Page 5 of Risk (Mayhem Makers: MMM #3)
CHAPTER
FOUR
Risk
It’s comedy central here in the waiting room.
Luna and Kodiak are putting on quite the skit.
They aren’t being quiet with their squabbling.
And Luna is descriptively announcing what everything she’s going through feels like.
I’ve even heard Demi put her two cents in here and there.
The one that had my brother cringing is when she publicly announced that Conan is getting fixed.
“My swimmers are safe because there’s no way in hell I’m voluntarily getting my balls cut into,” Conan confirms. “Luna’s a bad influence on her. They’re spending too much time together.”
I shake my head because no matter how many times he tells his old lady that she and Luna need a break from each other, it turns into an ear-piercing screeching match. Those two are thick as thieves and have had each other’s backs longer than they’ve known their old men.
“They’re a pair,” I muse, cringing as my president hollers in distress.
“Those are my balls, woman!”
“I know,” Luna yells back. “I’m putting them out of commission.”
The entire waiting room goes eerily silent as we digest what she just said. Many of my brothers grab their packages in commiseration with our pres and his perilous situation.
Me, however, I laugh so hard my belly begins to tighten and tears freefall from my eyes, trekking down my cheeks. “I’m gonna step outside for some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you,” Tritan states, standing and stretching. “My balls feel bruised from hearing what she’s done to pres’ nuts.” I nod my head because I was thinking the same thing once I got myself under control.
“I’m gonna take the kids down to the vending machines. They shouldn’t be hearing this shit,” Regulator grumbles. “Come on troops, let’s go see what they have to munch on.”
“Have fun with that,” I tell him as he begins to wrangle kids. I’d rather stand witness to the abuse Kodiak is suffering from than deal with grumbling teenagers and exhausted toddlers.
“Asshole,” Reg mumbles, scratching the side of his face with his middle finger standing tall. “Paybacks are a bitch.”
“So is your mama,” I joke, reverting back to comebacks I used in junior high.
“That’s what I said to yours last night when she was down on her knees,” he returns.
“Ears!” Conan hollers, reminding us that there are youngsters surrounding us. “Jesus fuck, what’s wrong with y’all?”
“As if your mouth is any better,” I complain as I stroll toward the doors. “Come on Tritan, everyone’s getting grumpier by the hour, I need a damn break.”
“I need a coffee,” he says as he makes it to my side. “There’s a twenty-four hour coffee shop across the street. Want one?”
I rub my temples and answer, “Only if you have some alcohol to add to it. I’m getting a migraine.”
He pulls a flask out of his cut pocket and bounces it from one side to the other through the air. “I’ve got you. I always come prepared.”
“Then I’ll take a large. Make sure they only fill it three quarters of the way,” I order as I pull out my pack of smokes and light one up before walking toward the designated smoking section.
Damn addictions. They’ll get you one way or another.
You have to walk a damn mile to get to the appointed area, maybe I should invest in one of those vapes I see others using.
It’d be a helluva lot more convenient and they get more accommodations than we pack smokers do.
For one, they don’t permeate the air with a cloudy plume the way cigarettes do so it’s reasonable why they do it at facilities like hospitals, but it’s still damn inconvenient.
As soon as my ass hits the bench I release a moan.
My feet have been bugging me all day. The job I had last night was standing only, for sixteen straight hours, so my poor heels have been giving me fits with aches and spasms—I’m getting too fucking old for this shit.
Maybe I should invest in one of those soaking tubs and some Epsom salt?
Of course, I’d have to hide that shit behind closed doors or I’d be the laughingstock of my brothers.
As I take a drag in the dark, the end blazes with red ash.
I’m mesmerized by the sight so I jump when a car comes screeching into the emergency room drop off.
A woman, who looks somewhat familiar to my overworked mind, jumps out of the driver’s side, nearly tripping over her feet, and rushes around to the passenger back door, flinging it open.
“It’s okay, Phoenix, Nana’s got you, baby boy.
” It’s then that I hear the tortured squalling of a toddler.
The painfilled cries reverberating from his tiny chest has my heart zip lining up into my throat.
That anguished sound is one that has everyone in the proximity jumping into action. Which is exactly what I do.
My sudden appearance at her side has her gasping as she clutches the kid’s head to her chest, it’s buried to the point that I can’t see his face.
Her eyes widen when she takes in the patches on my cut and when she gulps, I frown.
But being who I am, I dismiss her apparent prejudices against me and ask, “What can I do to help, ma’am? ”
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “You caught me off-guard. You weren’t there a second ago.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” I express. Then I nod down to the boy that has her body slumping from his weight.
“Do you need me to go get somebody? A wheelchair, or an orderly, perhaps?” I don’t offer to carry him myself because she’s in mama bear mode, and when a woman gets to that stage, she’ll tear your throat out in protection of her cub.
“If you could just shut the door for me, that would be wonderful,” she acknowledges, twisting on her feet and heading toward the doors. She doesn’t wait to see if I’ll do as she asks, there’s only one thing on her mind and it’s not the potential theft of her vehicle.
I shake my head when I peer inside and see the keys still hanging from the ignition.
I’m not a genius, but even I know that’s a bad idea.
Deciding to be a good samaritan, I shut the back door that she left open and head over to the driver’s seat.
Tritan comes out of the dark and startles me.
That’s twice in less than twenty minutes, I really need to snap out of my funk or I’m going to end up on the wrong end of a blade.
“What’cha doing, man?” Tritan asks, giving me a skeptical look.
“A woman just came through with a boy who’s bleeding like a stuck pig. She ran into the ER so I’m trying to do the right thing by parking her car, locking it up, and taking her the keys. Do me a solid?”
“What’s that?” he asks, tilting his head down so he can look me in the eyes.
“Go let her know what I’m doing so the cops aren’t called on me. Let her know once I have it in a spot, I’ll bring her the keys.”
“Alright,” he agrees, holding out the cup of coffee he grabbed for me.
I thank him with a nod of my head, forgetting that he was supposed to doctor it as I take a sip of the bitter brew.
It’s black, just the way I like it but it must not be from a fresh batch if my tastebuds are an indicator.
But as he starts heading in the same direction as the lady did, I notice the female’s purse laid on its side on the passenger floorboard.
Reaching over, I grab the strap and call him back to me. “She’s going to need this for his insurance and billing. Hand it to her when you tell her what I’m doing.”
“Swear to fuck, Risk. If I get bitch slapped by a purse wielding woman, I’m going to slit your tires and make you trek it back to the clubhouse on your feet,” he grumbles.
“Just do it, man. Stop being a pussy.”
“I’m not a pussy, fucktard,” he contends. “Women don’t like strange men carrying their purses. You owe me one.”
I roll my eyes at him as he turns his back on me. When did we become scared of women half our size? We’re hardnosed men who ride bikes and used to tear down towns.
Some of my brothers need to find their backbones because this shit is getting pathetically ridiculous.