Damaged & Dangerous: The Sacred Hearts MC Book VI (6 page)

“I don’t know, I don’t know Man! Uh, Pig said he hasn’t seen
her in a few days, she could have been like this that long, or longer for all I
know.”

“Alright I’m on my way, you gotta get her cleaned up. Strip
the bed and get some fresh sheets on it. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that!” I said.

“Where you at?” he demanded. I rattled off the address and
description of where we were at, and dropped the phone on the bedside table.

“Come on, Dani. We gotta get you cleaned up, Babe.” I threw
back the blankets and winced. Most definitely she’d been here a couple of days.
The girl was ripe. She moaned and her brow furrowed but she was so far fucking
out of it, it was unreal. I strode into the bathroom and hit the taps, waited
for the water to heat up, and started the tub to filling. This was going to be
messy and graceless but I didn’t give a fuck. I stripped my shirt over my head
and tossed it over the top of the door. I’d need something dry to put her in
and I didn’t know where any of her shit was. Doc would be here inside an hour
so I didn’t really have time to go fish for anything other than bed linens.

I went back to the bedroom and stripped her out of the
oversized tee and the panties she’d been sleeping in. I kept talking to her,
hoping it would somehow make what I was doing better. I doubted it very much,
though. The girl had been violated six ways to Sunday by the SKMC, and I was
just another set of male hands taking liberty at this point.

“I’m so sorry, Rocket. I’m so sorry, Baby, I didn’t know. If
I’d known I would have been here before it got to this. Hang in there for me,
girl. Just hang on,” was mostly what I said, or some variation thereof. I got
her into the tub as it slowly filled with water, shutting it off when it got to
a certain level. I made sure there was no way she could slip under, and went to
the next thing on Doc’s list.

I stripped the bed fast and bundled the dirty linens up,
flinging them down the hall towards the washer and dryer. They could live there
for the time being, in a heap in front of the two machines. I tried the closet
and - jackpot! Some fresh ones were folded on the top shelf. I pulled them down
and made the bed. I took a couple of the top blankets that hadn’t been against
her body and put ‘em on the bed. The bottom two joined the pile in front of the
washer and dryer. I pulled a couple of old quilts out of the closet and
finished up the bed quick, and returned to the bathroom. She hadn’t moved. Her
breathing sucked just so damned bad that her lips were almost blue. I grabbed a
clean, empty saucepot off the top of the stove. It’d have to do.

I washed her carefully and used the pot to wet her long hair.
I washed that, too, carefully shampooing and rinsing. She moaned and coughed
and weakly tried to struggle throughout my ministrations, but what really threw
me was when she started speaking French in a quiet, broken, pleading tone of
voice.

“
Se il vous plaît
pas, se il vous plaît laissez-moi mourir
.” She repeated over and over, and I didn’t have a
fuckin’ clue what she was trying to tell me.

“Man, Rocket. I don’t
understand, Babe. English. Please, Baby, tell me in English…” but it was just
more of the same thing over and over again.
Se il vous plaît pas, se il vous
plaît laissez-moi mourir
, over and over again.

I pulled the plug and
the water siphoned down the drain on the tired, old, but clean tub. I started
the tap and, an arm curved around her back and shoulders, held her up and used
the pot to give her a final rinse. I shut off the water and snatched the large
towel from the bar, wrapping her in it awkwardly. I got her back up and into my
tee shirt by propping her on the couch out in the living room.

“Okay, Babe. Almost
there.”

She was
so fucking
out of it.
So weak she couldn’t even hold her head up. She’d stopped
speaking and that death rattle in her chest got worse and worse the more time
that ticked by. I tipped her against my shoulder so I could pull my shirt down
in back and that’s when I saw the tattoo. Rage, hot and immediate, surged in
the center of my chest. ‘Pig-Pen’ was scrawled across her lower back in black,
spikey script reminiscent of the anarchy ‘A’. The son of a bitch had branded
her, but he couldn’t fucking take care of her.

I was just pulling the
blankets on her freshly-made bed up over her lap when Doc shoved through the
apartment’s open front door. I pointed my weapon out of habit and he raised his
hands, his medical bag over his shoulder.

“Just me,” he said, then
frowned. “Where’s your shirt?”

“On her. Hurry the fuck
up.” He came into the bedroom and I moved aside, shoving my weapon away. He
stuck a thermometer in her ear, one of the kinds they use on kids, and made a
growling noise.

“103.2.” He took her
pulse and shook his head, jerking his stethoscope out of his bag and sticking
it in his ears. He pulled blankets down and put his hand up my shirt and
listened to her chest. I was about to get twitchy about him leaving it there too
long when he pulled it back out and covered her up to her armpits, leaving her arms
out from under the blankets.

“Without x-rays to
confirm, I have to guess pneumonia. I brought IV fluids and a broad spectrum
antibiotic. You’re right, she’s in miserable fucking shape. I’m gonna get an IV
started. You might as well settle in, Boy. You’re gonna be here a while, and so
am I.”

I nodded and let Doc do
his thing. I started the washer with her sheets and the shit I’d stripped off
the bed. It was gonna be a couple of loads.

“R.T.!” he called.

“Yeah?”

“Bring me that coat rack
I saw in the dining room, need somethin’ for an IV stand.”

I brought the rack,
which held only one coat, and set it up by the bed. It was one of those old
fashioned ones made out of a thick and rich wood.

“Grab me a coat hanger
from the closet there,” he said. I did as I was told. I could tell he’d done
this back-alley medicine shit a time or two before. It didn’t seem like he was
improvising so much as using some tried-and-true methods. He hung the IV bag on
the hanger, and the hanger on the coat rack, and messed with the tubing leading
into Dani’s inner arm. She was so fucking pale. Her skin was almost
translucent, the veins standing out almost neon on the inside of her forearm. The
same place where she’d written on me where I could find the pain medicine she’d
left me.

“This the way they treat
their women?” he asked me.

“Just the ones that’re
valuable to them. Swear to Christ they treat the sluts better. Those bitches
can
leave.
”

He smoothed some of her
hair back from her face and looked her over.

“She’s a knock out,” he
observed.

“Yeah. Different, too.
She’s smart, doesn’t use. I don’t know what she does for them but whatever it
is, it’s important.” He nodded.

“You been protecting
her?” he asked.

“No. Not as much as I
want to. It’d blow my cover, but I’m beginning to not care so much about that
right now.” Doc turned cold hard eyes on me.

“You better care,” he
said and I nodded, catching his meaning. I wasn’t any good to her
or
my
club dead, and we still had work to do. There was a long pause in conversation
as we both retreated inside our own heads.

“Rev really kicked your
ass,” Doc said flatly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I turned and saw his
tired blue eyes roving my fading yellow bruises, the flat, shiny, pink scar on
my cheekbone.

“Dude doesn’t know any
other way to do it,” I said with a shrug.

“Ain’t that the ever
loving truth of it?” he asked.

Indeed.

“How much longer until
we can start
really
being the hunters versus the prey?” I asked.

“Sure we should be
talking about any of this in front of her?” he countered.

“She isn’t out?” I
asked, surprised because she looked like she was out fucking cold.

“Were you?” he shot back
and I palmed the back of my neck, chagrined.

“Fair enough, Old Man.”

“Who the fuck you
callin’ old, Boy?” he smiled but it was still weighted by his loss and his
grief over his Ol’ Lady. I stared down at Dani. If she died I was going to own
Pig and the lot of them into next week. She took care of me at risk to herself,
it was more than time I manned up and returned the favor.

Dani…

I had two problems. The first was that I had
to pee and the second… well the second was that I
woke up.
I was
warm, too warm, and when I opened my eyes it was to look down the length of my
forearm. The first thing to become immediately apparent? The white swatch of
tape holding the plastic of the IV in place against my skin. The second thing?
I wasn’t alone in my bed. A strong, muscled arm curved over the top of my
waist, the back of my body snug against a hard body that was putting off an
amazing amount of heat.

I searched my memory for who it could be and came up empty.
All I knew was that I’d been
so close
to being free of the nightmare I’d
been living and
someone
had pulled me back from the brink of that
beautiful oblivion. I choked, and bit down on a sob, and whoever it was that
had a hold on me jolted.

“Shhhh, s’okay, Dani.” The voice was warm and gentle and
not
Pig’s. Warm, soft lips pressed to my skin on the back of my shoulder, where
the neckline of the tee I was wearing didn’t quite cover. I sucked in a breath
and a broken cry of such crushing defeat escaped my mouth, and I doubled in on
myself.

Why!? Why do you hate me so much!?
I silently asked
God, but as always there was no answer.

“Oh Baby, I’m so sorry.” The arm around me drew me back and
held me close and I cried, broken and bitter at still being alive. I couldn’t
cry forever, though, and my bladder was screaming for relief. I still didn’t
know who held me fast but I’d learned a long time ago that
who
didn’t
matter so much, especially when it came to the Suicide Kings. Though
truthfully, whoever had me was being both kind and gentle, and it was a mark of
how damaged I’d become that it was
that
which was scaring me more than
being in a stranger’s arms.

“I’m going to let you go. You have to promise me you won’t
rip out your IV. You promise?” the voice was familiar but the face that went
along with it was eluding me. The arm locked around my middle eased off and I
sat up abruptly, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet making
contact with the old, worn hardwood of my bedroom floor.

“Easy, Rocket.” The voice soothed and I stiffened, turning
my head slowly.

“
Thirteen?
” I asked, not quite believing. But sure
enough, there he was, shirtless, with his head propped in his hand, smiling
that roguish smile at me.

“How’s my patient?” a grizzled voice asked from my bedroom
door and I whipped my head so fast in that direction, to face the new possible
threat, that the ends of my hair lashed the half-naked Prospect behind me.

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked. The man harrumphed.

“I’m yer doctor,” he said. He looked like one, sort of. Soft
brown shoes, khaki Dockers, blue button down shirt… except his head was shaved
and he had a gray and white handlebar mustache.

“Why thank you, Doc, for saving my life!” he mocked and I
smoothed my long hair behind my ears, pulling it tight with my distress.

“I didn’t ask you to do that!” I snapped. He leaned a
shoulder against the doorjamb and raised an eyebrow at Thirteen behind me. I
stood up abruptly and swayed on my feet, black spots and weird color bursts
flashing in my vision. I felt extremely light headed and Thirteen was just
suddenly there, standing behind me, a solid wall of man at my back, his hands
on my waist gently supporting me.

“Easy, Girl,” the doctor intoned. “You were so dehydrated we
almost lost you, you got pneumonia, you’re weak; who the fuck knows when you
last ate… You need to take it slow.” He sounded genuinely concerned and when I
looked, his blue eyes had lost their hard edge.

“I really have to pee,” I said hollowly.

“K, c’mon, I’ll help you,” Thirteen murmured just above my
shoulder. I looked up at him.

“How’d you know where I live?” I asked.

“Bathroom first, then there will be plenty of time for
conversation. Doc?” The doctor came forward and gently grasped my wrist,
turning my arm out.

“Keep it straight for me?” he asked and I nodded. He
unhooked the line and capped the thing in my arm, with quick and sure
precision. They’d brought my granddad’s old coat rack in here and my bedside
trashcan had three of the empty saline bags in it. And the fourth one, hanging,
was almost empty. No wonder I had to pee so bad!

I looked down at myself and frowned, I didn’t recognize the
tee shirt I was in, but it was a puzzle for later. Thirteen was walking me out
into the hall and I went with it, a little afraid of what would happen if he
let me go. I felt so strange! He turned me loose just inside the bathroom door
and shut it behind him, closing me into the small space by myself. I did what
needed doing and washed my hands, grateful for the counter to hold me up.

I opened the door and the two men were waiting on the other
side. I let Thirteen help me back to bed.

“You hungry?” the doctor asked.

“Starving, actually.”

“You two talk. I’ll fix you some soup, then I gotta get out
of here.”

I frowned, “How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Found you two days ago,” Thirteen said softly. The doctor
went out into my kitchen.

“Pig?” I asked fearfully.

“I been keeping him updated but he hasn’t felt the need to
stop by.” His green eyes cooled and turned more stormy blue and I nodded
carefully.

“Who is he?” I asked quietly.

“A friend,” he answered simply. I gave him a look and he
laughed softly, but then his face grew solemn. “I know you’re a smart girl,
Rocket. Which is why I can’t figure how you got here.”

“Don’t change the subject,” I said softly and stared at my
hands, which were folded in my lap. He tipped a finger beneath my chin and
lifted my gaze to his.

“It’s really better if you don’t know. Sometimes ignorance
is bliss, same reason why you told me not to tell you my last name.” I nodded.
If I didn’t know, then Pig couldn’t beat it out of me. He would be safe. Still,
I had my suspicions, which could be just as dangerous in some ways.

We were silent for a time and he gave me my space, sitting
near me but not too close. I didn’t quite understand why that bothered me.
Usually I didn’t want anyone anywhere near me, but there was something
different about Thirteen.

“How about you answer my question?” he said, but his voice
was kind. Soothing, even.

“What question? I didn’t hear a question.” It was his turn
to give me a look that screamed ‘don’t patronize me’ and I gave a weak smile.

“It was around three years ago. I was nineteen, about twenty,
and my granddad had died. I was alone except for my boyfriend, Jared. He got
mixed up with some guys and a friend of his introduced him to a friend of
his
who was a Suicide King, and he started hanging around them.” I took as deep a
breath as I could, which admittedly wasn’t much. I coughed, and it hurt, and I
grimaced. Thirteen handed me a glass of water from the bedside table but he was
waiting me out, patiently.

“One night he comes home wearing a prospect’s cut and tells
me I have to come out with him; that the guys wanted to meet me.” Thirteen’s
brows drew down into a scowl and I rushed through the whole horrible ordeal. By
the time I was through he’d had to take the glass of water from me, my hands
were shaking so badly. He sighed and I could see the struggle on his face.
Finally one side won out and he pulled me against him, tucking my head beneath
his chin. I stiffened.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m holding you, Babe. You look like you need it,” he
murmured. I tugged back from him and he immediately let me go. I couldn’t
remember a time that ever happened. I stared at my hands for a long time and he
stood with a sigh.

“Here we go,” the doctor said from the doorway. He brought
in a tray with a bowl of soup and some crackers on it. Chicken noodle. I smiled
a bittersweet little smile.

“You’re a doctor… any scientific proof to the whole chicken
soup thing?” I asked and coughed. He smiled and set the tray in my lap.

“Empirical data suggests that it is indeed good for the
soul,” he said and I laughed a little. He took out my IV after giving me a
final dose of antibiotics through it, then set out an orange bottle of pills on
the table beside me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“More antibiotics. Three times a day. Morning, mid, and
night. You should be fine in seven to ten days. If you’re not all better, have
R.T. here call me.”

I frowned, “R.T.?” I asked.

Thirteen, who had taken up the doctor’s place at my bedroom
door, smiled, “Red-Thirteen. It’s what I been called since I was a kid. People
usually shorten it somehow. Red, usually, but if there’s another ‘Red’ around I
get tagged with Thirteen or just R.T.” 

“Oh, I guess I’m just used to the guys calling you Thirteen
or Pretty-boy.” The doctor arched a brow.

“Pretty-boy huh? I’m gonna have to remember that one,” he
chuckled, “Time for me to get going. You take care of yourself, Rocket,” he
said.

“Dani. My name is Dani,” I said and the doctor smiled.

“Dani,” he repeated, nodded, and slipped out the bedroom door.
Thirteen saw him out of my apartment and came back to sit on the foot of my bed
while I ate.

“Hope you don’t mind. I used your washer and dryer while you
were out cold.” I shook my head and took the spoon out of my mouth, swallowing
the soup, which was perfect. The good kind you got in the plastic tubs at the
grocery store, full of big noodles, carrots, and celery.

“Why did you come here, anyways?” I asked before taking
another bite. He smoothed a hand over the blankets covering my foot and shin,
massaging my foot through the covers absently.

“Pig-Pen sent me over here.” He got up and came back with a
Crown Royal bag and I held out my hand for it excitedly. I know it was wrong,
that these things had been stolen from their rightful owners; but still, my
ability to create, to make things the way my grandfather had taught me, that
was
mine
and the only small source of joy I really had left.

“What is all this stuff?” he asked me, holding the bag out
of reach. I tried to set the tray and soup aside and he held the bag up and
said, “Ah, ah, ah eat your soup and then you get the goods.” His green-blue
eyes held a sparkle of mischief and I settled back, nodding, and ate the rest
of my soup and the crackers, which was good. The salt sort of burned my lips
where they were cracked and I took a drink of water from the glass on the
bedside table. He set the stolen jewelry pieces on the nightstand and took the
bowl and spoon to the kitchen, knowingly leaving the tray behind. When he came
back I was already sorting through pieces.

“There’s a workbench in the living room, I know you’ve seen
it. If you bring me the jeweler’s loop from it, I’ll tell you what this is
about. But you have to
swear to me
Thirteen! You have to promise you
won’t tell Pig I told you anything!” He roved my face with troubled eyes and
nodded.

When he came back with the loop in his hand, he wore a
heather gray tee shirt. I was surprised to find that his putting on a shirt
actually disappointed me a little. I was even more surprised to find that I had
rather been enjoying the view of his body. I pushed those thoughts away and
held out my hand for the loop. He went to hand it to me, but pulled it back at
the last second.

“Explain.” He raised his red-gold eyebrows and retook his
seat at the foot of my bed. I set the ring in my fingers down on the tray.

“The club runs and sells drugs,” I said, and I could see
that he already knew that. There was no surprise on his face. “My grandfather
was Philip Broussard.” That did raise his eyebrows. I frowned, “You know the
name?”

“I’m not blind, Rocket. It’s the name on the jewelry
storefront downstairs.”

I blushed. “Um, right… anyways, my dad couldn’t take care of
me. My mom, either. Drugs, apparently, and so when I was two I ended up in the
care of my
grand-père
.” He smiled at the French pronunciation. “He was a
custom jeweler from France, it was a family thing; his father’s father taught
his father and so on down the line. My
grand-père
wanted to teach my father, but my father… I
don’t really know what happened there.” Which wasn’t exactly true, it was just
something I really didn’t want to go into, and wasn’t part of this story.

“Anyways, my
grand-père
taught me everything he knew and when he died, I inherited all of his tools
and his workshop and everything in it. A few months after Pig-Pen claimed me it
became apparent that I was only going to be kept around until he got bored with
me, and that I had better be of some sort of other value after that point came
or I was going to die or be passed around. I didn’t want either of those things
so I sold a piece of my soul and made a deal with the Devil himself.” I bit my
lips together.

“No judgments here,
Baby. You did what you had to do.” He said, and that reassuring touch was back.
Hand gripping the top of my foot with a gentle, even pressure, stroking up my
shin halfway to the knee and back down. Up and down, up and down… I closed my
eyes and just let myself enjoy it for a fraction of a second before letting my
breath out slowly.

“The club had most of
East County hooked on their shit and the more people become addicted, the less
reliable they are with the cash flow… pretty soon people were stealing shit to
pay for their drugs and were trying to barter with everything from electronics
to jewelry. Sparks was livid when some of the younger club members and dealers
started showing up with the jewels. Said that he couldn’t pawn this shit
without it being traced back to the club and it was worthless, and by then Pig
was getting restless with me, so I told him about what I could do.” I looked at
him a little hopelessly.