Chapter Ten
Ravage
“Bad enough I’ve got to deal with you,” King said, pointing at the big burly man glaring across the table at me, “but now him.” Sighing, the president of the Silver Shadows plopped down in his seat at the end of the table, leaned back in his chair, and hung his head back as he closed his eyes.
Cash, his vice president chuckled. “At least Ravage isn’t Massacre, so that’s something.”
King slowly turned to look at his VP and growled, “Really? That’s all you have to say?
” When Cash shrugged but said nothing more, King sat up and sighed.
“I don’t know if you heard, Ravage, but the Death Dogs attacked my club.
Killed one of my brothers and two girls and wounded several others.
I’ve got brothers still in the hospital and some here that need a few more days before they are back at one hundred percent, so whatever shit you are in, I hope you have a plan to get out of it, because I’m spread too thin.
And before you say anything, I don’t give a damn what Reaper said. I’ve got my own problems.”
Grunting, I winced as I slowly got to my feet. “Sorry I brought more trouble to your doorstep. I’ll leave.”
“Sit your ass back down,” King snarled, pointing at me. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help. I just asked if you had a fucking plan? Are you fucking hurt?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Cash, text Patch,” King ordered.
“I said it was nothing,” I growled.
“My house. My rules,” King snarled. “Now sit the fuck down.”
King stared hard at me, his jaw tight, waiting for me to follow his order. I glanced at Nav, who gave me a quick nod, silent support in his eyes. The room felt heavy, the tension thick between us. I ran a hand over my wounds and finally muttered, “I’ve got something in mind, but I need a few days.”
King didn’t look convinced, but after a moment, he nodded. “You’ve got forty-eight hours, Ravage. Don’t make me regret this.”
Moments later, Patch, the Silver Shadows’ doctor, walked in. “Who’s hurt now?”
King, Cash and Nav instantly pointed at me.
Patch dropped a bag on the table and ordered, “Cut and shirt off. I need to see what I’m working with.”
Doing as the doc said, I removed my cut and placed it on the table, then painfully removed my shirt.
The second I did it, I heard the gasps and growls.
I knew what they were seeing, and I didn’t fucking care.
Every scar, every wound was a testament to survival. I wouldn’t allow them to diminish that.
“Jesus fuck,” the big burly man said. “He’s been to hell and back.”
King said nothing as his eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in every scar on my body, his hands clenching until they turned white. I didn’t know why it bothered him so much. I was pretty damn sure he had his own scars.
“Everyone, get out,” King snarled, as he barely hung onto his rage. When no one moved, he roared, “GET THE FUCK OUT!”
Nav, Cash and the other two men got up and filtered out of the room. When Patch went to grab his bag, King ordered, “Leave the fucking bag.”
Patch nodded and disappeared with the others, leaving me alone with King. Seconds passed before King got up and walked over to me, pulling out a chair next to me. Reaching for the bag, he dumped it over, spilling the contents. “Sit down before you fall down.”
“I can tend my own wounds, King.”
He glared at me.
I slowly sat.
Shaking his head, he reached toward me, carefully pulling the bandage from my shoulder, and sighed. “A bullet wound.”
I nodded.
“And your stomach?”
“The same.”
Reaching for fresh bandages, he asked, “What happened?”
“Same old shit. Wrong place at the wrong time.”
King growled.
“Fine.” I winced as he placed an alcohol swab against my shoulder. “After I found Yuri Nikitin and killed him, I went after associates of Black Odessa.”
“Why?”
“Because they are working with the Death Dogs and both want my woman.”
“You have a woman?” King asked, placing a clean bandage on my shoulder.
“Yeah. Karlyn Ingalls. She’s the sister of my brother Ink.”
He carefully removed the bandage across my stomach. “Stitches tore. Going to have to sew you back up. Tell me about your woman.”
“She’s perfect, King. Well, perfect for me. She hasn’t had the best life, and I promised her she would be safe no matter what. Now my past is coming for her.”
“This life isn’t easy... brother.” His voice was quiet as he threaded a needle. “Maybe it’s time you stepped away and took your woman with you. Still young enough to have a decent life.”
“Can’t do that, King,” I whispered. “This life is all I know.”
“Yeah, I guess we’re the same in that regard.” He smirked as a sly, conspiratorial grin crossed his face. “The second I put the cut on my back, I knew there was no other life for me. Declan hated it, but he didn’t stop me.”
“You’re lucky. You have blood. I’ve just got my brothers and Karlyn.”
King nodded but said nothing more as he stitched me up and then placed a clean bandage over the wound. Leaning back in his chair, he took a long, good look at me and sighed. “Stay as long as you need. I will handle Reaper. You need a few more days to let those wounds heal.”
Reaching for my shirt, I nodded. “Thanks, King. I appreciate it, and if there is anything I can do for you, just let me know.”
Gathering my cut, I headed for the door when King called out, “You can have the room Reaper was in last time you were here.”
“The one upstairs across from you?”
King nodded but said nothing more.
Smiling, I simply replied, “Thanks.”
Heading upstairs, I could feel the tiredness in my bones.
My wounds still ached, and while I knew King had just put fresh bandages on them, I desperately needed a shower.
Opening the door at the end of the hallway, I walked into a fairly large room with a king-sized bed, dresser and nightstand.
There was a flat-screen TV on the opposite wall and a desk in the corner under the double window.
A large bathroom adjoined the space, with a spacious walk-in shower, a clawfoot tub and a double vanity.
I knew this room was reserved for visiting club presidents, and I wasn’t sure why King let me have it.
God knows I didn’t deserve it.
The scent of antiseptic and stale sweat clung to the air, a stark contrast to the clean, crisp mountain air I’d grown accustomed to.
The room was sterile, impersonal, a place devoid of the life and warmth that had once filled it.
King’s words, a gruff offer of sanctuary, echoed in my mind.
“Stay as long as you need. I will handle Reaper. You need a few more days to let those wounds heal.”
But healing for me wasn’t a matter of bandages and rest.
It was a relentless pursuit, a burning need to find Karlyn, to pull her from the shadows that had ensnared us both.
The water in the shower was almost scalding, a futile attempt to wash away the grime and the phantom ache that resided in my bones.
Each scar, a map of battles fought and narrowly won, felt like a brand, a constant reminder of the life I couldn’t escape.
King had offered a room, a temporary respite, but my mind was already racing, plotting, calculating.
The Silver Shadows were at war, their resources stretched thin, and my presence here, a walking target, only added to their burden. But I couldn’t leave without a plan, without ensuring Karlyn was safe. The thought of her, alone and vulnerable, was a fire that burned hotter than any wound.
I wrapped the towel around my waist, the cool air of the room a shock against my still-damp skin.
The quiet was deafening, punctuated only by the distant rumble of engines and the unspoken tension that permeated the compound.
My gaze fell on my saddlebag, packed with essentials for a life on the run—a life I was still learning to navigate.
The lessons of the forest, of survival, were etched into my very being, but they were also a constant reminder of the world I had tried to outrun, a world that seemed determined to pull me back in.
Karlyn. Her name itself was a silent prayer, a desperate hope that I could still reach her before the storm of my past consumed us both.
Needing fresh bandages, I headed back downstairs when Cash stopped and took a good look at me. Shaking his head, he simply said, “Patch is in the infirmary. He will have what you need.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, heading toward the back of the clubhouse when I passed King’s office and he yelled out, “If you’re hungry. Eat. There is plenty of food. Maureen is in the kitchen.”
I nodded but said nothing.
The antiseptic sting of the infirmary was a familiar sensation, a pungent counterpoint to the metallic tang of lingering fear.
Patch, a grizzled man whose hands moved with an unsettling blend of gentleness and practiced efficiency, changed my dressings with a quiet competence that spoke of countless nights spent patching up broken bodies.
He said little, but his eyes, when they met mine, held a depth of understanding that transcended words.
He saw the weariness etched into my bones, the raw pain that refused to be masked by a false bravado.
“King’s got your back, you know,” Patch said, securing a fresh bandage around my ribs. His voice was a low rumble, like the hum of distant thunder. “He’s a good man. Don’t let his temper fool you.”
I grunted in acknowledgment, the movement sending a fresh wave of pain through me.
King had indeed offered a temporary sanctuary, a place to lick my wounds before I plunged back into the maelstrom.
But sanctuary was a fleeting illusion in my world, a mirage that always dissolved into the harsh reality of the chase.