Page 61 of Tortured Souls
My knees hit the floor; the world is spinning around me. All I can hear is my voice screaming with rage and fury unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My ribs are shattering and penetrating my organs one by one. They violated her. They raped her so violently she’s still bleeding from within. Sergio, her own father, let this happen to her. His daughter.
I can’t remember the last time tears fell from my eyes so freely, probably when my mother died, I suppose. I haven’t felt the sting of tears in a long time. But as I kneel on the floor of the ER, my world collapses on top of me. Nurses are starting to appear from behind closed curtains, coming to my aid as if I’m the one who needs help. Heath is yelling at them to stay back, his body blocking me from them as they insist on trying to ease my pain. I guess that’s their job though, right? To help people.
I don’t know how long I stay like this; time ceases to exist. Nothing else matters but her. She needs to survive. I’m selfish, I admit it, because I need her to survive for me. If she’s gone, then so am I. Minutes become hours and the longer I wait, the more panicked I become. Normally, I would hide this side of myself. Never would I allow myself to feel this out of control. Crying in front of other people on my knees in a hospital waiting room, and I couldn’t care less if anyone sees me. The almighty powerful Saxon Wilder is breaking down and falling from his throne. Nothing matters to me right now. Sky is the only one I need. She needs to be okay. I still need her.
Five hours. She’s been in surgery for five hours. That can’t be good, right? I’m standing and storming back to the nurses’station when the doctor approaches me. A face mask hanging off one of his ears as he takes a deep breath.
“She’s in recovery now.” She made it. She’s alive. My head hangs forward, my eyes closing as I rub my hands over my face and through my hair.
“She endured a lot, Saxon. There was so much bleeding, the only way to stop it was a complete hysterectomy.” I don’t know what that is, but it can’t be good. “She will recover physically, but I’m afraid the hardest recovery will be from the trauma of the event itself.” Dr. Fulbright is well aware of my family and the club. Hell, he’s made private calls to the house a few times when some of my men were hurt. He’s stitched up some stab wounds, removed bullets, but I know for a fact that Sky is the most beat up he’s seen from our camp. He’s also aware of the dangers our world can inflict. Being a smart man, I’m sure he put two and two together and figured out pretty quickly this was club violence at its worst.
“Can I see her?”
“She may still be coming out of anesthesia, so don’t be surprised if she is still sleeping. Right this way.” Dr. Fulbright leads us to the recovery room, but before we enter, Heath grabs my arm.
“Listen Saxon, apart from everything she’s been through, she was just robbed of one more thing. Another piece of her was ripped from her against her will.” He pauses a moment a sadness consuming his face before continuing on. “With a complete hysterectomy, she will never be able to have children.” My hand lays flat against the door to the recovery room. Never. She will never be able to have kids? As if the world wasn’t cruel enough to her, they took away her ability to have children.
“She’ll never be able to?” I ask. I know the answer, but I need him to say it again.
“Never, Sax.” With his hand resting on my shoulder, he ushers me into the room, letting me know he will wait just outside. If Saxon Wilder was raised to be the ruthless and feared leader of my family’s motorcycle club, the sight of her alone stripped me of any strength I thought I had. I begin to cry again. Tear after tear slides down my cheeks, as a deep guttural sob escapes my chest.
I make it one step before my knees give out, and I crash to the unforgiving floor, covering my face as I let it all out. I cry for her. I cry for her pain, her loss, her loveless childhood. I cry for my girl. I cry so hard I fear I may throw up. The overwhelming grief and anger are not a good combination when holding it all inside.
“Pl-please don’t cry.” Her small whisper brings me back to the room. My head is pounding from crying so hard. Instantly, I get up and make it to the side of her bed. I go to squeeze her right hand but notice she has tape holding together her pointer and middle finger, along with her pinky and ring finger. Discoloration is littered across her hand, indicating they are broken. So, so broken.
“I-I’m so sorry, tesoro. I should have gotten there sooner.” I can’t help one more sob escaping before I inhale deeply through my nose and try to compose myself.
“Don’t do that,” she croaks. Her face scrunches, as if talking is painful for her.
“Don’t say sorry for this. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry, Saxon. I should have listened.” Tears leak from the corners of her eyes as I brush them away with the pad of my thumb. I lean down and kiss her forehead, resting my lips on her skin for a long moment.
“No, this is not your fault either. We have them, and they will pay. I promise you, baby. Their deaths will be the most horrific moments of their lives. Art the Clown will cringe at the things I have planned for them.” She narrows her eyes in confusion.Maybe she doesn’t know Art the Clown. Oh well, I’ll show her later.
Her hand reaches for my cheek as I continue kissing her forehead, the need to touch her greater than breathing air into my lungs. With a shaky hand, she reaches for my hair and scratches her nails gently down my scalp, which elicits a groan from me.
“I saw you, Saxon. Towards the end, your face was the only one I saw before it all went black.” My chest tightens with her words. Her eyes are heavy, and she keeps them closed as she continues. “The way you look at me, like I’m your favorite person in the whole world. The way your touch feels like a warm summer breeze. The way your jaw clenches so hard when I try to get on your nerves.” She lets out a soft chuckle, followed by a series of pained coughs.
“Shh, shh. No more talking, baby. You need to rest.” I kiss the palm she has resting back on my cheek, and I watch as she slowly fades back to sleep, her mumbled words incoherent.
I watch her sleep for a while. The sight of her making my chest ache with every beat of my heart. It’s in this moment, gazing down at her angelic face, that I know without a doubt that I am 100 percent in love with this woman. My body, mind, and soul belong to this little spitfire of a woman that swooped into my town and forever scrambled my mind with thoughts of her. If being put under a spell was real, she cast the biggest, most irreversible spell on me that left my heart beating in the same rhythm as hers.
I knew the moment I saw her at the club that she would be the best and most difficult venture I’d ever embark on. Call me obsessed or a stalker, but like a siren draws their prey in at sea, Sky sang a song to me that drew me in deeper with each day. A song no one else could hear but me. A haunting and dark tune that matched my own but left me wanting more.
I fought this feeling for a while, not sure if I could trust her. However, deep down, I knew this little vixen would rearrange my brain chemistry and insert herself in my mind, whether I wanted her to or not. And the funny thing is, I don’t think she even realized she was doing it all. Like a black widow spinning a perfectly crafted web, she trapped me in the best way.
I’ve never loved a woman other than my mother and sister. I’ve never experienced this powerful force wrap around my tendons and muscles, encasing my insides with a pressure that only deepens with time. She’s given me something I didn’t know I was lacking—having something other than the club to care about. She gave me passion, devotion, and a deep affection for her. A pull that whenever I’m not around her, I’m lost, confused, and disoriented like a ship at sea, unclear of where north is. She is my north, and when I’m with her, the sea calms, and I feel serene.
Sky is my serenity.
My tranquility
My treasure.
My tesoro.
SKYLAR
My hands are being held. Warm, calloused hands rest beneath mine as the top of my right hand is being rubbed so gently it almost tickles. Like when someone gently glides their fingers over your forearm. It feels nice. My eyelids still feel so heavy, but I manage to peel them open. Thick black hair is draped over my left hand, and I recognize it right away as Saxon’s. He’s sleeping, his head resting against the arm of my bed with his hand in mine. My eyes go to my right, and I see Mack. His head is lowered, and his fingers continue gliding over my hand.