I try to push myself up again, ignoring the tearing sensation in my chest. "What?"
"Judge granted Cash temporary guardianship of Mercy," Brick says. "Savannah tried to intervene, offered herself as guardian. Court rejected it. She still shares residence with Cash at the Ashby place so there was really no point."
Brick sighs hard and narrows his eyes at me. The only sign of emotion he's shown. "I told you before. I fucking told you, Legion. No goddamn kids at the clubhouse. Now we got social workers, and family court fucking judges, and Cash fucking Ashby eyes all over us."
The rage builds inside me, hot and desperate. I throw back the covers and attempt to stand, but my legs buckle immediately. Weakness overwhelms anger, and I fall back onto the bed, breathing hard.
"I need a phone," I say through gritted teeth. "I need clothes. I need to get the fuck outta here!"
Brick stands, then picks up the hospital phone from the bedside table and tosses it into my lap. "I'm heading back to Montana," he says. "Two days of waiting to see if you live or die is enough. I've got major shit to deal with, thanks to you."
"Where's Savannah now?" I ask. Desperate for answers before he leaves.
Brick heads toward the door, not looking back at me. "She went back to the ranch with Mercy last night after they said you were gonna pull through," he says. "There's a court date comin' up for Mercy and this one is for keeps."
"Why are you pissed at me? I didn't plan on fuckin' dying over a damn brand."
Brick turns to face me. His expression one of pure rage. "What did you just say?"
I realize my mistake too late. Because… that's literally what the brand means.
I will die for it.
For them.
For Badlands.
I sigh. "You know what I meant."
"All of this is your fault. You didn't take care of the goddamn wound. You didn't take care of Mercy. You didn't take care of shit, Legion. And everyone is about done with your drama. Maybe you're more trouble than your silence was worth?"
Then, without even lookin' back, he walks out.
The door remains open after Brick leaves, hanging there like an accusation. Diesel fills the frame moments later, his massive shoulders nearly touching both sides, face set in that solemn expression I've seen a hundred times before—usually right before someone gets their teeth kicked in.
But there's no violence in his movements as he enters the room, just careful, measured steps that barely make a sound on the linoleum floor.
He places my leather wallet on the bedside table without ceremony, then stands at the foot of my bed, arms crossed over his chest.
"We drove eight hundred miles to check on you," he says, not waiting for me to speak first. "We're heading back today, so I guess that probably sends some signals you might be overthinkin'. But let me say it again, we drove eight-hundred fucking miles to check on you."
No small talk. No how you feeling bullshit.
Just… you owe us. Which is fine. I guess. But a little fucking sympathy would be appreciated.
"Sheriff's been sniffing around the clubhouse since you went down," Diesel continues. "Asking questions about yourcondition. How you got that brand. Who performed the ritual. They're looking for something, Demon. They don't like you."
"No shit," I sneer. "They don't like any of us."
"No." Diesel shakes his head. "There's something brewing with the Ashby people. I mean…" He sighs. "It's not a surprise, right? I understand you've known each other for decades. I get that the two of you were high school whatevers?—"
"That's a joke. She went to prep-school in the Pacific Northwest, Diesel. I quit Drybone High School in the eleventh grade."
"You know what I'm gettin' at," Diesel says. "The two of you have history. Which only makes this worse, Legion."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Her. Savannah Ashby. She's not yours. She's never been yours. She's never gonna be yours because Cash Ashby is gonna make sure of it. And if you fuck with him for too long by fucking with his sister, he's gonna cause trouble. And then…" Diesel shakes his head. "Then… I'll have to take care of it."
