightening as we walked down the hall. This was family. Not blood, maybe, but something even deeper.
We stopped outside a room halfway down the hall. Anchor paused with his hand on the doorframe, inhaled once through his nose, and then stepped inside.
Pearl followed him.
Push nodded for me to go ahead, and I walked into the room.
Bob was in bed.
I knew he was Bob before anyone said it, mostly because there was something about him that screamed biker even beneath hospital blankets, bruises, tubes, and the kind of washed-out fluorescent light that made everyone look half-dead.
He had a thick beard and a big frame that the hospital bed didn’t quite know what to do with.
Even lying there, even worn down and medicated, there was no mistaking that he was a large, solid man.
The kind of guy who probably looked intimidating just standing in line at a grocery store buying cereal.
Right now, he looked like that same guy after life had dragged him behind a truck and then decided to reverse over him for good measure.
His throat was bandaged. That caught my attention immediately.
Not because I wanted to stare, but because I couldn’t not notice.
There were monitors beside the bed, an IV pole, and the slow, steady beep of machines doing their job. His eyes were open, but hazy. Sedated, Push had said quietly before we came in. Awake enough to know people were there, but not awake enough to really be with it.
And he couldn’t speak with his injury.
My stomach tightened. Whatever had happened to him hadn’t been small.
Anchor moved to the side of the bed first. “Hey, brother.”
Bob’s eyes shifted toward him. Slow and heavy, but aware.
Pearl moved to the other side of Anchor and smiled softly. “Hi, Bob.”
Bob blinked at her.
It wasn’t much, but something in his expression changed. Not a smile exactly. More like relief that tried to surface through medication and pain.
Push stepped closer to the foot of the bed, and I stayed beside him because apparently that was my new place now.
Beside Push.
Which was a thought I was not ready to examine while standing in a hospital room with an injured biker.
Anchor rested one hand lightly on the bed rail. “Skull’s gonna be back this afternoon to sit with you. Cross was here earlier, but we sent him to get some sleep before he drops.”
Bob’s eyes moved slowly.
I wasn’t sure if he understood every word, but he understood enough.
“You’re not getting rid of us,” Pearl added softly. “Sorry.”
Bob blinked again.
Push crossed his arms, but his voice was quieter than I’d heard it before. “You look like shit, brother.”
My eyes snapped to him.
Pearl sighed. “Push.”
“What? He does.”
Anchor looked at Bob. “He’s not wrong.”
And there it was, a tiny movement at the corner of Bob’s mouth.
Not a full smile. Barely even a twitch, but it was there.
It made my throat tighten in a way I didn’t like. Because I’d seen people visit hospitals out of obligation and this wasn’t that. This was men showing up because one of theirs was down and they weren’t going to let him wake up alone in a room full of machines and strangers.
Push shifted slightly closer to me. “This is McKayla.”
Bob’s eyes dragged toward me.
I lifted my hand awkwardly. “Hi.” Great. Very smooth. Introduce yourself to the sedated injured biker like you’re greeting someone at a PTA meeting. I cleared my throat. “I’d say nice to meet you, but this feels like one of those situations where that sounds kind of dumb.”
Bob blinked.
Push huffed beside me.
Pearl smiled.
Anchor looked like he approved, though with him, approval mostly looked like a slightly less aggressive scowl.
“She’s staying at the clubhouse,” Anchor explained. “Her sister’s missing. Might be tied to the island. Might not be. We don’t know yet.”
Bob’s brows pulled together faintly.
Even drugged and hurt, he reacted to that.
He cared.
That hit me harder than I expected.
These men didn’t know me or Erin, but missing woman apparently registered immediately as something that mattered.
I swallowed and forced myself to keep my face neutral.
“She’s a private investigator,” Push added. “Anchor’s gonna let her look at what we’ve got.”
Bob’s gaze shifted toward Anchor. If a look from a sedated man could say Are you out of your damn mind? then Bob’s did.
Anchor snorted. “Yeah, I know.”
Pearl leaned closer to Bob. “She’s smart.”
“Debatable,” I muttered.
Push looked down at me. “You walked into a murder investigation on purpose.”
“Exactly. Debatable.”
Bob’s mouth twitched again. Okay, maybe I liked Bob. Which was extremely inconvenient considering he was unconscious-adjacent and had not said one word.
Anchor gave him a basic rundown after that. Nothing too detailed. Nothing that seemed to require response. Just enough to keep him connected to the club.
“There was another body last night,” Anchor said quietly.
The air in the room shifted.
Bob’s eyes sharpened slightly despite the drugs.
“Same kind of staging,” Anchor continued. “We’re handling it. Vin’s going over footage. Pull and Post helped clean the dock. Doc took a look before we moved him.”
My stomach rolled.
Same kind of staging. That meant there had been enough bodies for “same kind” to be a phrase they used. Lovely.
“We’re keeping the island locked down tighter,” Push added. “No one comes or goes without eyes on them.”
Bob blinked slowly.
Anchor’s hand tightened on the bed rail. “You just worry about healing. That’s your only job.”
Bob looked at him.
Anchor’s jaw flexed. “Yeah, I know you hate that,” he muttered. “Too damn bad.”
Pearl reached over and squeezed Bob’s hand gently. “You scared everyone, you know.”
Bob’s eyes moved to her.
There was something there.
Regret maybe or frustration. Or just the helpless anger of a man who was used to being up and moving and protecting people but was stuck in a hospital bed while the rest of his club fought without him.
I knew that look.
I’d seen it in victims before. People whose bodies had betrayed them before their minds accepted it.