I shook my head, and shetsked, glancing around at the others.
“What about you all?”
They gave her the same answer, and her forehead crumpled in sadness.
“Stay here. I’ll get you something to eat.” She stroked my cheek again, pushing herself on tiptoe to kiss my forehead. “I’ll be back, Billy boy. I’m not going anywhere.”
She left me sitting beside King.
Twenty minutes later she returned with food, and we scarfed it down, my stomach growling. I barely tasted the fries and hamburger, too hungry to care. It could’ve been the worst food I’d ever had and I wouldn’t have cared.
After I was done, I checked the time on my phone.
A bit after two in the morning.
Fuck. How long had we been here? I’d lost track. My brain was all fuzzy, though. I could barely remember how to breathe, let alone know how long it’d been since we’d brought PD in.
Finally, the doors opened. Mom’s hand, which gripped mine, tightened as a doctor walked in. He smiled, and immediately, relief swept through me. I stood, took a deep breath, and stepped forward.
The doctor, a man with white hair and cheeks that crinkled when he grinned, clutched his hands together in front of himself. His badge had a photo of him on it and under the picture was his name. Dr. Andrew Markus. “Mr. Deiters’s family, I presume?”
“Yes. I’m his partner.” It was weird saying it aloud, but there was something calming andrightabout it. I was Will Gardner, Rook to my biker brothers, and I was PD’s partner, maybe future husband. Or at least, I hoped.
“We extracted what we believe were all the fragments. The bullet hit the bone, which caused his femur to break in a few places.” Dr. Markus spoke calmly, his tone direct.
I winced.
“After we removed the fragments, we had to stabilize his femur. I won’t lie. It won’t be a quick recovery for him. He’ll be in pain. We’ll give him medication to help, but he’s looking at three months minimum for recovery. Likely more. It’s best if he wears a brace.” He laid a hand on my shoulder, heavy with a quick squeeze. “But he’s fine. We don’t believe there’ll be any further complications. Grant did tell us he was unconscious, but we believe that was from loss of blood and shock. We gave hima transfusion. He’s in ICU and should wake in a few hours. Once he’s conscious and answering questions, we’ll put him in a regular room. But it’s past visiting hours.”
“Don’t you think Will can see him, Andrew?” Grant asked. “He’s been worried.”
Dr. Markus shook his head. “Visitors won’t help his recovery. Everyone can come back tomorrow.” He gave my shoulder another squeeze. “Your partner pulled through. Our nurses will watch him. Now he needs to heal, and from what I’ve heard, you have experience with that.” His smile softened. “Go home and sleep. Come back in the morning. He’ll be waiting.”
I exhaled through my nose and nodded. PD was fine. He was alive. We had the rest of our lives together.
Maybe I’d make him my husband sooner rather than later. Life was short and PD was my future.
I saw PD the following day. He was still drowsy and fell in and out of sleep in between the nurses getting him up to walk around. I was horrified, but they swore that was what they were supposed to do. Now that he was on the mend, something inside me loosened and the tension bled from my body.
Which meant when King finally told me they had Loubeck in our fun little torture shack, I chose to visit our new friend. King and Undertaker were waiting for me as soon as I climbed down the stairs. They had a range of tools laid out on a table, Undertaker taking great care in arranging them.
Undertaker raised an eyebrow at me when I finally reached them. “Ready to get your hands dirty?” He slid his fingers through his dark hair, the burnt orange ends vibrant today.
Loubeck sat in a chair in the middle of the room, his hands and ankles secured. He slumped forward, head lolling against his chest. A heavy-duty industrial lamp was directed at his face, and there was no doubt it was painful for his eyes, even if he closed them. Undertaker and King wanted him to stay awake. It was a smart play. Exhaustion wore a man down eventually.
“Always.” I stepped toward Loubeck, shoulders tightening. “But with him, it’s a present for PD.”
Undertaker laughed, a deep, manic sound that reverberated through his chest and echoed from the walls around us.
King shook his head with a fond smile as he stepped closer. “We need answers from him about where the rest of the money is. He’s been quiet. Kept his mouth shut. It’s time to make him sing.” He waved his hand toward the tools. “Use whatever you want. Make it hurt.”
I smirked. “It’s good to be back.” Okay, so maybe I finally understood why PD had killed the bastard who’d helped Jamison run me off the road. I was going to make this guy wish he’d never been born.
21
PD
The walls of the break room at the Ink Well were covered in artwork, but today, instead of being soothing and interesting, it was all trash I wanted to throw out. I’d been in a shitty mood since I’d left the hospital with a healing, stitched-up wound, plates and screws nestled against my femur—thanks to a fracture from one of the bullets they’d dug out. Not to mention, an annoying, stiff brace. At least it wasn’t a cast, I guess. My leg hurt basically all the time unless it was propped up on pillows. For extra fun, I’d hit the point in recovery where my doctor was sending me to physical therapy.
