Page 2 of Spooked (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #13)

CHAPTER ONE

HOUND

“Bullshit!” My eyes spit fire at Drummer and Peg, men I’ve looked up to most of my adult life but who are currently seriously annoying me.

Uh uh. There’s the glare I’ve often seen my former prez give to people he’s about to kill, and I’m unable to deny that it doesn’t have a chilling effect as it’s directed at me.

I can’t exactly piss myself as I currently have a catheter coming out of my dick, but I’d take a guess that the container beneath the bed has a suddenly increased volume of yellow liquid.

I watch, swallowing fast, as Peg puts his hand on Drummer’s shoulder, then, when he gets his attention, gives him a shake of his head.

When the ex-prez addresses me next, it’s almost worse—it’s condescending, as though he’s explaining things to a six-year-old.

“Hound, you had a head injury that scrambled your brains and put you in a coma for three weeks. You were touch-and-go for a while, and you’ve only just come back to us.

You’ve got more than enough metal in your leg to set off any detectors around.

You can’t even walk, let alone ride your fuckin’ bike.

You need time to heal. It’s only temporary, but Peg is going to be stepping up in your place, acting as sergeant-at-arms.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I growl. “You’re not my prez. You can’t order me around.”

Drummer’s quiet manner disappears as fast as it had come, and his face grows red.

Peg steps forward, glaring at the ex-prez, and continues in a conciliatory tone, “Wizard’s in an even worse place than you are.

Well…” he stops and snorts. “Same place, a few doors down, but both of his legs are in traction.”

Taking a deep breath, I realise with a fuckton of guilt, that only newly conscious, my first thought hadn’t been to wonder whether my brothers had been injured.

But then, it’s only been minutes since I opened my eyes, and less than that to discover I’d been unconscious for three weeks.

Interpreting what Drummer had said, it seems I’d suffered from a traumatic brain injury.

After exhaling a long sigh, Drummer takes over the narrative again.

His tone, influenced by Peg’s, is decidedly softer.

“Wizard and I spoke when he came out of surgery.” He pauses, his eyes focusing on mine, making sure I’m listening.

I dip my head to confirm that I am. “He asked me to step back up and lead the club as he’s going to be out of action for some time.

” He gives a mirthless huff. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad had it just been him, but Hawk’s broken a fair few ribs, and also needs time to heal.

At Wizard’s request,” he puts emphasis on those words, with a raise of his eyebrow, checking I understand, “Wraith has retaken the VP spot for now.”

I swallow as saliva fills my mouth. Fuck, this is serious. My recollection of the accident is hazy, almost nonexistent. I’d first thought, hoped maybe, I was the only one to go down. “Throttle?” I rasp.

“Broke his fuckin’ collarbone. Did it good and proper too. He’s in a brace and they’re talking physical therapy.” Due to his prior comments, his next revelation comes as no surprise. “Blade’s taking over now, or at least in a guiding role if not hands-on.”

I jerk as the realisation of how selfish I’ve been comes into my head, and I stammer my next question out hesitantly. “A-anyone else injured, or…”

“No one died,” Peg reassures me fast. His voice softens.

“Mouse wrenched his shoulder trying to stop his bike from going down. But apart from everyone else needing a good shot of whisky to combat the shock, no others were harmed.” He gives me a beat to let that sink in. “You remember what happened?”

Closing my eyes, I think back, bringing it to the forefront of my mind, sifting through images that flood through my head, a kaleidoscope of indistinct memories.

“We were out on a ride…” I fight to recall, but other than my remembered pleasure of the day and the perfect riding conditions, there’s nothing else that comes to mind.

Defeated, I shake my head, then regret the action as a blast of pain shoots through me.

“Who the fuck attacked us?” It shows just how scrambled my brain actually is that it’s only now I ask the most pertinent question of them all.

One which should have occurred first to a sergeant-at-arms.

“No one.” At Peg’s words, my eyes open wide. With a grimace, he expands, “Wrong fuckin’ place, wrong fuckin’ time. Tanker driver had a micro-sleep at the wheel, overcorrected, and the tanker went down on its side, sliding up the road. Just out of view, up around the bend. Diesel all over the road.”

“Diesel?”

Drummer’s head bob confirms Peg’s words.

My sergeant-at-arms’ mind races. “Could have been made to look like an accident. Someone could have been targeting us.”

Placing his hand lightly on my shoulder, Drummer tells me more.

“It was a huge mess—injured bodies, bits of bike everywhere, tanker blocking the road. Had to get the cops involved.” The twist of his mouth shows how much he didn’t like that.

“Seems it was just an accident, down to the driver’s inattention.

” His eyes fix on mine. “I know you want someone to fight for this, but we’ve looked into it, and there’s nothing beneath the surface.

Mouse hacked into the company’s records and found evidence that the driver took his eyes off the road.

He also found he’d been driving too many hours, but on the route exactly as planned.

We’d told no one our plans. No one knew we’d be riding that road at that time. ”

Peg’s raising and dipping his head in confirmation.

“Brother, it was like some macabre version of Skittles. Wizard lost control of his bike, and Hawk and you did the same slip and slide. Throttle fought hard, but he too went down. Mouse, Heart, and Dollar managed to slow, but crashed into your wrecks, though they were mainly unharmed.” He lets out a shuddering sigh. “Took a few fuckin’ years off my life.”

“Yours?” Drummer raises a brow. He swallows tightly.

“Seeing brothers,” he glances at Peg, “our kids, go down? Fuckin’ never want to experience that again.

Hound, you better believe if we had anyone to blame other than an asshole taking his eyes off the road, then we’d still be torturing them in the storeroom now. ”

Momentarily, I wonder what was worse—being knocked out and unaware of what was happening or being forced to watch the disaster as it occurred.

That doesn’t make me feel any better. “What about the driver?” I still want someone to blame.

Drummer rakes his fingers back through his hair. “Man, he was a fuckin’ mess. Puking up all over the road.”

“You let him walk away?” I’m incredulous.

“Cops were there,” Drummer explains. As I open my mouth, he shakes his head. “They arrested him.”

I think he should have gotten a fucking beatdown at least. My scowl must convey my thoughts.

“Hey, we were too busy picking up broken bodies and bikes to pay him any attention. And who do you think fingers would be pointed at if, after he was released, we’d taken him out? Brother, got more things to worry about than revenge on an over-tired trucker who doesn’t even live in the same state.”

“And,” Drummer adds, “he’s very much unemployed now.”

I suppose that’s something.

My brain seems overly slow to tick into action, not knowing the pertinent questions to ask. I realise I don’t have any idea how long it will be before I can get back on my bike, which brings me to another concern. “What happened to my ride?”

Drummer seems more comfortable now that he’s on more solid ground. “Back at the compound. Blade’s doing what he can to fix yours and the other bikes. Heart and Mouse are talking to the tanker company about compensation. It looks like they’re going to pay up, but it’s going to take time.”

Godfuckingdamnit! I’m without a bike and without a working leg.

At this point, there’s surely a question mark about how much my brain’s been fucked up.

I realise now, despite my earlier horror about the F.O.G.s moving back into their previous roles, my brothers know what they’re doing.

While it really hurts to give up the role I’d been so proud to achieve, realizing I won’t be capable of giving it my all until I heal, I surrender. “I’ll step back.” My eyes meet Peg’s.

I can tell it hadn’t been in question. Drummer’s back in the hot seat now, and it will be his decision. But Peg’s chin lift tells me he's accepting my capitulation, both of us pretending that I really had any say.

“I’m still a member, though?” I’d earned my fucking patch. I wouldn’t give it up without argument.

Drummer rears back as if I’d thrown a punch at him. Which, of course, at the moment I can’t. I’ve got tubes and lines coming out of me everywhere, anchoring me to the hospital equipment that had presumably kept me alive.

“Of course you’re still a fuckin’ member, same way the others are. All we’re doing is stepping up to take care of club business to give you a chance to heal.” Drummer’s staring at me as if I insulted him. He adds gruffly, “Got your cut waiting for you whenever you’re ready for it.”

“I’m just keeping your seat warm, Brother,” Peg assures me as seriously as if he’s taking a vow. “Until you’re fit enough to take it up again.”

When he reaches out his hand, I only hesitate for a moment before clasping it in mine, telling him honestly, “Know you will, Brother.”

“Gentlemen, visiting time is over,” a nurse says as she enters the room.

I’d like to say she’s gorgeous, and someone I’m going to have wet dreams about.

But, hey, lucky me, my nurse has about twenty years on me, making her near retirement age.

If I hadn’t previously understood how women could be described as battle-axes before, I certainly do now.

Even Drummer almost salutes as he responds sharply, “Yes, ma’am.”