“When we get to the clubhouse, we’ll tell the Prez about it, and the club will take care of it. I don’t want you putting yourself in any more danger.”
Chapter 8
Marissa
The clubhouse is probably the last place on Earth I want to be right now. I don’t even bother hiding my grimace.
“Why are we going to the clubhouse?”
I’m exhausted, everything hurts, and I need time and space to calmly think about what the hell the last three days of my life have been. And I cannot do that if I have to see Rebel, her brother, or even Dylan.
“Someone took you, right in front of our noses. That’s serious. Not to mention dangerous; you shouldn’t be home alone with DJ while I’m out handling club business.”
I squeeze my boy tighter as a wave of terror hits me. Is DJ in danger? Is someone going to take him away from me?
Hawk chose the wrong person to trust with his life, I think bitterly. I can’t even help myself. His face is clear in my mind, lined in a way that reveals he loves to laugh and be outside.
I squeeze my eyes to dispel the memory of the beating he received for trying to save me. Although he was tied up throughout our acquaintance, he protected me. I can do this for him, even though I just want to close my eyes and sleep.
I want to sleep for days, then wake up on the morning of December 31 with Junior nestled between Dylan and me. I wantto go back in time and never attend that awful party, never overhear what I overheard, never be taken, and never get this damn abscess.
I suddenly realize that I’ve already breastfed DJ for the last time ever without even knowing it. I start crying chest-wracking sobs, accompanied by unstoppable streams of hot tears. The pain makes it hard to breathe.
“Hey,” Dylan says as he comes closer and tries to stroke my face, but I move away before he can touch me.
He seems offended and hurt. The audacity astounds me.
I want to look to my right and see Hawk in his chair.
“How long do you think we’ll need to be at the clubhouse?” I ask, pretending that this is just another day, that there are no tears flowing down my cheeks.
He stares at me for a while before answering, “A day or two, until we determine whether there is any ongoing danger. Why are you crying, Riss? Did they…? Please talk to me.”
I shake my head no. “Then we need to stop at the house first. I need to pick up a few things.”
Rachel, who came in as I was talking, butts in, “The hell you do. I’ll run in and get everything while you stay in the car. Tell me what you need.”
Listing familiar items and their location in the house soothes me in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.
“And a bra.”
“Nope,” Rachel shakes her head as she says it. “No bras for you, at least for a week.”
“Rachel, I can’t…”
“No, missy, not with what you have going on,” she says as she waves her hand at my chest area.
*
I check myself out that afternoon, against medical advice. The drive to our house (Dylan’s house, I correct myself mentally) is short and familiar, but I might as well be seeing everything for the first time.
Rachel and Dylan are talking in the front, but I’m not listening. My head feels like I’m underwater. Must be the infection. Or the meds, but that seems unlikely so soon.
Something heavy sits on my chest. I don’t know what the hell is happening to me.
How long could a human being survive the life Hawk and I led in that room? Psychologically, I mean, because I’m sure the food and water we were being given were enough to sustain life. But the lack of movement, not being outside, not being able to touch another human, missing my child… That’s what would have killed me, and that’s how Hawk’s still living.
If he’s living.
