Still Standing: Wild West MC Series Page 7

  “Mrs. Jimenez,” I repeated.

  “We found her in your apartment, babe. She told us what went down. Buck called her boy who came to get her. They tied her up but didn’t hurt her. She’s shaken up, but like I said, she’s good. Now, do you think you can hold on to me on the back of my bike?”

  I closed my eyes.

  Mrs. Jimenez.

  On this thought, visions of her tied to a chair with duct tape on her mouth flooded my head so I opened my eyes again.

  “I need to go get cleaned up,” I told him, trying to push up to my feet. His hands went to my armpits and he straightened, hauling me carefully up with him.

  Fire shot through my ribcage and I winced.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, releasing my armpits, but both his hands slid lightly to my waist.

  “I need to go get cleaned up,” I repeated.

  “Girl, you need to see a doctor.”

  I shook my head, and that hurt too, so I stopped doing it.

  “I don’t have any insurance.”

  “That’s okay, Aces does.”

  I blinked up at him.

  That hurt too.

  “Aces does?” I asked.

  “Babe,” he said impatiently. “Can you hold on to me on the back of my bike?”

  “I—”

  “You can,” he decided for me, grabbed my hand and pulled me to his bike.

  That hurt too.

  * * *

  The door to the exam room opened and Driver walked in.

  I focused on him.

  “Lefty” I found was actually Dr. Lefkowitz and he wasn’t a lefty.

  Dr. Lefkowitz wore a lab coat, he had a stethoscope and gentle hands, but he also had long, thick, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, a beard which needed a trim, and I saw a hint of a tattoo on his neck.

  So, I decided, Dr. Lefkowitz was either a member of the Club or a supporter.

  He’d also examined me, gave me an ice pack for my face, cleaned me up, X-rayed my head and chest and gave me some pain pills.

  Now, I was semi-reclining on an exam table wearing a hospital gown and covered with a thin blanket, and my torn, bloody clothes had disappeared since coming back from the X-ray area.

  “Can I have my clothes back?” I asked Driver as he walked to me.

  “How’re you feelin’?” Driver asked back as a reply.

  “Like I’d like my clothes.”

  Driver smiled then stated, “Let’s see what Lefty has to say. He’s lookin’ at your pictures now.”

  I turned my head away.

  As I did, I thought for perhaps the seven thousandth time that I needed to call Tia, as in really needed to call her.

  Because I obviously wasn’t going to make our rendezvous and I wasn’t going to do it because her husband just beat the heck out of me and was so angry that I’d spent the night with West “Buck” Hardy at the Aces High Dive (this, apparently, how everyone referred to their clubhouse), it could be described as being on a rampage.

  And Tia needed to know when Enrique Esposito was on a rampage.

  I looked back at Driver and asked, “Can I use your phone?”

  He started to answer when the door opened.

  His eyes went to it and so did mine.

  At what I saw, I pulled in a deep breath that, incidentally, hurt.

  Buck stood there wearing a tight, black T-shirt, faded blue jeans and black motorcycle boots.

  He was also wearing a scowl.

  Lastly, I realized that his ex-wife Kristy had it right.

  Yesterday, I did not meet a man who I thought could strike in anger.

  But the man standing in the doorway staring at me now definitely could.

  Hard.

  To the point he shouldn’t be called Buck.

  He should be called Striker.

  He walked to me while I watched, and braced (which also kind of hurt), and Dr. Lefkowitz followed him.

  “West, I—”

  “Quiet,” he whispered in a way that I closed my mouth.

  Oh dear.

  Yes.

  I totally saw it.

  Restrained.

  Coiled to strike.

  Restrained or not, his fury still held immense heat to the point I figured his fangs didn’t shoot poison.

  They shot fire.

  “The good news, Ms. Delaney, is that, miraculously, you’ve got no fractures,” Dr. Lefkowitz spoke.

  Since I was Ms. Delaney, I tore my eyes from Buck to look at Dr. Lefkowitz who’d come to stand where Driver was on the opposite side of the exam table. I also saw that Driver had stepped back.

  “Ribs are just bruised, no breaks and no facial fractures,” he carried on. “The bad news is that you’re gonna hurt like a mother for a while, and that swelling in your face means no beauty pageants in your near future.”

  He smiled down at me in a kind albeit badass way.

  I didn’t return his smile, but I did say, “Thanks.”

  “Those pills kickin’ in?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  They were. The pain was dulling, and I was beginning to feel drowsy.

  The pain dulling was very good.

  Feeling drowsy when my situation was uncertain with a clearly furious Buck on my hands and the fact that I needed to talk to Tia was very bad.

  “I have to call my friend,” I told him.

  “You gotta get to a bed,” Dr. Lefkowitz told me. “Rest as much as you can and go gentle with yourself. In a coupla days, you’ll feel better. In a week, you’ll be near as good as new.” He looked across me to Buck. “I’ll give you some pills. She needs ’em, she can take ’em for two, most, three days. Then move her to aspirin, Tylenol or ibuprofen.”

  “Right,” Buck replied, and I looked to him to see he was leaning toward me.

  “I need to call Tia,” I told him as one of his arms went under my knees and his other slid around my waist.

  “Later,” he replied, lifting me.

  I flinched, the pain dull but not gone, and then I fought the flinch when I saw him staring down at me, his face so hard it looked carved from granite.

  “No, Buck, really, I need to call her,” I braved saying.

  “Later,” he repeated, turned, but glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Lefkowitz and stated, “On our tab.”

  He said this while walking, and when I looked where we were going, I saw Driver had the door open.

  I turned at Buck as he carried me through.

  “You don’t understand.” I said urgently, “We were—”

  “Clara, shut your trap.”

  “But Tia is—”

  “Babe,” he bit off, looking down at me and still walking but not to the waiting area, toward a back door. “God’s honest truth, I’m hangin’ on by a thread here.”

  This confused me so I asked, “Sorry?”

  He bent a bit to use one of his hands to push the bar on the door and it opened. Blazing Phoenix heat hit us, and he walked through.

  “I’m pissed, Toots,” he explained, looked down at me. Still walking, he clarified, “At you.”

  The drowsy was getting drowsier but still my eyebrows shot up.

  “At me?”

  “You’re not hearing my warnings and I’m speakin’ English,” he muttered.

  “Why are you pissed at me?”

  We stopped.

  He dropped my legs carefully so my toes just skimmed the ground and the blanket fell away, the rest of me held close to him. His hand went into his pocket. I heard the sound of locks beeping on a car then he moved to open a door. Once opened, he lifted me and sat me in the seat of a very big, shiny black SUV.

  Pain definitely dulled. Drowsy definitely drowsier. That barely hurt at all.

  I turned my head when the blanket was thrown over my lap to see he was planted in the open door close to me.

  Very close to me.

  In fact, the second I turned my head, my face was an inch from his.

  And he still looked ready to spit fire.<
br />
  “Because,” he answered, “I told you, you walk out of the Dive without my protection, bad shit would happen. And you slid outta my bed, left me a stupid fuckin’ note and walked out of the Dive without protection. And, babe, you’re sittin’ here with a swollen eye, a busted lip and bruised ribs, so I don’t have to tell you, in less than one fuckin’ hour, bad shit happened.”

  I stared up at him, stung.

  My note wasn’t stupid.

  I thought it was nice.

  “I thought my note was nice,” I whispered.

  “Do not be cute now, Clara,” he warned in a low, angry voice that was definitely tinged with heat.

  And venom.

  I didn’t think I was being cute, so I didn’t know how to stop.

  Thus, I decided just not to speak.

  His eyes dropped to my mouth and he muttered, “Smart,” then stepped back and slammed the door.

  Gingerly, since I was in no shape to make a break for it, I buckled in as he rounded the hood and got in beside me. He switched on the ignition, put the SUV in gear, hooked his arm around the back of my seat and twisted to look behind us as he backed out.

  I fought the lethargy at the same time I screwed up my courage to murmur, “I know you’re angry at me, but seriously, I need to call Tia. I also need to talk to Mrs. Jimenez and see if she’s all right. And,” I finished, “we left my clothes behind.”

  The SUV moved forward, and he replied, “Your neighbor is fine, I’ll see to your girl and you can kiss those clothes good-bye.”

  Oh dear.

  “Now, do yourself a favor, babe, and shut your trap,” he concluded.

  I didn’t want to shut my trap.

  I wanted, at least, to talk to Tia.

  And I would have explained why.

  The problem was, the minute the SUV hit the road and found cruising speed, my eyes drifted closed.

  I then found I didn’t have the strength to open them, and about a second later I was unconscious.

  5

  Crackers

  I woke up in a big bed.

  The sun was still shining, and this shine came from behind the bed.

  And the pain pills had definitely worn off.

  I gingerly lifted up on a hand and looked around.

  Big bed, two nightstands, mismatched lamps, but both were pretty cool.

  A dresser across the room, low, seven drawers. Picture frames on the dresser, a lot of them.

  Two big windows behind the bed, the shades pulled up, and they were Roman shades and looked custom made.

  A club chair in the corner by the dresser, leather the color of a penny, matching ottoman in front, both pieces of furniture covered in castoff clothes. A side table next to it that had two coffee cups and a spent beer bottle on it as well as some books. A standing lamp beside the chair, also pretty cool.

  The headboard of the bed was covered in a plaid that had grays, blues, creams with some rust, the edges tacked with exposed nailheads.

  A riot of clothes, belts and boots on the floor.

  And tangled with them was a hospital gown.

  I looked down at myself to see I was wearing a big, faded black T-shirt.

  I guessed I was at Buck’s place.

  There was an opened door to a closet on the wall by a door to what looked like a hall, and on the opposite wall there were double doors, both now open, leading into a bathroom.

  Which was where I needed to go.

  Treating my body gently, I threw the covers back and slowly swung my legs over the side of the bed.

  My face felt tight, my ribs ached, and my hip was killing me.

  Therefore, I got out of the bed like a granny and took my time as I wended my way through the clothes on the floor to the bathroom.

  I closed both doors behind me, turned, and was pleased to see it was far cleaner than the one at the Dive. Even the towels looked clean-ish. If not freshly laundered, they didn’t look like lab experiments.

  I went to the toilet, and lifting the shirt in preparation for my next activity, caught sight of my hip and stopped dead.

  Already angry purple and maroon bruising covered my hip and upper thigh, dark scrapes scoring through it.

  I moved to the mirror over the vanity and looked at my face.

  I then closed my eyes.

  But I could see what I saw in the mirror on the backs of my eyelids.

  Swollen eye, swollen cheekbone, cut lip.

  Not nice.

  It started coming back to me and I opened my eyes to shut it out.

  I couldn’t relive it. I couldn’t go back there. I needed to use the bathroom and then get to a phone.

  So I focused on that, did my thing, washed my hands, walked out of the bathroom and through the bedroom, and I did this holding myself delicately.

  The pain was constant, and I felt lightheaded.

  I needed food.

  But I needed to phone Tia first.

  I walked through the door and was assaulted by sunlight. Big, wide windows which showed a stunning, if surprising, view of pine trees, a slope covered in pine needles, at the bottom of which was a meandering creek.

  Amazing.

  But…this was not Phoenix.

  Where the heck was I?

  I also noticed there was a big square deck jutting from the front of the house.

  I further noticed I was standing on a landing that was four steps up from a large living space that was partially hidden due to the two side rooms of the landing jutting out to it, but I could see it included a living area and a kitchen.

  The landing had several doors leading off it.

  Buck’s room was at the end beyond the wall to the kitchen.

  The landing also had a set of open-backed stairs up to what looked like an attic space.

  I saw the steps down to the open space and headed that way.

  When I hit the bottom, the full big kitchen came into view to my right, living room to the left.

  Ink was sitting on the couch, but his gaze was aimed at me.

  There was a woman sitting at a stool at the counter that delineated the kitchen from the living room.

  She wore a thin, tight, gray thermal, a jeans miniskirt and biker boots, and had long, gleaming, dark brown hair.

  Her head was bent as she texted on her phone but suddenly her neck twisted to look at me, and I saw she also had on a lot of jewelry, a lot of makeup, and she was very pretty.

  Maybe I wasn’t at Buck’s.

  Maybe he’d dropped me off at Ink’s.

  “Hi,” I said softly.

  The girl swiveled around on her stool and dropped the phone to the counter, but my attention swiftly shifted to Ink.

  This was because he got up and came at me, his long legs eating the distance. He was there so quickly, not to mention he had a face like thunder, I was taken aback enough at all that was him coming at me that I did not retreat or even move.

  I tipped my head back and bit my lip (but stopped doing that immediately when the pain spiked through the cut there) when his big hand came up to cup my jaw lightly.

  “Jesus, babe,” he whispered, his eyes on the left side of my face, “they did a fuckin’ number on you.”

  If you told me Ink’s touch could be light, I would have called you a liar.

  If you told me Ink’s expression could be kind, I would have called you a liar about that too, and maybe even burst out laughing.

  But both were true.

  I felt tears sting my eyes.

  “Don’t be nice to me,” I whispered back.

  “Babe,” he murmured.

  “Hi, Clara, I’m Lorie,” the girl said, thankfully breaking the moment. Ink’s hand dropped and I looked to see her standing by him. “Buck said, if you wake up, we need to get some food in your belly. Do you want some soup?”

  Wow.

  Bikers and their women could be nice.

  Really nice.

  Who knew?

  Well, I guessed I did, since, except for my chi
lly initial reception, that was all I’d experienced from them.

  “I need to use the phone,” I told her.

  “I’ll get it for you, but maybe you should sit down,” she replied.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  She moved into the kitchen and I moved to a stool.

  Ink moved too, to the fridge, saying, “Buck’s got loads of grub, Clary, you can name what you want. So what do you want?”

  Clary?

  No one had ever called me Clary.

  Why did I find the sound of that so lovely?

  “Um…” I mumbled as Lorie came to me with the phone. “That offer of soup sounded good.”

  “Get her some soup, beautiful,” Ink ordered gently, closing the fridge.

  “No probs,” Lorie answered, handing me the phone. She then went to a cupboard, opened both doors, and recited, “You want chicken noodle, tomato or mushroom?”

  “Mushroom,” I answered.

  “Drink?” she asked. “Buck’s got Coke and water and pretty much anything with an alcohol content.”

  “Water, if you don’t mind,” I told her.

  “You got it,” she stated, whirling around so fast her shiny hair spun over her shoulder.

  I looked down at the phone.

  I punched in numbers, put it to my ear and listened to it ring while Ink got me a glass of water.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly when he set it on the counter in front of me.

  “Whatever you need, babe,” he muttered then reached across and slid the hair off my neck before turning back to the kitchen.

  Yes, definitely nice.

  And affectionate.

  Bikers were touchy.

  And sweet.

  Tia’s voicemail picked up and I closed my eyes.

  Hells bells.

  I waited for the beep and said, “Tia, honey, I…” I didn’t know what to say, “I…well, Esposito got to me. Baby, I need to know you’re okay. I’ll call you back as soon as I can, and if this number comes up on your phone, pick it up.” I pulled in breath and whispered, “Love you.”

  I beeped the phone off.

  I beeped it back on and called Mrs. Jimenez, leaving somewhat the same message when her answering machine picked up.

  I beeped it off again, put the phone on the counter, picked up my water and sipped at it knowing Mrs. Jimenez was probably freaked out and with her son Raymundo.