Page 33

NATALIA

I heard the roar of the bikes’ engines first, then the slamming of a car door at the front of the house. The heavy footfalls followed, heading up my porch steps and I tore the door open, holding up the rifle and stopping them in their tracks.

“You.” I pointed at Knuckles. Only you can go through the back door, the rest stay here.”

He raised his hands and took the few steps down. “And if you or your men make one noise to disturb my son’s sleep, your brother won’t be the only one filled with bullets.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned towards another man and told him to follow him toward the back. I slowly backed away and slammed the door shut, heading back to the kitchen.

Knuckles found Tick Tock on the kitchen floor, crumpled and fainted. The towel I’d pressed to his chest was blood soaked. As Knuckles got down to examine the wound, I noticed the shot I’d fired had hit him just above the old injury he was recently healing from. An inch to the left and I would have gotten his heart.

"Goddammit, you couldn’t have shot him in the leg?" Knuckles snapped, falling to his knees beside him.

"Sorry," I deadpanned, keeping my rifle tight in hand. "Didn’t exactly stop to think about who I was shooting as they barged into my house uninvited."

Knuckles muttered a curse, glancing up at me. “I can’t lift him alone. I need Riddick.”

Sighing, I turned toward the man standing just outside the back door. He looked hesitant, but when I nodded once, he stepped inside. The man had long black curls tied loosely at his nape, just like José used to wear his hair, before the silver had started threading in.

“Damn,” Riddick muttered with a whistle. “Why the hell did you let him come by himself?”

Knuckles gave him a look. “You think I could stop him? Grab his legs.”

Between the two of them, they carefully lifted Tick Tock’s limp body, mindful of the blood soaking through his shirt, his breathing shallow but still there. My chest tightened as I watched them haul him toward the truck.

Knuckles paused at the door. “He’s gonna want to talk to you,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Don’t go far.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just stood there, staring at the blood trail left behind, trying to keep my own heart from cracking open all over again. The blood was everywhere on the kitchen floor, and now I had to worry about how the hell I was going to clean this up before Gabriel got out of bed in te morning. That’s when my phone rang and I shut my eyes and took a deep beath.

I didn’t need to look to find out who it was. The screen flashed, and my heart sank.

Dr. Hensley.

I looked down at the screen, my jaw clenched and my thumb hovering over the screen. I could let it go to voicemail. Let him call one of the other nurses. Hell, let him stitch up Tick Tock himself. But no. Deep down, I already knew I wanted to be the one there. Maybe it was vindictive, maybe it was fucked up, but some part of me needed to see him in pain. To see him vulnerable. To know I’d caused at least an ounce of the agony he’d had caused me.

With a shaky breath, I answered the call. “Yeah,” I said, voice flat.

“I need you. Now,” Hensley snapped.

I didn’t ask why. I already knew.

He never gave me the decency of a please or thank you, and he damn sure didn’t care that I had a kid at home or that I was already juggling too much. But he loved calling me for emergencies—especially when it involved stitching up the Royal Bastards. I’d become his favorite for it, like some kind of on-call mercenary nurse.

I hated it.

I hated him.

But I needed the paycheck. Quitting crossed my mind more than once, but deep down I knew I couldn’t afford to. Not when Gabriel needed a roof over his head, food on the table, and a future I’d kill to give him.

“I’ll be there in five,” I muttered, jaw tight as I grabbed my keys and secured all the locs. I pulled out of the driveway, dreading every red light between me and that damn clinic.

He was already in one of the back rooms when I arrived. Shirtless, covered in blood, and unconscious. Knuckles was pacing, the tension carved deep into his shoulders. Dr. Hensley stood to the side, barking orders at the orderlies, but I ignored all of them.

“Remove his clothes. All these fuckers do is get shot up,” he muttered as I moved him.

I swallowed hard. My fingers trembled as I shifted him carefully, examining the wound. Like I’d never touched his body before. Like I didn’t know every ridge, every scar, every place he used to bite when he wanted to drive me wild.

He groaned, low and broken, but he didn’t wake.

“We need to get the bullet out first,” Dr. Hensley barked, already snapping on a pair of gloves. “Then we’ll reset the shoulder.”

I felt my breath freeze in my chest as I watched the blood continue to seep through the soaked gauze. He was pale, clammy, his pulse thready under my fingertips as I held pressure. We had minutes maybe.

The tray clattered as another nurse prepped it, the glint of the surgical tools slicing into my focus. We looked at one another, giving each other a knowing look, and then I stepped forward grabbing the gauze and suction tube, anything I needed to assist.

Dr. Hensley sliced cleanly through the flesh, working fast, muttering about the trajectory, about how close it was to tearing through an artery. I swallowed hard and kept my hands steady, suctioning the blood, my eyes fixed on the mess beneath his skin.

The metal fragment slid out with a sickening sound, dropped into the stainless-steel tray with a soft clink . I didn’t let myself feel anything. Not the sting in my eyes. Not the ache in my chest. Just focus.

“Clamp,” Hensley barked.

“Clamp,” I repeated, handing it over.

Minutes blurred. I didn’t speak, didn’t flinch, didn’t even breathe unless I had to. We stitched him layer by layer, pressure bandages wrapped tight, then finally reset the shoulder with a sickening pop that made me flinch.

“He’ll live,” the doctor finally muttered, stepping back, blood splattered across his coat. “If he doesn’t tear it open being a stubborn asshole again.”

“Will he have full use of his arm?” I asked, worried although I was the one who caused this.

“He won’t be a baseball player, and he’ll have some pain but it’s nothing a man like him can’t tolerate. They’re all used to this kind of pain.”

When it was over, when the room had cleared and the night crew had taken over his vitals, I stepped out into the hall to breathe. That’s when Knuckles caught me.

“Hey. How is he?”

“He’ll live.” I turned to walk down the hallway, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me.

“You should take it easy on him,” he said, gently releasing me.

I crossed my arms. “Why should I?”

“He hasn’t had it pretty these last few years,” Knuckles said, voice softer now. “He’s lost it a couple times. They don’t call him Tick Tock for nothin’. It’s only a matter of time before he goes off again.”

“And that matters to me, why?”

Knuckles looked at me and blinked. “You don’t know?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what?”

He ran a hand over his jaw, muttered a curse. “So fucking stupid.”

“What?”

“Woman, you were a ghost to him for a long time. He thought you were dead. We all did.”

“Dead?” I repeated, barely above a whisper. Tick Tock had mentioned that before, in the kitchen before he passed out.

Knuckles nodded toward the room. “When word finally got to us about what happened at the old clubhouse, we got word that Rancid was killing any man still loyal to Bulldog. Macabre came to us, told us the house, your house, had been lit up. When no one could find you...”

“He assumed I was dead,” I finished for him.

That explained why I never heard back from him. Why I thought he’d disappeared all those years ago. The reality slowly seeped in, and I fought not to break in front of Knuckles.

He continued. “We buried ashes, Natalia. Fuckin’ ashes. He didn’t talk for nearly a month. Then after that he went mad. He was on a killing spree, and no one could stop him. Not until Jameson arrived, did he even start calming down.”

My breath caught. My hand pressed to my chest, trying to still the storm rising in me.

“All this time…” I whispered.

“I’m sorry this happened, and I get why you left. We all do, especially him. Your Pops and all. Fuck, I’d put a bullet in him too. But you can’t blame the guy. Barrel was a traitor. It was either him or Tick Tock. And your man... he acted on instinct. I’m sorry about your father, but you should know... he wasn’t one of the good ones.”

A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away quickly.

“I’ll be back,” Knuckles said after a moment. “But please don’t put another bullet in him while I’m gone.”

I managed to smile softly. “No bullets.”

He walked away, his boots echoing down the hallway, and I stood there, gathering my breath.

Then I stepped into the room. The light was dim, the machines beeping softly. He looked peaceful now, stripped of all his armor, his jaw slack, his brows relaxed.

But he was different. His hair was no longer black, but salt and peppered. And it looked good on him. It made him look like he’d lived. Like he was worn, battered, but strong. A man who’d survived too much.

Lines carved his face, age and pain were written into every crease. His lips, those same lips that once murmured my name in the dark, were dry and cracked.

I took a shaky step forward.

He hadn’t left me. He’d mourned me. And I hated that I didn’t know. That I’d let all this time slip by believing he’d forgotten me. Replaced me. Left me.

But none of it changed the fact that he’d still killed my father. And maybe my father deserved it. Maybe he was as far gone as they said. But he’d been mine. My blood.

How could I love someone who destroyed the last piece of my family?

A tear escaped and I brushed it off quickly. It had been a while since I last cried. A while since I let myself grieve. But this time I wasn't mourning my father. I was grieving the ten years that had been lost.

Tick Tock stirred and I jerked back. The early shift had arrived, and a nurse walked in just in time. I took that excuse to leave. To disappear down the hall before I did something stupid. Like stay.

Because no matter how much my heart screamed for him…no matter how much I wanted to believe he had suffered as much as I had, I couldn’t love the man who took everything I once held dear.

Even if he still held my heart.

Even if a decade had passed.

Even if his son was asleep in our home, waiting for me to return.