Page 67

Rachel

Dante drove us to the hospital at a speed that quite frankly terrified me. It was one thing to weave a motorbike in and out of traffic; it was completely another thing to try to manoeuvre a car in the same way.

Horns blared at us, people yelled out of their windows, and one car even tried chasing us for a couple of streets.

They soon gave up when they realised it wasn’t worth their own death trying to keep up with Dante.

He seemed oblivious to everything around him.

His one focus was on the road ahead, and if he did happen to notice the angry shouts, he showed no signs of it.

I just about had time to ring Jenna and let her know we were not heading back to the Greasy Spoon before Dante snatched the phone out of my hand and slammed it back down.

Point taken. No distractions.

And for once in my life, I let him have what he needed. I kept my mouth shut and clung onto the sides of my seat for dear life.

As we arrived at the hospital, he didn’t bother turning into the car park. He pulled up right outside the main entrance; the car skidding to a halt – no doubt leaving tyre tracks behind us – and jumped out of the car.

Okay, I guess we’re going.

“Excuse me, sir,” I heard a soft but firm voice come from the reception. I slammed the car door shut and hurried to catch up with Dante. “Sir!” She repeated, her voice nowhere near as soft this time. Dante ignored her and scanned the signs for the directions to the intensive care unit .

“Sir!” she barked. “You cannot park there. I’m going to have to ask you—” her words were cut off with a scream as Dante pulled a gun out of his back pocket and aimed it right in her face.

“I think we can make an exception just this once, don’t you?” He said quietly. Too quietly.

“Of… of course,” she stammered, walking backwards as she held her hands up in surrender.

“Well now,” Dante said with a sinister smirk, pocketing the gun.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? And don’t bother ringing the police.

I’ve just left their custody, and if I end up back there because of you, I’ll come back, hunt you down and kill anyone that even carries the merest trace of your useless DNA. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, tears brimming over lower lashes and spilling down her cheeks.

“You know, Rachel,” he said, finally addressing me. “That’s the thing I admire about you the most. You never use tears to try to get your own way. In fact, you don’t use tears at all. You know how fucking useless they are.”

“Sure do,” I quickly agreed, hurrying to cross the small distance between us and gently pushed at his back, turning him away from the sobbing woman. “Let’s go see your dad, yeah?”

“Right,” he agreed, seeming to remember the entire purpose of our being here.

“I’m sorry,” I mouthed over my shoulder and continued steering Dante in the direction of the intensive care unit.

Almost as though it moved of its own accord, his hand snaked out and his fingers linked with mine, the warmth of my skin keeping him grounded.

This entire situation was a fucking disaster.

We shouldn’t be doing this.

We should be celebrating Bee being home, and the happy news of my pregnancy.

We should be coming to the hospital to have scans and bickering over whether we were finding out the gender.

We shouldn’t be walking the corridors looking for his dad, who was fighting for his life.

We shouldn’t be reeling from the effects of the attack.

I glanced down at Dante’s fingers, noticing the ink on the tips of it from where the police had taken his prints.

We shouldn’t be dealing with that either .

And with the news of this new psycho having taken over the Riders, and the revenge they’ll want for killing two presidents in less than twenty-four hours, I was beginning to doubt Vienna’s earlier words.

Sure, Bee was safe under the protection of the Devil’s, and they kept the Riders in line.

I got that, and I understood the logic. But clearly, the Riders were going to be a new unknown to deal with as they entered a new phase in their club life.

We couldn’t rely on them playing by the rules that Harley had followed.

Perhaps Nico won’t want revenge. He would never have been president had you not killed Damien. Perhaps he will see this as a blessing.

And that, my friends, is called cope-ism.

God, I pissed myself off sometimes.

I knew what this meant. It meant that we were no longer safe. This was a new door opening, and we were in for a lot of unknowns. Bee’s safety would no longer be guaranteed.

And the minute I had that thought, an idea came to mind. There had to be a way to get her out of here. Just until things calmed down. It just wouldn’t be an idea Dante liked.

Fortunately, I wasn’t in the habit of doing things just because Dante liked them. And surely he would see this was for the best.

My only issue was, if I went through with this, it would mean leaving Dante behind. And I was beginning to realise that was more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but even flames have a way of burning everything important.

And it was then it dawned on me, the truth hitting me like a tonne of bricks.

I loved Dante.

In my own messed up, damaged way, I really did love him. I wasn’t going to shout it from the rooftops, and I was never going to be the type of woman to do grand gestures, or shower him with cute, kind moments and actions, but I loved him all the same.

And loving Dante might just cost me everything.