Ruefully rubbing his jaw, Tempest said, “Of course, I got the only one who could fight.”
“I helped.” Saint grinned. “After I cracked open the skull of mine.”
“I hope you gave them hell,” I growled. “A busted lung would have been nice.”
“Broken ribs do you?” Freak grinned at me. He started to count down on his fingers. “Think we left another one with such damage to his balls he’s unlikely to procreate, and added in a broken arm as well as payback for Paint.”
“And the rest of them just stood back and let it go down?” My eyes widened in incredulity.
Saint shrugged. “What could they say? It was a fair fight.” His expression was pure evil.
What could I do but nod? Blood for blood. Revenge served. Though part of me felt it wasn’t sufficient.
Bullseye had looked straight at me. “I know you’ve got the most skin in this game, Short, and I respect that. The only reason it didn’t turn into a full firefight on both sides is that Wrecker still believes the info Skunk fed him is solid. I’d place good money on he’s waiting to ambush us when we’re using that route. Not that we’re going to be stupid to go that way again now it’s compromised.” He shrugged. “For giving you an injury that will affect you for the rest of your days? I want a fuckin’ life. Either we intercept them while they’re on their way to the border, or we could just leave it to the Feds, and let them take the whole fuckin’ club down.” He’d looked up then. “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”
Seated at the bar, my lips curl as I remember how all the brothers had thumped the table and stomped their feet, the sound deafening. For now, at least, it was sufficient that some revenge had been taken, paid in the currency of blood. But vengeance? Well, that was still to come.
These brothers, this club, have rescued me more than once. I glance around, seeing Stalker and Words playing pool, Saint and Pippa making out. Freak playing on the games machine with his son, while other brothers played cards, darts, pool, or just milled around. No X-rated shows with the sweet butts yet, in deference to Ace still being around, but the girls are strutting their stuff, waiting for their time to come. I was so fuckin’ lucky to find this family of mine. It makes up for the years that I spent with my blood relative.
The outer door opens, and a prospect walks in, winding his way through the throng. It starts to become obvious he’s heading for me.
“Short?” Heathen asks, hesitantly. “Are you expecting that nurse to come and see you? ‘Cause she’s here, and I thought you were all healed up.”
So did I. Doc had stopped his visits. There’s no reason for Bronwyn to come to the club. “She asked for me in particular?”
“Yeah,” Heathen confirms.
Why has she come to see me? I need no medical help.I’d told her I could be her friend,but that was before Bullseye had expressed keeping Doc onside was the club’s priority. That memory prevents me from telling Heathen to bring her straight in.
Pushing away from the bar, I tell him, “I’ll come and see what she wants.”
After the brightly lit clubhouse, the driveway seems dark, despite the overhead lights. As I walk alongside the prospect, I let my eyes adjust. At first, all I can see is the shape of a woman outside the gates, but as I draw closer, I can’t hold in my gasp.
“Fuck!” My immediate anger is launched toward Heathen, who gets my fist to his head. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
Staggering, placing his hand against his temple, he stammers out, “I just thought it was suss.”
Suss? It’s fucking inexcusable. I hasten my pace. What I can see from here is bad enough, but as I get closer and demand Heathen to open the gate, my heart about breaks. Bronwyn is sweet, good, and innocent. There’s no way she’s here, blood running freely from her nose and her mouth, nor should there be an open gash on her forehead. No way on this earth should she be standing in front of me in pain or hurt.
My gut twists, and the time it takes Heathen to pull open the gates seems like a lifetime.
Without hesitation, once I can, I approach, my arms open, and though I want to hug her, I sense she’s too broken, and maynot want human touch. But, oh, fuck. Sweet, innocent Bronwyn is covered in blood.
I can’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. “What the fuck, Bronwyn?”
And then I can’t resist resting my hand gently on her back, ostensibly to guide her into the clubhouse, but mostly to confirm to myself that she’s real.
