Page 20

FIFTEEN

DASH

My brain feels like it is trying to crawl out of my ears. There is a constant pulsing in my temple and when I try to prise my eyes open, pain stabs through my skull.

I suck a breath in through my nose before I try again.

Stark fluorescent lights burn the backs of my eyes for a second before everything adjusts and comes into focus.

The uncomfortable trolley I’m lying on, the ugly curtain pulled over to give the illusion of privacy, and her, slumped over the side of my bed, gripping my hand like she’s scared I’ll disappear if she lets go.

Her hair is pulled into a messy knot she makes look effortless. Strands have escaped, sticking to her face, which is pale.

Her forehead is scrunched, even in sleep, as if her fear is chasing her through her dreams.

She looks fucked. And I want to wrap her in my arms, make it right.

“She ain’t moved all night.”

Shit, my heart fucking jumps against my ribs. I didn’t realise Riot was sitting in the back corner of the cubicle like a fucking shadow.

“Give me a fucking heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Best place to have one,” he remarks.

I stroke my fingers—the ones not clutched in her death grip—through her hair. It eases something inside me knowing she wasn’t sitting here alone, vulnerable.

“She okay?”

“She’s scared out of her mind. I tried to get her to go home and sleep, but she fought me on it. Told me she wasn’t leaving unless I physically dragged her out of here.”

I look at her again, at her scrunched forehead and the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“You and her…”

My fingers squeeze hers gently. “Yeah. Me and her. She’s my girl.”

“She know that?”

“She’s getting there.” I blow out a breath. “We know what happened yet?”

Riot glances at her sleeping form before bringing his gaze back to me. “We’re working on that. And by we, I mean me, Mace, and Nic. Crank ain’t fucking interested.”

I snort then wince as pain shoots through my skull. I rub my temple. “Did you think he would be? He doesn’t give a shit about us. Me and Diesel almost got slaughtered, and he’s too busy nursing a fucking whiskey to care.” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Dayna.

“This’ll be the final straw for him. His days as president are counting down fast, brother.” He says the word ‘president’ as if it’s dirty and not the highest-ranking position in our chapter.

“Did he put the club on lockdown?”

Riot scoffs. “What do you think?”

Is Dayna in danger? Am I putting her life at risk by being with her?

“She in danger?”

“I don’t know. I’ve locked down Ivy. Mace has done the same with Maylie, but she’s due in a few weeks, which has Mace spinnin’.”

Understandable. I wouldn’t want my kid born into this shit.

“Then we better figure out who the fuck was behind this and make sure they know not to come at us again.” I shift in the bed, my back aching. “Diesel okay? I don’t remember much of what happened, but he was with me.”

“He’s in the waiting room, scaring the nurses.”

“I don’t think he supports what’s going on.”

Riot tilts his head slightly. “He say something?”

I frown. “It’s just a feeling.”

“Ain’t saying you’re wrong, but we need proof, not feelings.”

I don’t take offence because he’s right. There is no room for fuck-ups here. Every move we make decides the future of our chapter, our club, and our families.

It feels like we’re playing on a chessboard designed to detonate if we move the wrong piece.

“You want me to stay?” he asks.

I brush Dayna’s hair back. “No. Go take care of your family.”

“I’ll come back in the morning, after I’ve got the girls settled.”

“Thanks, brother.” I sigh, and my chest tightens. “If things get bad or something happens to me… promise me… promise you’ll take care of her.” I don’t say her name. I don’t need to. He knows who I’m fucking talking about.

His eyes slide to her. “She’s got you tangled.”

“Yeah,” I don’t bother to lie, “she does.”

He nods once, sharp. “I’ll take care of her, I promise. Ivy would fuckin’ make me anyway.”

I laugh softly.

It’s a few hours before I’m released from the hospital, long enough to make sure my brain isn’t soup, but not enough time for Dayna to feel like I’m not going to collapse.

I’m glad to get the fuck gone.

I can’t protect her in a place like this.

Too many variables.

Too many people with motives I can’t read.

Dayna hovers around me like she’s scared my head might explode if she looks away, but I’m more worried about how exhausted she looks.

There are dark smudges under her eyes, and she tries to hide it, but I see her wobble as we walk to the car.

I keep my hand wrapped around her elbow, just in case.

Diesel drives us back to her place, and by the time we get up to her flat, all I can think about is crawling into bed with her.

“Are you sure you should be walking?” she asks for the third time since we got out of the car.

I hear the thread of fear in her words. She’s freaked.

“I’m good, babe. I promise.”

She glares over her shoulder, walking slightly ahead, like she’s trying to race to the door so she can open it before I collapse.

“Is there an evolutionary reason why men think they need to pretend they’re fine after a traumatic injury?”

“Did you know that concussion?—”

She whirls on Diesel, who is walking behind me like a silent sentinel.

“No. No! I appreciate the weird facts, Diesel, but I swear, if you tell me his brain is about to leak out of his skull, I’m tired enough and emotional enough that I’m just gonna sit on the floor and cry.

If that’s what you want to deal with, then continue. ”

His mouth clamps shut.

Smart man.

“I got it from here,” I say, letting him off the hook. “Thanks for making sure we got home okay.”

He stares at me like he is contemplating whether he wants to throttle me or throw my body into the canal.

“Call if you need anything.” He glances at Dayna, and I swear his eyes soften. “Bye, Dayna.”

She smiles and then shocks the shit out of me by hugging him. Diesel freezes like he’s had concrete injected into his veins but doesn’t push her away.

My jaw is lead before I realise I’ve clamped my teeth together. My girl hugging Diesel like she’s known him for years makes vicious jealousy stir in my gut. I want her wrapped around me, not him.

“Thanks for the emotional support snacks,” she says.

I watch as he walks away. “Did you two bond while I was unconscious?”

I’m not even surprised my beautiful girl made friends with a man who most of my club have never heard speak. She draws people to her, even the emotionally stunted and repressed.

“Only for an hour or so before Riot turned up.” She shifts her shoulders. “I like him. He doesn’t feel the need to fill silence with small talk, and he brought me snacks.”

We reach her door, and she unlocks it, stepping aside to let me in.

As soon as she closes the door, I’m in her space, my hands wrapped around her cheeks. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look tired.”

“Finding out my boyfriend was in the hospital wrung me out.”

Boyfriend. I’ve never hated a word so much. It feels limp for what we are, what she means to me.

I scan her face, the exhaustion lining every inch of her. Fuck, I did that to her. I made her scared.

My mouth finds hers, and I kiss her like she is the only thing that matters—because she is.