But have I? Christ, she’d been bad enough after being locked in her own cellar, but now? I can’t run from the idea that she’s been abused, subjected to things no woman should suffer. What do I know about making her right? What if I fuck up and say a well-intentioned equivalent of ‘pull yourself together’ or ‘you’ll be alright’? Have I got the backbone for this to be what she needs?
I only know I have to try, and just hope this isn’t going to be another thing I’ll fuck up.
It’s not good news she had to be sedated. “Didn’t Swift try and talk to her?”
Pip’s lips press together. “She did, but she’s not sure who Cat thought she was. Someone trying to trick her perhaps. In the end, they were worried she was going to hurt herself. That’s all I’ve got, Stormy.”
I suppose I’ve been dumb. I’d hoped once they’d got her free, I’d be talking to her on the phone, reassuring her and myself that everything was going to be fine. Cat’s in a worse state than I had imagined.
“What do I do, Pip? What do I fuckin’ do?” I plead for help.
Before he can answer, a knock sounds at the door. When it opens, it reveals a prospect and the club’s doctor. Pip nod, clearly having summoned him.
“Come on, Storm. Let’s go to my office.”
The doc might be here to give me a lecture. Maybe I deserve one. I’ve been awake so long I’m running on fumes now. My body is one mess of agony, parts aching that I’m trying my best to ignore.
But I can’t rest. Won’t be able to close my eyes until Cat’s here, and I see for myself that physically she’s unharmed. Mentally? Christ, I don’t even want to go there. I’ve never considered myself an emphatic man, how can I help her?
I focus on Pip, opening my mouth to tell him it’s not me who needs medical help, but if he’s here to work up a plan for Cat’s treatment, I’ll listen to him. I get no further than opening my mouth when I feel a prick in my neck.
My hand swings up to bat it away, but I’m too late. Already I feel my eyes closing.
When I awake my mouth feels dry and I’m disorientated. I open my eyes, noting I’m in my room, in my bed, and that I’m wearing only my boxers. I feel violated, I’ve been drugged against my will and someone, presumably a prospect, has undressed me.
Cat.
How long have I been out? Is she back? I sit up so fast the world spins around me, and my chest, arm and leg make their protests known as I ignore the pain of the still healing bones.
“Whoa. Take it easy.”
I don’t know that voice. The thought alarms me, and my eyes snap to the origin of the sound. It’s a biker who’s sitting in a chair next to me, but not one I’ve seen before. Or have I? In the scope of my rifle?
“Who the fuck are you?” I rasp, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me.
The man eyes me. “The name’s Mace,” he pronounces.
Mace? The only man of that name I know and who’d be wearing a cut is the enforcer of the Satan’s Devils MC Colorado chapter. A man who could have little love for me, hatred, yes. I killed the man he wanted to torture himself. I had seen him through my scope. Moments before I shifted my sights to Major.
Still seated, I try to inch my hand toward the drawer of my bedside table when my firearm is normally stored.
Mace notices, the bastard. He shakes his head, and pulls out a gun of his own, holding it loosely in one hand. “I wondered what your reaction would be.”
“How the fuck did you get in here?” Has the compound been breached? Is this to do with Drummer? Has his patience run out?
“You going to kill me?” Either gun or fists would succeed, I’m as weak as a kitten.
Mace barks a laugh. “There was a time when yeah, I’d have shot you dead soon as I had you in my sights. But I’ll hold off on that for now.”
“Torture me?”
“Christ. You’re full of your own fuckin’ importance, aren’t you, Stormy? All you can think of is that I’m here for you. But I’m not.”
It must be whatever sedative the doctor had given me, but my brain can’t make sense of the words. My brow furrows. “Who are you fuckin’ here for, Mace?”
He steeples his hands under his chin, and grimaces. “I’m here because I know about some of what you’re going to go through. Drummer contacted my prez, Demon spoke to me. I had a chat with my ol’ lady, and well, here I am.”
It’s a convoluted explanation that my injured brain’s having difficulty following. Drummer, though, seems to be behind his presence.
Taking pity on me at last, Mace finds more explanative words. “My Shay was abused.”
Bells ring, dots start moving into a line, but I don’t understand why anyone would help me. But I remember he said he wasn’t here for me. He intends to help her.
“No one’s getting near my woman apart from me,” I snarl.
Now he holds up his hands. “Too fuckin’ right.” He leans forward getting into my face. “Shay was fuckin’ broken when I first met her. You know what that bastard Major did to her, no one could expect anyone to come out unscathed. I’m not forcing anyone to let me stay here, but Drummer suggested I might be able to help. Not your woman directly, but as someone who’s been through it themselves, I might be able to give you some pointers.” He pauses, sits back, and draws his hand down his face. “I’ve been there, Stormy. I know you just want to wrap her in your arms and tell her everything’s going to be alright. That you love her, whatever. That just those words will make everything right.”
They will, won’t they? Of course, I’ll have to convince her. Nothing that happened to her was any fault of hers. It’s not as though she set out to cheat on me. I don’t give a damn, she’s mine. Nothing will effect that. But Mace has made me think.
“Isn’t that what she needs to hear?”
Mace grimaces. “Hearing is one thing, believing it another. If she’s like Shay, she’ll feel unclean. Fuck, man, she might not even trust you.”
“It was my fault,” I tell him, looking down at my hands. “If I hadn’t been there, Gun might not have taken her.”
Now the Colorado enforcer nods. “Pip filled me in. Maybe, maybe not. But you were, and it’s possible he took her to have leverage over you. Only, you got free before he could use it.”
“Is there any more news?” I ask him, belatedly. “Is she back yet?”
He shakes his head. “They’re in US airspace,” he tells me. “She’s safe, and nearly here. Preacher’s ETA is in an hour.”
I’ve got to get moving. It’s a process that I need to take slow. Surprisingly, Mace goes about helping me without being asked. He goes to my drawers, asks what I need and gets it out.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, as he holds the t-shirt so I can get my cast through it. “Don’t you hate me for what I did?”
He sighs. “I did. At the time I was blinded by being robbed of the chance to torture Major. He didn’t deserve a clean bullet to the head. Good fuckin’ shot though that was.” He winks at me. “But in the end, he’s dead. I could spend time with Shayla, rather than spending hours in the basement torturing the fuck out of the man.”