Page 17 of Property of Mongrel

“Two days from now,” I reply. “Thanks, Connie,” I say when she sets a plate with a huge roast beef and cheese sandwich in front of me.

“You’re welcome, Mongrel.”

“Doc, how long am I gonna feel so damn tired?” I ask a few minutes later when I catch myself yawning again.

“Brother, you had major surgery two weeks ago, give yourself a break,” he chides. “I know your arm wasn’t cut open like they used to do it, but your body still has to heal. Therapy days will take a lot out of you and while you say you’re not in much pain, I would strongly suggest that you take a painkiller if you’re going to lie down for a bit. She may have done passive therapy on you, but the last thing you wanna do is wake up to muscle spasms in your shoulder and arm.”

“She said something similar,” I muse.

“Then pay attention,” he says, smirking at me.

“Fine, fine. Whatever.”

“Go and rest, Mongrel, I’ll start playing around with the cake pops and see what I can come up with, okay?” Gretchen asks.

“Thanks, Gretchen.”

I wasn’t lying when I told Doc how frustrating it was to me that I felt like I should be stronger. I barely made it to my room, hit the bathroom to change into something more comfortable, before I was stretching out on my bed and allowing sleep to claim me.

Waking up, my first thought was of my therapist.

Addy. Definitely a petite little thing, with curves in all the right places. Despite her diminutive stature, I could see she was toned, especially when she went over and changed the weights that JB was using before returning to my side. “She definitely looks good coming or going,” I murmur as I slowly sit up and grab the tumbler of water that’s on my nightstand. I still have a bit of residual soreness but it’s a healing kind of pain, not like it felt immediately after surgery.

A shudder courses through me when I remember that nightmare. Thanks to the adverse reaction I had, I now have a whole class of narcotics that I can never take again. Not that I anticipate frequent surgeries, of course, but I’m a biker and while our chapter is mostly legitimate, shit happens.

Once I’ve quenched my thirst, I get up and meander around my room, tidying and gathering my laundry. I may not be able to carry the basket like I could in the past, but I can drag it down the hall and stairs so I can wash my clothes. Stripping the bed and remaking it takes a little bit longer than usual, and I find I’m sweating my ass off by the time I’m done, so I decide to take a shower. I still can’t lift my arm too high, but Addy mentioned today that I should listen to my body. Since I have no plans to go anywhere else today, I opt for sweatpants, some socks, and my cut. Soon, I’ll be able to pull a shirt over my head again. Who knew that something so simple would fill me with excitement?

Taking another look around my room, I’m happy with how it looks so I head downstairs, dragging my laundry basket behind me. Halfway down the stairs, I hear Abyss yell, “Dammit, Mongrel, fucking ask for help!” before the basket is snatched out of my grasp.

“I had it, Abyss,” I reply.

“And there’s a clubhouse full of people who are ready and willing to lend a hand, brother,” he retorts.

“Just used to doing things for myself is all,” I mumble.

“You don’t have to any longer, Mongrel,” he says as we head to the laundry room.

It’s massive and that’s the absolute best way to describe the room—there are four commercial sized washers and dryers, as well as a table for folding. Since I’m not one who worries about sorting my clothes, it all goes into one washing machine, before I add the detergent and press start.

I’m sitting at one of the tables in the common room when Monkey walks in with a strange look on his face. “Mongrel?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” I ask.

“There are two guys at the gate asking for you,” he replies. “Didn’t confirm that you were or weren’t here, just said I’d check.”

“They wearing suits?” I question. I wouldn’t put it past that man’s attorneys to seek me out personally. The answer will remain the same, however. I won’t ‘step up’ and ‘take over’ for him so that the rest of the so-called family who couldn’t be bothered with me and my siblings don’t lose their golden goose.

“Uh, no, actually. Both in jeans, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear that one of them was your twin or something,” he says.

Could it be… Jonah?

“I’ll come out,” I state, standing to my feet. Do I care that I only have socks on? Not at all, especially since Rio made sure that we have a decent walkway from the clubhouse to the gate.

“Not going by yourself,” BamBam interjects. I look over my shoulder to see him, Doc, and Abyss standing there, intent looks on their faces.

I shrug because these men are my family now and have been for years, even when I was just a ranch hand. “I think it might be my brother,” I admit.

“Then what the hell are we waiting for?” Doc questions. At my raised brow, he shrugs. “Brother, it’s no secret that you’ve been trying to find him for years now.”