If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (28 page)

“No,” I mutter, before glancing up at Ty. I pull my cigarettes from my purse and point towards the hospital’s entrance. “I’m going outside,” I mouth to him, then head in the direction of the double sliding doors.
“No. Other than what I could find on Google, I don’t know anything,” I tell him truthfully as I step off the curb and towards the smoking hut twenty-five feet away from the entrance of the hospital. “Besides what you riddled off. Not a single fucking thing,” I say around lighting my cigarette. “Does that make you feel all warm and fuzzy? Knowing that? Now, if you could— I’m looking for my sister. And for reasons, believe it or not, I don’t care if you think are valid, I think Ben knows where she is, or at least can tell me the last place he saw her. ‘Cause the address on the last letter I received from her, I think you recall the one, that address is a damn laundry mat in Clearwater! So, any information you could grant me would be great, your freaking highness!” Immature? A little, maybe. Warranted? Abso-fucking-lutely.

I don’t even finish my cigarette and I’m flicking it on the ground before pacing the sidewalk. Then I light another one, because I’m pissed. And I just realize I wanted the first one I threw out.

“What time?” his voice barks across the line.

“What? What time?” I think back to everything that just fell out of my mouth in the last breathy
lengthy
sentence. “What the fuck do you mean, what—?”

“What hospital you at, Vagabond?”

“I-I…” I glance around my surroundings. And when my eyes land on the blue and white symbol beside the name of the hospital, I mutter out exactly what I see. “I’m at Florida Hospital Memorial Medical Center, off I-95. Why?” I look up as Ty comes out of the hospital.

“Hey, your mom has a room,” he whispers, and I nod, holding my hand up.

“Dreads just booked you a flight. Your plane leaves Daytona Beach International at eight tomorrow morning. Sorry, Pipsqueak, that was the soonest available flight. Get your ass up here, now. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, nor do I know where your sister is and until I do, I want what’s mine tucked in close to home. Not that you’re mine. And not that this is your home. But—I just want to make sure you’re safe, okay, kid?”

“I’m not coming there. Alone. Who do you think you’re talking to? How stupid do you think I am? I’m not—Pfft,” I scoff at him. “I’m not fucking coming up there,” I tell him as Ty’s eyebrows begin creeping up. But I shake my finger at him, mouthing, “No.”

I’m
not
freaking going up there. There’s no way in hell. No matter what he says, or how he delivers his argument. I’m not his soldier. I chuckle at the thought.

“I may have been sold, but honey, I’m not your soldier. Please don’t ever forget that shit, either, Jacques. If you know where my sister is at, just tell me. I’m not doing a damn thing you say. Besides, I have to stay here and take care of my mother. I have to make sure I’m available for the authorities in case they have any more questions about my sister’s disappearance. I have work tomorrow night!” I scream into the phone as Ty guides us back to the car.

The closer we get to his little red car, the less his head stops popping up to check for voyeurs the louder my voice crawls on our way as he huddles—
huddles
me towards the inside of the car.

“Your mother has some of the best care available being served to her in one of the nicest hospitals in the south. You can’t help her when they already are. Your sister is missing, and I’m afraid I don’t know a better way to tell you this, Vagabond, other than just say it—I’m not so certain it’s her missing that we need to be worried about. I’m more concerned whether or not she’s breathing. Especially with the motherfuckers who’ve shown up on my front door steps,
twice,
hailing a raining fire of bullets. The first time taking out not only me, but my pops and half of my fucking club. And the note they left this morning after their second attack on us around midnight? Spouting some shit about a mother and a daughter and a club called No Name No Colors. And I can’t think of another little girl I know named O’Malley. Can you?”

I’m frozen. Standing just outside Ty’s car despite his efforts to huddle me into it, with my hand to my ear around my iPhone and my mouth hanging open. And I can’t move. I can hardly freaking speak. “W-what’d it say, Jacques? What the hell did the note say?”

“Pipsqueak, if you don’t come to me, I’ll come to you. They’ve killed my uncle. Found him last night in New Orleans. You know anything about that, Eve? Why your daddy’d want my unc dead? You find that shit on Google? You want to know what the note said?  Get your ass on that plane. Otherwise I’ll be by your house in a few days. We’re riding a last ride—without my uncle’s son. Because like your sister...he also suddenly can’t be found.”

“What time?” I repeat his earlier words, only much meeker than he said them. I look over to Ty when I buckle myself into his car, shrugging around my phone.

“Eight am. Clutch said he’ll be there to pick you up. He’s the short stocky brother...big ole beer belly. Long beard and hair.” He chuckles. “And you might wanna bring my ma’s necklace. I’mma teach you a thing or two about praying. Now that you got yourself a crucifix. I’ll be here waiting on ya, Vagabond.”

Then the line goes dead. And I’m left sitting there in the parking lot of the Florida Memorial Medical Center in my best friend’s car with my mouth hanging open. Again.
How is he going to teach me anything about praying? I don’t think he realizes how different Eden and I freaking are.

“I’m not going by myself,” I tell both Ty and Jacques. But only Ty listens.
Bastard, Jacques hung up! 
“What a freaking prick!” I shout before tossing my phone in my bag. “He wants me to go up there. What he said did make sense, but still.” I shake my head, not even—okay, somewhat thinking about it.

“Ahh...still, fine as he is, though, honey, he drugged and kidnapped you! That’s not okay!” His wide eyes look from the road back to mine. “Right? Like, in hetero world, that’s not acceptable, right?” He winks at me. “Well, no—you’re not going. Not unless I can go, but I’ve got to work tomorrow. I can try to get off this weekend, though.”

But I stop him before he gets too far. “No, Ty. The ticket was already bought and paid for. Besides, my damn family’s not the only one involved in this, I think.”

In case you’ve been wondering all this time where my head's at, I can’t tell you. And I can’t tell you because I don’t think the ramifications of what exactly is going on here have dawned on me just yet. Actually, I know they haven’t, not until this moment. Right this second.

“There’s not going to be any answers here, is there, Ty? Not until Ilsa wakes up?”

He shakes his head before redirecting his attention fully on the traffic. “The cops won’t find anything here, sweetie. She’s never even been a registered resident in the State of Florida. And the only other person that can provide you answers at the moment is, unfortunately, unconscious. So, no. The likelihood of you finding out something here is nil to none, but still—you’re not going a damn place without me. And I can’t leave until I can get off.”

“Well then we’re not going. He said if I don’t come to him, he’d come to me. Something about a last ride. They found his uncle in New Orleans. Freaking dead. I don’t know when, but from what I could gather, it was recently.”

“Oh my God! What’s that mean? What’s a last ride?” he asks as we take the exit off I-95.

“Just like I said, hell if I know. I don’t know anything right now. And I fucking hate it. I hate the feeling. I hate it, Ty. I don’t like not knowing anything!”

“I know you don’t, dove. I know you don’t.” He pats my knee. “All in good time. Just keep telling yourself everything is okay. At least until it’s not. Deal?” he asks as he pulls into my driveway.

“Deal.”

***

Jacques called, probably five minutes after my plane should’ve landed in NYC, had I taken the flight he paid for. Afterward, he called every hour on the hour...for almost twenty hours straight. And then his phone calls just stopped.

I don’t like confrontation. And I didn’t want to tell him I’m afraid to go up there.
Alone
. And what? Just waltz into the same MC I did ten years ago? Only this time alone?  Oh, hell no. There’s no way in hell I’m going up there without Ty. And Lauryn’s still breastfeeding, so dragging her into an MC club that’s recently been riddled with bullets, during what I can only assume were drive-bys, looking for my missing sister and the murderer of Jacques Cain’s uncle, while possibly blaming Ben, his cousin? I really doubt she’d go. She’s probably got plans. Lame, mother-like plans, but still—I bet she’s busy.

To say I was pissed when I pulled into Eve O’Malley’s driveway a day and a half after she missed her flight is putting it mildly. But it was when I not only saw her vehicle in the driveway, but Ty’s too...well, you may as well insert a maniacal laugh here.

I was past pissed. I was fucking
livid.

I don’t think this damn girl has ever been taught a lick about respect or protocol.
By anyone. Now, I know it seems like I don’t know her from Adam, but she and I are on a different plan. We don’t tick like most, and neither does our
‘relationship’,
if that’s what you want to call it.

So where I would normally never just walk into yours, or anyone else’s home I hardly know, Eve...is different. And for reasons I still can’t fucking explain, I feel protective of her. Almost, responsible for her. Which is an absurd new development, because she’s nothing to me. She’s not family, she’s not a brother’s family, she’s...nothing.

Which is confusing as fuck, because the first thing I thought when I read that goddamn letter Clutch found, was that it couldn’t be her. Vagabond just came back into my life. And I’m not sure why she kept popping up in it before, but now...this time I don’t want her gone for so long. Actually, I don’t want her gone at all.

I’m sick and fucking tired of always saying goodbye to that girl. This is it for her; she’s not my goodbye girl anymore. She’s my girl. She just doesn’t know it yet. Oh, but she will. She fucking will.

I don’t even test the door to see if it’s locked. I just turn that bitch at the exact same time my shoulder connects with it, just before I slam it open.

“Eve Of’FuckingMay O’Malley. Get your ass in the living room. Right goddamn now. Front and center, mami!” I didn’t have to shout, I just simply spoke.

One of the culprits is sitting at the coffee table having what looks like a pizza picnic in the middle of the living room floor. Dixie cups and Jack Daniels lined up. Well, lined up on Eve’s side, who hasn’t even made it out of her work uniform yet from the looks of it. Eve stumbles from the kitchen with a salad in each hand when my words finish ringing out in the small space. Well, the salad bowls
were
in her hands. But when I came through the door, barking demands, they hit floor.

Ty has only had one drink, judging from the solo dixie cup in front of him. Ty’s hand holding the pizza to his mouth, mid-bite, freezes and I heard both of them scream after my words rang out. Very loudly, and very feminine. I just leaned back against the column between the foyer and main room before slowly shoving my hands in my front pockets. After making silent eye contact with first Eve then Ty, I settle my eyes back on Eve.

“Said front and center.” I nod to the area of carpet between us. “I meant front and center.”

Her mouth gapes open before flapping closed. “There’s glass. No. I’m not walking through it.”