The Possibility of Trey (29 page)

"It-It's okay. I can't feel anything in them anyway." He could hear the tears in her voice and it broke him. He'd tried to be gentle when he'd taken her and the chair out of the tiny closet but he must have put her down harder than he thought.

"Almost there, pretty girl. When you feel the rope release, don't move yet. Okay? I'll help you to move your hands and arms." Trey was using the calmest voice he could but her poor goddamn hands were swollen nearly twice their size and purple. The fuckers had tied her up tight but with her shoulders up and over the back of the chair, her hands hadn't gotten any blood flow to speak of.

"Okay. Rope's off. I need for you to stand up, Dallas. No, honey. Keep your arms in the same position they're in. Just use your legs. That's it. That's my girl." He pulled the chair away as soon as her legs straightened and handed it to Sam while he kept a steadying hand on her hip.

"Can you move your shoulders, honey? That's it. Little movements. Good." Trey's mind raced trying to think of a way to prevent the worst of the pins and needles she was going to experience as soon as the blood made it to her fingers. He glanced at her poor hands again and revised that to
if
the fucking blood made it to her extremities.

"Sugar, do you have a large scarf or something we can wrap her in?" The dancer quickly moved by the couple now standing chest to chest and went into the other door. which Trey could see was filled with lockers, tables and large mirrors. The whole of it covered in the different costumes, props and makeup of the dancers.

"Stabilize her arms, yeah, that would be good," Sam agreed.

"Thank you for coming for me," Dallas whispered, her eyes on his shirt.

"I'll always come for you. You're my girl."

"And you're still an asshole," she said, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

"But I'm
your
asshole, Tex. Only yours."

She snorted and glanced up at him. "You honestly expect me to believe tha…ow! Oh god! Shit! Ooowww! Oh, God. Trey! My hands!"

Sugar handed him the scarf and he made quick work of crossing Dallas's arms and tucking her hands into her shorts before winding the scarf to keep her still from the elbows down.

"What the hell! Fuck, this hurts! Help me, Trey!"

"I only brought my Harley, honey. I need to make sure you don't move your arms on the way to the hospital."

"No hospital!" she said on an inhale before she began to scream. Trey quickly pulled her face into his chest, trying to muffle the sounds she was making with his own body.

"Is there a back way out of here?" Trey asked, looking at Sam.

"Just follow the hall and it'll dump you into the back parking lot."

Trey's eyes followed the other man's finger and saw the exit sign. "Great. Sam give Sugar the money I gave you. I'll have my boy replenish your wallet once we're outside."

"Do you need me to carry her, sir?"

"No. No one fucking touches her but me." Trey picked her up as carefully as he could, much in the way he'd pick up a toddler. Capturing her arms between them, he kept a forearm under her ass and an arm on her back. He watched as she bit her lips on a scream and then lifted to wrap her legs around his waist. "That's my girl. We're just going to go outside and get you seen to, okay?"

He felt her nod against his shoulder as she tucked her face against his neck. She was still making terrible noises but Trey knew the pain was a good thing. It showed her hands and fingers were receiving the blood they had been denied. Stepping as softly as he could manage, he started towards the far door.

"Thank you f-for your help, S-Sugar," he heard his girl say with a hitch, her chin on his shoulder. "I'll come b-back to see you d-dance."

"You take care, Dallas. I'm glad I could help." Sugar's voice was tearful too but Trey had already seen the dancer had been crying when he pulled Dallas out of the closet. Seems like his girl had bonded with a stripper. But Trey knew that good people came from all walks of life and held all sorts of jobs.

"Sam? Where do Jack and Daisy spend their time when they're here?" Trey asked as he walked. He needed intel to complete his retaliatory preparations.

"The executive offices are on the second floor, sir. But they usually do not come in until after five or six p.m."

Perfect. The brother/sister team would be around for the little party the Hellions had planned for later.

.
.
.
.*

I had been in the emergency room many times with my mom and was aware of the 'hurry up and wait' process of being there. But after the nurse unwrapped me and Trey helped me pull my hands out of my shorts, she ran for a doctor. I wasn't sure if it was because of what she saw or the screams that I'd let out during my unveiling.

At the doc's, "what the hell happened here?", Trey gave a short explanation because I could do nothing but writhe which caused more screams.

Within seconds of him finishing his exam, the nurse brought in a tray of four injections, that the doctor used to numb my hands. I was surprised that I couldn't feel the shots but the other pain, the excruciation of the pins and needles overrode everything else. It only took seconds and relief hit. A respite that loosened the tense grip my body had taken on up to and including my mouth.

"Thank you for rescuing me and getting me here. But you can go now," I announced to Trey firmly after both the doctor and nurse had left.

"I'm not going anywhere, Dallas." The bastard quickly zinged back. I glanced at him underneath my lashes and saw he had his thick arms crossed and muscled legs planted. Shit. It was a stance that backed up his words.

How do you make someone go away when they won't? Especially a bad-ass biker. I pondered that for a few moments before I tried a different tact.

"I don't want you here." Did I say that in a childish whine?

"Too bad."

I felt my face scowl at his rejoinder. Man, was he stubborn.

"Go back to your plaything. Or should I say play
things
since you seem like a thirty-one flavors kind of guy."

Trey leaned over me and placed his hands on either side of my hips in the bed, his face only inches from mine. "I know we need to talk this out, Dallas. But this is neither the time nor the place."

"Who are you to decide? Just 'cause you run HC and the Hellions, doesn't give you the right to…"

"Maybe not. But you're fucking
mine
, pretty girl, until we
both
goddamn decide you're not." His tone let me know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to take any of the shit I was shoveling. "I fucked up, cutting you deep and for that I'm sorry. But we'll get to all that another time."

All I could do was blink as his words echoed inside me.

"I don't want to know about it," I heard myself whisper, caught in his red-browns, the most perfect shade of brown as he stared at me. "I hate even thinking about it."

He dropped his head until we were pressed forehead to forehead and I saw him close his eyes. Which is the position the doctor found us in when he came back through the curtain of my bay in ER.

"Because of the severity of your injury, Ms. Sheridan, I'm recommending a series of tests which can be done tomorrow on an out-patient basis. In the meantime, here's a prescription for pain pills although your hands will be numb for hours yet. Also you need to have your hands massaged every three hours to ensure increased blood flow to the affected areas. I'll have a nurse clean and bandage your ankles which, compared to your hands, are the least of your injuries. She'll also loosely wrap your hands to pad them since with the numbing agent may cause you to bump them or do further damage without realizing it. Any questions?"

"N-no," I stammered. Would my mom be able to massage my hands every three hours?

As the doctor left saying he'd get the paperwork done for my release, I looked back at Trey. "I need to get to my folks. They're going to be out of their minds with me being gone so long."

"No worries. I have your brother and one of his new friends with them. They think you're with me for the afternoon. What the hell did you tell them anyway?" He moved to help when he saw I was struggling to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Did you see them?"

"Stopped by their room before going to the park to search for you," he advised.

"Just that you were out of town," I mumbled while looking at my blood-splattered shoes.

"So, you didn't tell them about…" He must have seen what I was looking at because he propped my foot on his thick thigh and began to untie the laces before pulling my shoes and footie socks off.

"No, Trey. I didn't."

"Thank you. I don't want them to hate me too." Trey was staring at my feet (or was it my toenails tipped in their green polish?) with a small grin.

"I don't hate you," I rushed to explain. "I just never want to see you or have anything to do with you for the rest of my life."

His eyes came to mine and his grin spread into a smile that exposed both dimples. "Bullshit. Want me to prove it?"

"Prove what?"

I saw his eyes drop to my mouth. He moved closer and leaned down towards me again.

The metallic sound of the curtain being moved jerked him back into full standing position.

"Here's how it's going down tonight," Trey announced. The main room of the clubhouse was filled to capacity but was so silent, he didn't even have to raise his voice to be heard. "We have three targets: the Ghosts' shack, Tomatoes and the chop-shop. And our objective is to fuck up every single biker sporting Ghost cuts. I don't care if they're fucking on the street, at the goddamn shack or working at their new piece of shit business. I want them fucking down and out. As for Tomatoes, we'll be disabling the bouncers as we make our way to the principle players of Fat Jack and Daisy."

"Define 'fuck up'," one of the brothers in the back yelled.

"I want the assholes laid out, hurt and unconscious."

"Weapons?" Jay called out.

"Only if they fucking draw 'em first. I would prefer no blood but shit happens. Absolutely nothing goddamn dead, though. Fucking cap 'em in the leg or wing 'em in order to get them to ground but don't take it too fucking far!"

"What do we do with them afterwards?" a member to the right asked.

Bishop answered that one. "Zip-ties. Ankles and wrists. Duct tape has become too damn popular and after our last stunt, our new MPD friends may start putting two-and-two together."

"Speaking of the MPD, after the crew working the chop-shop have everything under control and are off property, I want a call made to John Law. The information MPD receives will give the location of the goddamn shop as well as to point out the trail to Fat Jack's Used Cars and Parrish's Car Deals." Trey wanted the new venture of the other club's money-making scheme dead and gone with its participants doing time, if possible.

Silo stood and gave out the assignments and which council members were to lead. "Trey and Bish are taking the shack, me and Brand the chop-shop with Dare and Huff handling Tomatoes, the lucky assholes. You all know where you're supposed to be and who you're riding behind? Good."

"We've done this before and I know you'll make the club proud so I'll dispense with meeting afterward unless it's called for. Now getcha fucking asses on your rides and let's go administer
Hellion justice
!" Trey's roar was echoed by each and every member as they scrambled for the exit.

He, Bishop and their crew of ten were the last to leave.

"Rodriguez is mine, brother," Trey advised as he mounted his bike. Bishop gave a chin lift as he started his engine. He'd been the one who'd uncovered exactly where the Ghosts' headquarters were although Trey had known of the general location. The only uncertainty was how many members would be in attendance when the Hellions arrived.

As they rode in two columns, Trey pushed all other thoughts aside as he allowed the fury that had been bubbling for hours to rise to the surface. It built, escalating both his heartbeat and breathing. Strength shot throughout his body as his vision narrowed until the road was all he saw and a pain hit his jaw with the tight clench he had on his teeth.

He saw Bishop signal when they were a half-mile away. Time to hoof it in order to ensure their visit was surprise. As Trey's long stride ate up the remaining yards, he felt the electricity of his adrenaline rush kick in.

The group stopped at where the tree-line ended and the cleared space in front of a large one story cabin began. Christ! Shack had been the perfect word to describe the Ghosts' clubhouse with its unpainted shingled exterior and peeling roof. Trey saw a couple of men casually leaning on either side of a paneled door on the unlit front porch. He pointed to two of his crew who peeled away in different directions. Within seconds, the pair of Ghost guards were immobilized and trussed with ties.

"Our turn!" Bishop whispered with an anticipatory smile.

The full team entered through the unlocked front door and were uncaring of their noise as they proceeded to taken down the seven other bikers milling around the main interior space. Some kind of rap-shit blared through the speakers and had helped cover the noise of their encroachment into the lair of their new enemy.