I take a second to light a cigarette. I need something stronger, a whole bottle of whiskey to blot out what happened tonight. But, instead, I’ll be staying sober, doing what I need to do. “When I call King, I’ll see if we can get some support, too. Extra brothers. We can house some here, but some are going to have to stay with you guys. Conflicts with trying to maintains some kind of lock down, but we just don’t have the space. All good with that?”
Everyone nods, and then Sunny takes a quick count of how many everyone can house.
“Let’s get to it.” As I walk back to my room, I try Maren again and then type a message.
Me:Hey, Love
Love? God I’m a fucking schmuck for this woman, but I delete it anyway.
Me:Sweetheart, there’s been a bit of trouble. I’m fine. Call me. But it would be safer if you’d ask the prospects outside to lead you to either the clubhouse or go to my house. I know you’re probably asleep now but do it in the morning. There’s a lockbox hidden on the porch by the chair you sat on. The number is 2221. Let yourself in, and I’ll be home when I can.
I dip my head into Vandal’s room. Reaper has a bowl of water and is still cleaning him up. “We’re going to need to take him for a series of X-rays, mostly I’m concerned about his skull,” Reaper says, wringing the cloth out. “My guess is they’ve broken his orbital bone, amongst other things. Just trying to make him look less like roadkill before we go.”
“You doing okay, V?” I ask.
“Morphine is good…shit.” The words come out a little slurry.
“Do what you’ve got to do,” I tell Reaper. “Patch him up, first. He’s your priority. Then, I want you to stock up on our medicsupplies but make a second medical center at your own place. I want a backup there in case anything happens here.”
Reaper purses his lips. “You really think they’d use that missile launcher?”
I shrug. “Didn’t get the best look at it, but it was pretty big. Those things go for around a hundred thousand dollars. The missiles alone for tens of thousands. Doubt they use them without thinking of the cost.”
He drops the rag and crosses his arms. “See, here’s the thing. I think they wanted us to see it, to know they had it. But they were too close to use it. If they’d fired that thing at our clubhouse, they would have been hundred percent in the blast zone when this place blew apart.”
I hadn’t considered that. “You think so?”
“They’re either really fucking clueless anddon’tknow that, in which case, they can race us into hell when we all die. Or it was for show.”
I can’t decide whether that makes me feel better or not. “Thanks, brother. Let me know when you take Vandal for an X-ray. You going to the ER?”
He shakes his head. “No. An old buddy of mine took a job at a private X-ray place. He’s gonna meet us there shortly so I can take V in off the books. An ER would ask questions about his injuries and why he’s already loaded up on morphine.”
I slap Reaper on the shoulder. “Thanks. I know you hate being caged, so thanks for driving him.”
Reaper nods. “Never a problem, Prez. Gonna take him in the van. I got a couple of prospects dragging a mattress into the back so he can lie down and be comfortable.”
By the time I get to my room, I feel exhausted.
I had a moment, when that red dot was focused on my chest and there was a missile pointed at the clubhouse, when I saw the end of my life. And my first thought was for Maren. She’s lost somany people in her life already; I don’t want to add to that list. Not yet, anyway.
I get to my room, and make the call that, while I know it’s fine to make, always leaves me on edge. I don’t like asking anyone for anything. It’s also late here, even later there, but if I was national president, this is something I’d want to know about.
I’m also old-school and like to see people’s faces when I ask them for a favor, so I call him using video.
“Knox,” King says when he answers. “Gimme a minute.”
He props the phone on something, and I watch as he finishes fastening a little onesie on a baby with a shock of black hair.
And it might be the first time I’ve ever seen King smile. He’s whispering something I can’t hear to his daughter. I heard they called her Imogen.
He reaches for a pink blanket and puts it over his shoulder.
“Up you go, Immie,” he says, finally, before lifting the little thing up to his shoulder and rubbing her back slowly. He places a kiss on the side of her head, then reaches for the phone before sitting down in a rocking chair.
And, fuck me, I’m jealous. His daughter’s hair is the same shade as his, but her skin is fairer. And I wonder, for a moment, what bit of me and what bits of Maren our kid would have.
“Sorry about that,” he says finally. “Rae went out with her book club for the first time since Imogen was born. They’ve gone to some concert at the Shore. Bates and Halo are watching over ‘em. So, it’s just me and Immie tonight.”
