Clothed, I start to feel more like myself, and better able to mentally prepare as Bolt wastes no time wheeling me back to the elevator. My working hand rubs my temples. Now I’ve got to beg for help. The help from men I’ve shown I don’t trust.
I’m not stupid. While I wish it was otherwise, I’m out of action, dependent on others to find the woman I love. As we near church, I tell myself I’ll beg and grovel if I have to. Cat’s the most important thing in my world. Nothing else makes sense if I don’t have her.
I take a deep breath as I enter. Even Grinch, Mystic and Goofy are here, I notice, as Bolt wheels me to the space they’ve cleared. While eyeing the men, and Swift, all watching me silently, I realise there’s no welcome here. No ‘good to see yous’ and not even a ‘where the fuck have you been’?
When everyone’s seated, Snatcher bangs the gavel, but instead of bringing it down, he points it at me. “Don’t get used to sitting there.” He lays the ground rules immediately. “You’ve no rights as a member.”
My head is pounding. Sitting, rather than being stretched out horizontal for the last three weeks, or so I’ve been told, is fucking with my equilibrium. I push the weakness down, commenting only, “That’s fair.”
Piston whistles through his teeth and raises his eyebrow. A few murmurs go around, but for the most part, they all stare at me.
“Start speaking,” Snatcher demands.
“Cat…”
“No. Not there. Start with why you ran, and why you didn’t come back.”
“Leaving your fuckin’ cut,” Preacher snarls. “Big disrespect.”
He’s spoken so loudly the words hit my aching head like a physical blow, but I refrain from rubbing at the pain. It’s no time to show weakness. I don’t want to waste time on the background, “That’s not important. Finding Cat is.”
Snatcher snarls, “That’s for me to decide. Who she is, how you met her, is all part of the background we need to begin to track her down. You want us to find her? Start from the beginning. Now.” The last word is barked, his expression is relentless.
I’ve no choice, so I summon up words to put my case succinctly.
“I left in a rage, on impulse. I rode, I didn’t care where. I just wanted to put distance between us. At first I hated the club, but I soon calmed down. I knew I’d fucked up pretty quickly, and I wanted to come back home.”
“Should have done just that,” Thor remarks. “You scared of a fuckin’ beatdown?”
My automatic reaction is to shake my head, but that only sends agony shooting through me. “I’m not scared. Not then, not now. I know that’s coming.” Whether they let me stay or kick me out, they’ll do their worst.
“Yeah, you’ve got that coming. Once you’ve healed,” Rascal promises, flexing his fingers as though relishing the prospect.
Expecting that, I ignore him. “I knew I disrespected the club. I wanted to come back but needed to return with something. Anything that would make amends. Remember the loose end with Kincaid’s case, the woman? Well, I decided to track her down.”
“The Airbnb records were fake,” Honor states.
“Yeah, well, I might have modified those.”
Snatcher bangs the table far too loudly. “You fuckin’ what?” He’s as angry as I’ve ever seen him. “And that was helping us, how?”
I breathe deep, not certain if I’m going to be able to get through this without passing out. My hand shakes as I reach for the bottle of water in front of me. Bolt takes it from me, unscrewing the top before passing it back. When I’ve wet my still dry mouth, I get into the details. Quickly I tell them all about Tiny, and the state in which I’d found his cousin.
“And this is your Cat? So, the loose end led nowhere.”
“She’d have died if I hadn’t found her,” I confirm. “Didn’t think she needed you lot running after her. She was in a state.” I raise my eyes. “Rats stole her food, almost made a meal of her.”
“That would fuck with your mind.” Preacher shudders.
My moveable shoulder shrugs. “I fixed her, got her well, and began to fix myself.”
Swift’s staring at me. “You needed fixing?”
Knowing I’m going to expose myself and also knowing I’ve no choice if I want them to help me find Cat, I’m in no state to rush anywhere and do anything, and the fog in my brain suggests I won’t be much good digging for information. I’ll probably miss more than I find, I need to bare my soul. So I do.
By the time I finish my story, bringing it up to date with Gun beating the fuck out of me, my suspicions about him and Kincaid, right up to Cat being taken to apparently be sold, I realise no one’s spoken nor interrupted me.
“How did you get free?” Pip asks.
I’m tired, fighting to keep my eyes open. My leg and arm aches, my stomach is sore. My broken ribs throb, and I feel nauseous. But I keep going.
I eye Swift. “I used the chair.”
“Fuck yes. I wondered when you were going to say that. Why didn’t you earlier when you were still more than just half alive?”
“I thought I could get out of it using words. Gun had been a SEAL.” I shrug as if that would explain it, and carry on, speaking. I visualise the scene.
Before he left me, Gun had stabbed me, dislocated my knees and my shoulder, and I had more than a couple of broken ribs, a broken nose, and a swollen jaw. Blood dripped on the floor around me. I could barely see, my ears were ringing.
I was dying. Or would be soon.
The one man he’d left to guard me taunted me by telling me a buyer had emerged for the ‘fat girl’ as he referred to Cat. That, above all else, made me see red. She’s not fat, but after decent food for the last couple of months, she is deliciously curvy.
Without knowing whether it would work, I launched myself at him, head butting him first then immediately rolling and smashing the chair and … fuck yeah… a shattered piece of wood is in my bound hands. Mentally photographing his position, in one fluid movement I turn, leaning forward and raising my tied wrists to pierce his neck. Then, I’d collapsed.
When I came to, I didn’t know how much time remained until Gun returned. I managed to get my victim’s knife, prop it between my ankles and slice through the bindings holding my wrists together, once that was completed, it was child’s play to free my feet.
I crawled around that house. I tore sheets into bandages. Then…
I pause and raise my chin at Road. “I’ve watched you, Bro…” I correct myself, “Road. I popped my shoulder back first, I remembered the way I’d seen you put your knee back in. Fuck it’s painful, and I had to do it twice. But I managed it. Next I strapped my knees up.”
“Bad enough with one,” Road acknowledges, his voice tinged with respect.
My wrist was broken, but if I could find a car, I could drive with one hand. As luck would have it, the only available vehicle had been a bike, not a model I’d have chosen, but transport at least.
“I immobilised my wrist and strapped my hand to the throttle.”
Several heads shake and more than one pair of eyes look at me in admiration.