Damaged & Dangerous: The Sacred Hearts MC Book VI (5 page)

Red-XIII…

It took a couple of weeks, pushing three after my cover
story beat-down, for the final vestiges of stiffness to go away. The fucking Oxy
that Skid had given me had knocked me for a motherfucking loop, but not so much
that I couldn’t remember. Sound traveled real well in the metal warehouse
building and I’d lain there, pretending to sleep as I listened to The Suicide
Kings little war council while Rocket Raccoon took care of me.

Just like the furry little badass comic book character, Dani
was proving to be a crafty and brave badass of her own. She’d stuck around
after I’d decided on her new nickname and when she thought I was out, had gone
fishing in my pocket. At first I thought I’d misjudged her, that she was trying
to rip me off. Even so, her small gasp of surprise when she’d brushed against
my dong almost blew my possum act. I’d almost smiled, almost laughed at her
reaction. I hadn’t, though, and I have to say my confusion went up a couple
notches when I felt her writing on the inside of my arm.

As soon as I heard the door shut and was sure I was alone,
I’d taken a peek at my arm. ‘Check your hip pocket’ had been scrawled in a
short line of her feminine loopy script. So she hadn’t been ripping me off, but
rather had left something behind. When I was sure no-one was coming to the back
from the front room I checked. Two white tablets wrapped in a receipt with
another note, ‘For when you wake up –Coon’. I’d thought to myself,
well I’ll
be damned.
It looked like I had made a friend and ally in Dani… which was a
small bright spot under this deep, dark mountain of bullshit.

The Suicide Kings gave me a few days of peace at home to
heal up which, honestly, in a cabin with no electricity, wasn’t that great. At
least I had a bed and a working woodstove. I cooked up canned stew and soup on
its top, and would run into town once every couple of days to charge my phones
and the battery sticks I used the rest of the time to keep ‘em going.

I communicated everything I overheard to D and the boys
after I bought a few new burners, which I charged up and activated as needed.
They, like me, were just satisfied my cover wasn’t blown. Pig-Pen, Spade, and
Neo went out on a run for guns between then and now. I’d been just doing the
general scut work doled out to prospects. Which, for the last three or four
nights, included playing bartender. Rocket had been conspicuously absent.

“Hey, Prospect!”

“Yeah, Boss?” I turned away from the back of the bar towards
Pig-Pen, who tossed a Crown Royal cloth bag at me. I caught it, the contents
inside grating together, clinking gently. A metallic sound.

“Ain’t heard from my bitch for a few days, she was whining
she was sick. Take this over to her and check on her. Tell her she better get
her lazy ass back to being useful before I ain’t got no use for her. You get
me?” he asked and gave me a pointed look.

“Sure thing, where’s her place?”

“Over on Tullamore Street. She’s got an apartment up over an
abandoned store front, the one with the green awning, old jewelry store. You
can get to her place by a stair out back.”

“Got it.” I tossed down the rag I’d been using and stuffed
the Crown Royal bag into my jacket pocket.

“Tell her she better not be fucking avoiding me. I hate that
shit!” he called at my back and I gave a wave over my shoulder. Somehow I doubted
Rocket would be that stupid. After the whole pills in my pocket thing, she’d
pretty much avoided me like the plague. Wasn’t a hundred percent on why, I
think she was afraid I’d sell her out? Thank her or something and get her in
trouble, maybe? Who knows? All I know is that she was extra careful not to get
left alone with me, and that she wouldn’t look me in the eye or engage in
conversation.

I was half afraid Pig had said something to her or gotten
ahold of her. For a guy who didn’t give a fuck about his property, treating her
like shit, smacking her around, berating her constantly… he sure as fuck didn’t
want anyone else taking an interest. I’d gone so far as to tell him I had me a
girl outside the hoes that hung with us, to get him off my back about her the
second time he informed me that I had my chance to fuck her and I’d taken a
pass.

He got real interested all of a sudden and told me I should
bring my mythical girl around for the brothers to meet. The look on Rocket’s
face, behind his back, boy… She looked like she was liable to puke! It was such
a gut-wrenching and visceral reaction to the notion, I think I’d just stumbled
onto how she’d gotten in with a crowd like this. Fuck me swinging! That would
be a hell of a thing if it were true.

I was thinking about it again as I mounted my bike. I
affixed my new face mask and put on my shades. We thought it would look better,
more convincing, if I came back without my last set. They were waiting for me
back in my SHMC club room. Replacing the ski goggles would have to be an online
thing and since I didn’t technically have an address where shit could be mailed
and I hadn’t gotten around to opening up a PO Box, I just dealt without for now.
Wasn’t like I
really
needed them. Spring had sprung and then some even
though winter had hung on like a motherfucker this year. It was really only
cold enough to need the mask and eyewear riding at night but I think that was
more because I was a pansy. I still hadn’t acclimated to the cold after coming
from a warmer climate.

I pulled out of the lot and headed for the nearby town,
where I knew there was a street by the name Pig gave me. If I recalled, it had
been a nice part of town once, before developers had bought up all the retail
shops, etc., with dreams of erecting a new and modern shopping center. The
plans were stalled by historical preservation societies filing suit to protect
some of the buildings from demolition. They were in the process of trying to
prove that they were deserving of being on the national registration of
historic places.

How the fuck did I know all this? Shamelessly eavesdropping
on Rocket talking to one of the new girls to the club who was looking for a
cheap place to flop out. Rocket had told her that her ‘hood was a shitty place
to live but if you found an apartment above the abandoned retail outfits, the
rent was generally real cheap. You just had to be ready for an eviction notice
any day, depending on if the developer won their way.

I thought about her probably way more than I should. She was
a pretty little thing for one, but that wasn’t it. There was a keen
intelligence underneath those wide blue eyes and under all that long dark hair.
She was infuriatingly closed-mouthed about her history and where she’d come
from, and that just made me want to get to the bottom of her damage even more.

It was a relatively short ride from the club to her place
and when I pulled onto the street, I had to say it was kind of incredible. It
looked like something out of that zombie series or that Stephen King movie
about the world after a deadly virus wiped everything out. The whole street had
that middle-America, small town, main street-type feel, but the buildings were
falling into serious disrepair. The sidewalks were cracked and weed choked,
windows were boarded and busted out, and the cars that
were
parked here
and there were old, rusted out pieces of shit.

The building that Pig-Pen described was midway up the block.
Green awning, it wasn’t
as
bad off as some of the rest. Its front window
was mostly intact except for one long crack in it, the faded gold leaf
lettering spelling out
Broussard’s Custom Jewelry
on its front. There
was a recessed metal gate that wasn’t locked, between it and the building next
door. I parked my bike and took off my helmet, shoving my mask - which was just
a bandanna now - and glasses into its overturned bowl.

Rocket’s sad, tired, old, green Honda was parked at the
curb, so she was home. I pulled out the Crown Royal bag and opened it up, now
that there was no one to see me being fuckin’ nosey. It was filled with
jewelry. Real shit. Necklaces and rings and bracelets. Likely all of it fucking
stolen. I shook my head and drew the strings taught, closing up the bag.

“Just what the fuck you into, Rocket?” I asked the empty
air. One way to find out. I let myself through the gate and down the small
brick alleyway. It emptied out into a courtyard, which surprised me. A small,
bricked-in workshop sat in the corner of it, the windows dark, and a shiny
padlock in good repair keeping folk out of it. An iron stair led to the open
air second floor. There was only one door above the jewelry store, so I mounted
the steps two at a time and went to it.

I pounded on the door, “Rocket!? It’s Red-Thirteen!” I
called. There was no answer. I pounded on the door three more times with my
closed fist. I felt suddenly gripped by a creeping dread.

I knew she was safe from my club, my
real
club. No
women, no children. But I wouldn’t put it passed the sick fucks that were The
Suicide Kings to have done something to her, to
blame
The Sacred Hearts.
I gripped the door knob and it turned easily in my hand. I expected resistance
when I pushed on the door, but there was none, it swung inward on well-oiled
hinges. I set my helmet down carefully on the floor just inside the door and
swept the dimly lit interior with my gaze.

Small, two bedrooms, maybe. Kitchen just to the left of the
front door, hall leading to what looked like a laundry area and one bedroom on
the left, living room space directly ahead, dining area directly through the
front door and to the right. Another hall past the dining area. A darkened
bathroom door, I could see the sink from here… Past that, I think, was a second
bedroom. I slid my gun out from underneath my prospect’s cut and held it at the
ready. It was quiet, and still. So very still.

“Rocket?” I called and there was a weak cough and a moan
from the direction of the bathroom, past it, off to the right. My heart
squeezed in my chest and a hot rage started to burn in my belly.
If those
sons of bitches sent me out here to bear witness to her dying…
I didn’t want
to finish the thought. I swept the apartment and, satisfied that there was no
one there to jump out and take me down, I went for the last door. The one that
held that weak feminine groaning.

I opened the door flush against the wall and what I saw…
fuck
me.
I knew she’d been fighting a cold, but this was fucking ridiculous! She
lay in bed, the blankets and quilts piled high. Her hair was matted and used
Kleenex overflowed the small trashcan by her bedside, piling against the
hardwood like a drift of snow. Her nose was bright red and her breathing was
off, way off. It wheezed and rattled in her chest, I could hear it all the way
from across the room.

I don’t think anyone had been out here to look in on her
until I’d shown up today.  I’d seen people at Death’s door, dropped more than a
few in a heap there myself. And Rocket, she was fucking there.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” I heard myself swear. I put my gun back
in my waistband and pulled my cell out of my cut. I dialed Pig-Pen.

“What?” he demanded by way of greeting.

“Did you know she was sick?” I asked and my voice was edged
with disbelief.

“What? Yeah, some cold or something, I told her to take care
of it and stop comin’ around ‘til she did. None of us want that shit.” Pig-Pen
sounded irritated,
irritated!

“Sorry to piss on your parade, Boss, but it’s blown up into
something much worse than that! I’m lookin’ at her right now and your Ol’ Lady
is knocking on Death’s front door. I don’t know, Man, it looks bad.” I sat down
on the bed next to her and smoothed back some of her hair which was lank with
sweat. She was burning the fuck up.

“Fuckin’ deal with it,” he growled into my ear, “My bitch
dies, I’m holding you responsible.”
Was he fucking kidding me!?

“I gotta get her to a hospital then, Man…”

“No hospital! I ain’t paying for that shit. Fucking figure
it out, Man, but no fuckin’ hospital,” he yelled.

“Alright! No hospital, I know a dude does house calls. Fuck
me, Man… I got this. Might be a few days before I’ll know if she’s gonna make
it.”

“She fuckin’ better or it’s your ass, Pretty-boy. She’s
valuable to the club, it needs her.”

“Got it. I gotta hang up.” He did me a favor and ended the
call for me. I pulled the burner out of my other pocket and hit send twice. I
murmured to her while it rang through.

“Come on Baby girl, hang on for me; just hang on.” I pried
up her eyelids but her eyes were rolled back in her head, nothing but white.

“Hello?”

“D! D I need Doc. I need Doc right fuckin’ now, Man!” I said
into the line and there was a half-second of silence.

“You hurt?” He demanded and I heard him snapping his fingers
in the background.

“Not me, Dani… Coon. She’s real sick, man.”

“She OD?”

“Naw, she doesn’t do that shit, this is something else. She
had some kind of a cold.” I put my other ear to her chest and listened.

“Jesus Christ, is that her breathing?” I heard Dragon cry.

“Yeah. It’s bad, D it’s real bad and she’s fuckin’ important
to these assholes. She does something - I dunno what yet but their VP said it’d
be my fucking ass if she died so whatever it is, it’s big.” The phone switched
hands.

“R.T. It’s Doc, tell me what’s happening and describe her
symptoms, I’m throwing some shit together now.”

“Uhhh she’s burning up. Her breathing sucks, Man, it’s like
she’s not getting enough air. She was fighting some kind of cold the last few
weeks and I think it snuck up on her and laid her out.”

“Is she conscious?”

“Hell to the motherfuckin’ no, Man, and I can’t get her to
wake up! It’s freaking me out!”

“How long she been like that?”