Page 28

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Rayleigh

“RiffRaff, you really should try to eat some more of your breakfast,” I plead. I’m concerned because he looks a little pale today. I make a mental note to talk to Brick about it because he could be coming down with something, especially if he’s not willing to eat.

For some reason, Brick left me with his dad and the two prospects, citing ‘club business’ and ever since, I’ve been trying to get the older man to eat. The man is in desperate need of some iron and calcium added to his diet. Hell, even the club girls are gone, picking up all the supplies we need to start baking and preparing stuff for our Christmas gathering.

“Told you, sweetheart, when I’m working, I don’t eat,” he replies. “I got my coffee so I’m good, don’t worry about a thing.” His coffee is dark and gritty, it’ll definitely put some hair on his chest. I internally snicker thinking back to the other day when Brick took a swallow of the pot Pops brewed and spit it out stating ‘that shit’s gonna add a few chest hairs’ .

“What are you doing?” Now, I’m curious. His nurse took the morning off to run some of her own errands since he’s been having some good, lucid days.

“With Brick away, it’s my job to watch over you. The prospects are outside checking the perimeter right now. We gotta keep you safe, sweetheart. You’re carrying the next generation of the club.”

I think he’s slipped into the past once more, so to humor him, I merely nod and smile. “Okay, RiffRaff. I appreciate you taking such good care of me while Brick’s out taking care of business. I’m going to clean the kitchen, tidy things up, and get stuff ready for when the girls come back so we can start baking. You going to be okay out here?”

I’m kind of excited, because once we’re done baking, I’m supposed to go shopping with Cassie. This time, instead of trying to surprise her since that didn’t work at all, I actually texted her and made a plan. Of course, I don’t feel bad about not going the other day because I sat between my brother and my ol’ man and was able to see the home movies and checked out all the pictures which helped me realize just how wanted, treasured, and loved I was when I was a little girl.

“Go do what you gotta do, girl,” he gruffly replies. “I’ve got this just fine.”

With a nod of my head, I go into the kitchen and start pulling out the cookie sheets to do the prep work on. I read in a magazine where the easiest way to keep things organized was to put all the items needed on a cookie sheet, along with the recipe itself. Once I have them lined up on the huge island, I turn on some Christmas music then begin gathering what I can. I know the club girls are getting the rest of the items, but I can make sure the butter is out and softening, plus measure out the flour and sugar until I run out.

As I hum along to the songs, I think about one of the gifts I’m working on for Brick. I found a website where I could upload all the pictures that’ve been taken of us together and have created a photo album for him. I also have a fuzzy throw coming for me that has pictures of Calvin and Hobbes all over them. Seeing the pictures my mom did, I’m using that for inspiration and will keep adding pictures to showcase us as well as my pregnancy. I did make a throw for him, however. It’s got the club’s logo on the top along with a picture of his bike and the phrase ‘Brick’s House’ written in italics at the bottom.

“I should probably check to see when they’re supposed to ship,” I murmur as I pull down the sprinkles for the sugar cookies now that everything has been measured.

I’m rather astonished that we have the sheer number of mixing bowls we do, but then it dawns on me that the club’s size has probably ebbed and flowed through the years, and they would’ve needed a lot in order to make plenty of food for everyone, especially seeing as most of these men have large appetites and can put away copious amounts of grub.

Whatever the reason, we have enough to suit our needs.

Glancing at the clock, I see it’s closing in on lunchtime so wash my hands then put together enough sandwiches for me, RiffRaff, and the two prospects who’re acting as our guards. Placing them on a meal tray, I carry them out to the common room and over to where RiffRaff is sitting, his eyes glued to the door.

“Brought out some lunch, will you sit and eat with me, please, keep me company so I’m not eating alone?” I ask.

I’ve found with him that if I make it about me and my comforts, he’s more inclined to say yes than no, which is exactly what he does.

“Why are there so many?” he questions, grabbing one off the top and placing it on the paper towel I brought out for us to use in place of plates.

“Figured Jaydn and Haydn would want to eat with us as well,” I reply, taking a bite of one of the cut-up sandwiches.

“Who?”

“The prospects.” I forget that for these men, prospects are nameless until they’ve patched into the club and earned their road name.

“Ah, well, they’ll eat when we’re done, missy. That’s how it’s done around here,” he states, proudly letting me know the order of things.

“Oh, okay.” I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I’m not one to buck against the rules either.

A sudden screeching noise from outside the door has RiffRaff tossing his sandwich onto the table while motioning for me to get behind his wheelchair so he can protect me from whatever chaos is ensuing out there.

The door bursts open and four scrawny men storm across the threshold, their body odor wafting before them and causing me to gag as the stench of their neglected hygiene hits my sensitive nose.

“Who the fuck are you?” RiffRaff bellows.

“We’re the Demon Devil Deuces MC, old man. Give us the girl and we’ll get out of your hair and leave you in one piece,” the one with the greasiest hair sneers through yellow, rotted teeth.

These men need to be educated on what soap, water, deodorant, and a toothbrush are used for because they are rank.

Peering around from behind RiffRaff’s chair, where I crouched down at his insistence, I see the four men are wearing cuts with their names monogrammed on the front, just like Brick and his brothers, only their names are weird; Hog, Clock, Beaver, Sands. What kind of names are those? At least with this club, their road names make sense most of the time. Or they do once I’m told the story behind them, that is. I have a feeling these guys named themselves.

I hear a click and watch in horror as RiffRaff pulls out a huge gun and points it at the four men, who start laughing maniacally as they pull out their own weapons. I know for a fact RiffRaff’s has no bullets in it because Brick double checks it every single morning before the old man wakes up to make sure no one gave him any ammo. I’m pretty sure the four junkies’ guns are locked and loaded and right now, they’re pointed at the center of RiffRaff’s forehead.

“Drop it, old man, give us the girl, and we won’t hurt you,” the one called Beaver says.

“RiffRaff, just let me go with them, you can tell Brick when he gets back,” I hurriedly whisper, unwilling for him to be shot trying to protect me with an empty gun of his own.

“Absofuckinlutely not!” he bellows. “Where are the fucking prospects? Y’all should’ve never gotten in here to begin with. Fucking pussies ain’t patching in to my club, that’s for fucking sure,” he growls out.

“Oh, those two are taking a bit of a nap right now,” Hog sneers. “Just a little tap against the head and poof, they went down like lead.”

Terror has me shaking; I know from the years living with Laura and Dave that these four are high which makes them extremely unpredictable. With no one else around, it’s up to me to keep RiffRaff safe while praying the two prospects are just knocked out, not actually dead.

“RiffRaff, please,” I whisper-yell. “I’d never forgive myself if you got hurt protecting me. They’re harmless, I can get away from them.”

He turns to look at where I’m still crouched and shakes his head. “Sweetheart, you belong to my son which means you’re my family too. Don’t think I don’t know how much you’ve already done for this club. I may not have all my mind most days, but I’ve been paying attention. Banshee smiles again, my son doesn’t look quite as serious. It’s because of you. There’s no fucking way these douches are getting their hands on you. You’ve suffered enough because of others. Not fucking happening.”

Before I can respond, he turns and levels his gun at the one in the middle and pulls the trigger.

Nothing.

No loud report, no bullet flying through the air, no body dropping to the ground.

When the four men realize his gun is empty, they rush the table, pistol-whipping him until he falls out of his chair and onto the floor then they grab me.

My last glimpse of RiffRaff shows blood pouring in rivulets from his head.

I wake up dazed and confused, not knowing where I’m at, just that I’ve got a horrible headache that’s pounding at my temples, and I’m currently tied to a chair.

The space itself isn’t very big, with everything laid out in the open. The room is dusty as hell, which has me coughing when I attempt to inhale a deep breath.

My side hurts too, probably from where Hog kicked me when I managed to break away and attempted to run. That’s how I wound up unconscious; apparently, these jerk faces don’t care about the old saying of you shouldn’t hit women.

But I gave as good as I got until I was knocked unconscious, I think as a wicked smile crosses my face remembering how I drew some blood too. Hog’s face has deep gashes on both cheeks where I dug my nails in when he tried to pick me up. Beaver has a black eye because I punched him as hard as I could, and Clock is limping because I kicked the hell out of him between his legs when he got too close to me. Sands isn’t faring much better himself.

All good things came to an end though when they surrounded me, because then my focus was on nothing more than protecting my unborn child. As I curled into a fetal position, one hand protecting my stomach and the other my head, they descended with fists and feet. So, despite no mirrors being immediately seen, I know my flesh bears plenty of bumps and bruises.

“He’s gonna kill y’all,” I whisper-sing even though I’m all alone in this ramshackle place. A good strong wind would probably knock it down, much like the story of the big bad wolf. I know for a fact my ol’ man is gonna destroy these assholes who dared to touch his woman aka me.

Yep, they’re goners, plain and simple.

The irony isn’t lost on me that I’ve become somewhat bloodthirsty since getting involved with Brick. Of course, I suspect a lot of that has to do with the fact my early childhood was fraught with abuse and terror, so now I’m perfectly fine with those who hurt others being destroyed.

The door flies open, slamming against the wall, and the four dead men walking stroll inside.

“Ah, the princess is awake,” Sands sneers. “Not looking so pretty now though, is she boys?” he asks, the four of them now braying like jackasses.

“Yeah, neither are y’all,” I retort through a snicker. “Hopefully Clock doesn’t have a woman because she’s never gonna find his dick again.”

“You fucking cunt,” he seethes, storming toward me. Beaver’s hand stops him when it slams down onto his shoulder.

“Patience, we can’t kill her. We’re using her as bait to draw them in, remember?”

“Do you really think you’re going to win against the Royal Bastards?” I ask, astonishment dripping from my tone. “You have heard of them, haven’t you? They’re everywhere.”

“Ain’t no Royal Bastards around here,” Hog confidently states. “Just a bunch of pussified Raiders.”

“You’ve obviously been enjoying your product too much, because the Raiders are now part of the Royal Bastards MC.”

I watch with vigorous glee as their faces all pale while their features appear to sink into their skulls. Suddenly, they have that sickly gray pallor which is even worse than what they looked like to begin with.

“That’s right. Y’all fucked up. Not only that but who do you think you hurt before we left? Yep, that would be Brick’s daddy. Do you really think he’s gonna show any mercy or leniency toward y’all when you hurt his father and his ol’ lady? Nope, I don’t think that’s happening for y’all. Sounds like a very unmerry Christmas to me.”

I can’t help myself, I start humming ‘Jingle Bells’ then burst into laughter when I hit the note for ‘sleigh’ because I suspect Brick and his brothers will use a different spelling and meaning of that particular word. It’s one of those words that can be translated for other purposes.

Slaying… sleighing.

Hmm, maybe my head was hit harder than I thought because right now, everything that comes across my mind is hysterically funny. I suspect, however, these four aren’t seeing the humor in anything I’ve said out loud because they’re freaking out.

“Shut up, bitch, let me think!” Hog screams, pulling at his nasty, greasy hair. “Fuck, what should we do?” he whines to the other three, who look like they wish the ground would open up and swallow them whole.

“Write out a Last Will and Testament,” I helpfully suggest. “Make peace with your Maker? Although, I suspect you’ll be going straight to Hell with no pit stops nor a chance at redemption whatsoever, but what do I know about facing one's Judgement Day? I mean, I didn’t create any universe or anything. Just going by what I’ve heard on the television over the years.”

“Bitch, shut the fuck up,” Beaver warns, coming close and waving a disgusting bandana around. “Otherwise, I’ll shove this in your mouth.”

Yeah, no. Nope. Nuh-uh.

There’s no fucking way that stiff piece of fabric is coming anywhere near me or my mouth; I’d be forced to drink bleach or something to get rid of all the germs that’ve made that material its home. Instead of replying out loud, I glare at him while rolling my lips inward and clamping them between my teeth.

I’ll bite his finger off before he gets the opportunity to gag me with that cesspool. The fact I’m willing to poison myself by putting my mouth near any part of his disgusting body says a lot about the condition of his bandana, that’s for sure. Not sure even Clorox could get it disinfected at this point.

“Clock, you go check around their clubhouse and see if they even know she’s gone yet. Maybe we can drop her off or something before anyone’s the wiser.”

I can’t see that working, but hey, if it gets me home, I definitely won’t complain about their idiocy. I figure by now, since I have no clue how long I was knocked out, there are bound to be more people milling around and that means the likelihood of them getting me there, dropping me off, and then leaving undetected is practically zilch to none.

“Got it, Hog. I’ll be back shortly,” Clock confidently states.

I roll my eyes at his bravado; it amazes and amuses me how those in the throes of a drug high think they’re invincible.