Page 87 of Enemy

Where he’ll die. Because who the fuck cares about a Vulture, right?

I huff, rearranging Road a little because he’s damn heavy, and while I love to feel his heartbeat against my back, we need to get moving.

“He needs to be revived at all cost.” I lower my voice. “He has life or death intel.” Whatever gets her moving. I’d lie, steal, cheat, and kill to get him seen by a doctor. As a woman affiliated with the club, she shouldn’t ask any more questions, or interfere with treating Road.

She’ll also call my uncle when she’s able to, but hopefully Road will be taken care of by then. Our gazes meet, and while she doesn’t appear convinced, she runs off, and two more people arrive with a gurney.

I feel eyes on me, including the security camera in the corner, and I know I’m fucked, but at least there’s hope for Road. I took his phone off him, just in case, and I’ll stay here to watch over him. Anything else is in the hands of fate.

Chapter 35

Road

Ihavetheheadacheof all headaches, and the insistent beep repeating every second feels like a stab each time. My mind’s slow, blood sluggish, so I stay still, hoping that if I remain immobile, dreams might sweep me off the surface and carry me into the peaceful waters of sleep. But that’s not happening, and when the stabbing ache becomes faster, I groan, grabbing at my face before rising off the bed… or rather attempting to, because I’m pulled back down, as if someone’s strapped me to the mattress.

My eyes fly open, then close when I’m assaulted by sun so bright one look is enough to make them throb.

Someone gasps next to me and grabs my hand with warm fingers. “Stay down, Road. How are you doing? Do you want me to call the nurse? Do you need to throw up?”

Clyde.

…Clyde?

Memories of last night are a moving Rubik’s cube with missing squares.

Clyde saving me from his club, only to end up dead at their feet. The sheer guilt of letting it happen. Despair, and a sense that everything was now lost.

I overdosed. On purpose. Because what could I possibly go back to after that? No Clyde. No Vultures.

My life would make no sense without them.

The pain-inducing noise speeds up further, and I open my mouth, trying to speak but finding my throat choked up and stiff. Because Clyde cannot be here. This must be a dream.

Or…. Was I successful? Am I no longer alive?

I thought death would be the end, that I would drift off into peaceful nothing and never have to suffer or worry again, but the hand in mine feels so warm, so material—

Clyde pulls his chair closer, his blue eyes so warm when they meet mine. “Just nod if it’s hard to speak,” he says softly. “I found you at my shack yesterday, brought you here. They pumped your stomach, and you’re stable. Strong as an ox.” He strokes my hand with his thumb, and it’s so soothing I could cry. My sweet Clyde, who said he missed me.

I don’t nod, but don’t shake my head either, narrowing my eyes to protect them from the daylight. “W-what?” I choke out and watch Clyde move in the corner of my eye. And then, the intense glow softens enough for me to glance toward the window. Clyde’s standing over me, his shadow providing all the relief I need.

Still, this is too good to be true.

He can’t actuallybehere.

“You died. Isawyou die.”

Clyde sighs and sits on the bed, most definitely not dead. “I made a deal with Bracer, played dead, but that’s all down the drain now, so it doesn’t matter. Maybe I can still fulfill it? I don’t know. What matters is that you’re alive, and you’re never taking fucking drugs again. What the fuck was that, huh?”

The headache suddenly feels even worse, like a hangover after being forced to drink insufficiently filtered spirit. “I should be asking that,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes to release some of the tension in my eyelids. “I almost died for nothing… what the hell?” I ask and place both of my hands on his as relief floods in, filling me with warmth.

“Yes you did,” Clyde says with a deepening scowl. He looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept. “You thought you’d just check out because you saw me die? Tough fucking luck.”

“I—I’m not complaining,” I utter, resting my head on the pillow when Clyde leans over me, as if he wants to watch me from up close and make note of every spot, scar, and wrinkle. My eyes feel a bit unfocused, but when I smell Clyde’s sweat up close, a soft grunt escapes my lips, and I rest my forehead against his jaw.

I might be feeling like a truck ran me over, but what does that matter in the face of Clyde being here with me?

“You have to promise me, Road, that if I don’t make it, you live on, okay? I did some real bad shit even before I shot Puck. It was… a bad night. I’ve got a massive target on my back as soon as I leave the hospital.”