Reverence: MC Romance (The Davis Chapter Book 3) (14 page)

The adrenaline kept my foot on the accelerator. Trask didn’t answer his phone. What was the point of giving me an emergency contact if the contact didn’t pick up?
 

I resisted calling Romero until I couldn’t put it off anymore. Pride had no place when lives were on the line. The Sons needed to know that things had gone badly, and Romero was my only shot.

“Dammit!” When I heard Romero’s happy-go-lucky voicemail message, I almost lost my phone out the window. I was still ten minutes from the bar, so I pushed the BMW even harder.

With nothing left to do but drive and think, I cranked up the radio. Even after the deep sleep, exhaustion was creeping in from all corners. When I got tired, I tended to second-guess myself and overanalyze every single word. The only thing I had to overanalyze was the fight with Romero. Every time I started to think of it, a lump grew at my throat. It wasn’t the time or place for emotions; not when lives were on the line.

I locked up the brakes in the gravel lot. Part of me hoped it didn’t damage the car, but the other part of me didn’t care. Faith would understand. The club was more important than anything.

It must’ve been on account of the weekend, because the place was absolutely packed, and I had to shove my way through people just to get inside. No one stopped to ask for my I.D. I figured that no one would. A club that was in with illegal dealings wasn’t too worried about someone showing up with a fake. There wasn’t even anyone watching the door.

The place pounded with music. Twangy country guitars and a singer lamenting something or other. I tried to push it out of my head and find Trask or Romero, but I would have much preferred to deal with Trask. My feelings toward Romero were confusing at best, but I knew there were bigger problems.

I heard a deep laugh, and turning toward the bar, I spotted the man I was looking for. Trask had his head thrown back and his arm around a hulking man. Both had the Rising Sons cut that I was getting so used to seeing.

Shoving through a few more bikers, one with more than his share of beer dripping down his beard, I reached the man I needed to see. “What, do we not answer the fucking phone around here anymore?” I had to shout it over the blasting music. Grabbing Trask’s arm, I pulled him through the crowd. “We need to talk now.”

He looked pissed, but let me tug him through the people. Once we were outside, I started to speak, but a few blondes, dressed in almost nothing, leaned over, so I pulled Trask near his mom’s car. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw it.

“Is that Faith’s—“

I didn’t have time for that shit, “Yeah, it is. I borrowed it to get back up here. That’s not important. The deal went south in a bad way. There was gunfire. Harris got out, and he’s coming here.”

“Why in the fuck would he do that?”

My pulse was still rocket-fast. “Because I
told
him to. My father
shot
at him, probably tagged him, I don’t know. Either way, he has arranged to get the Rising Sons the weapons that he had promised my father.”

Trask’s angry look turned into something I’d never thought I’d see: fear. His eyes went wide and he leaned against a wall. “Shit. The battle royale is back on. They are going to bring the hammer down hard.” He looked back toward the front. “Gimme a sec.”

Before I could say a word, Trask left me standing there. I looked down the road, not sure if I should be expecting Harris to ride up or if it was a lost cause. My father was one hell of a shot, but Harris could’ve gotten away.

When Trask returned, he had someone in tow. He stood to one side, and an older man in a Rising Sons cut stopped cold and looked me up and down. I eyed their cuts, realizing that they both had PRESIDENT beneath their name. The older man was Bear; Trask’s father.

A smile grew on my face when he spoke. His voice was like gravel as he said, “You got my wife’s car. Best fill it up before you bring it back, else you’ll hear about it, darlin’.”

I extended a hand. “I’m Julie. Glad to meet you, Bear. I’ve heard all kinds of stories.”

“Half of them lies, the other half not enough truth. Anyway, get to the nitty-gritty. Captain digging himself a grave?”

“Pop, she’s Julie Capriani. Cap’s her dad.”

Additional wrinkles appeared on Bear’s forehead as his eyes went wide. “’Scuse me, darlin’. Shouldn’t be talkin’ bad about him. He’s not a bad man.”

“Yes, he is.” It came out of nowhere, but it was definitely the truth. Bear’s eyes somehow went wider.

I caught them up on the meeting with Harris. Both men listened and didn’t interrupt. It was Harris that ended up interrupting.

His truck came to a lazy stop not too far from where I had parked Faith’s car. The windshield was spidered out from a few bullet holes. He leaned forward on the steering wheel, looking whiter than a Q-tip in a snowstorm.

Trask and I ran toward the truck before it even crawled to a stop. He threw the door open, and I caught Harris. The boy was alive, but it wasn’t by much. He winced as I lowered him to the gravel.

Trask pulled out his phone. After a few seconds at his ear, he spoke, “Hope, we need you. GSW. Looks like it’s in the shoulder, but I can’t quite tell, yet.”

As Trask spoke, I tore Harris’s Spoon shirt open and saw the entry wound. Leaning him forward and ignoring his cries of pain, I checked the back. “No exit wound. I think his lung is punctured.”

He repeated my assessment. I was about to lay Harris down, but Bear appeared with a few other bikers in tow. They gathered around the kid.
 

“Careful of the shoulder,” I said as they lifted Harris.

Running in front of them, I saw that people were pouring out of the bar. “Clear a path! Get the fuck out of the way!”

Most people didn’t react, but when they saw the bikers carrying a wounded man, they scattered. I held the door to the bar open as they brought him in. The Rising Sons laid Harris down on the closest table. A few beer bottles were knocked away, shattering across the floor.

I scanned the bar, recognizing the woman that had given me a hard pep-talk a day earlier. “Towels, rags, whatever’s clean.”

She nodded and ducked behind the bar. The small amount of First Aid I had done took over. After checking Harris for any more injuries, I looked around at the men. The place had changed in an instant. The music had been cut off, and the bar was nearly deserted.

My eyes met Trask’s. “Who’d you call?”

“My girl. She’s a doc in training.”

I nodded. “She bringing something better than a sweaty bar rag?”

He beamed. “She knows what’s up.”

“This ain’t my first rodeo, either. He’s lost alot of blood.” As I spoke, Donna appeared with a few clean towels in her hand. I snatched them up and pressed them hard against the wound. Harris let out a groan and tried to struggle. Three bikers were instantly holding him down.

Grabbing Bear’s hands, I pressed them against the towels, a red spot already growing on them. “Press hard. Don’t let up until the doc gets here.” He only nodded. I could tell it wasn’t his first time dealing with wounded, either.

Trask had his back turned and I only caught the end of the conversation. “…you gotta take her. It’s not safe in Davis.” He turned around after ending the call. “Whatever went down between you and Romero, he’s talking crazy.”

I’m sure he is, I thought. “What do you mean?”

“Says he’s resigning. Apparently you two are taking a trip. As if I don’t have enough shit to deal with.” Trask shook his head and headed out the door of the Watering Hole.

I was left to stand there wondering what was going on. Things had taken one hell of a turn in the past twenty-four hours. First Romero had made it sound like he wouldn’t leave Davis. That had been a crack in my armor. He had stood beside me even as we lived our relationship in secret. Perhaps I hadn’t given him enough time to explain himself.

“Listen up!” Bear’s voice boomed and grabbed the room, and it was like the gravel-voiced older man had gone. In his place was a young, strong, commanding figure. He could control in a split second when he needed to.

Trask came back through the door, followed by a woman with a medical bag over her shoulder. Her eyes were on me instantly. “How long has he been unconscious?”

I hadn’t paid much attention to Harris, but he was out. “Not long. Two minutes at the most.”
 

She kissed Bear on the cheek and pulled his hands away. Nodding to him, she said, “Ok, keep the pressure on the wound while I get my stuff ready.”
 

“Glad to see you again, too, Hope.” Bear pressed down on Harris again.

Hope pulled tools from her bag. She looked to me, “Sounds like you can handle yourself. If he pulls through, he’ll owe you his life. Alright,” Hope pulled out an IV and a flat plastic bag. “Which one of you hogheads is O negative?”

The giant man that Trask had been laughing with earlier that night stepped forward, “Me.”

Hope hooked a chair with her foot and dragged it over. “Deacon, how would you like to earn a cookie?”

I watched the big man step through the crowd, and I couldn’t help but notice his cheeks had gone a little red. “I might…um…pass out, but drain me dry if you have to.”

She nodded and got to work.

Even with his hands still on Harris’s wound, Bear looked around. “It won’t be long before they hit us here. We’re twenty-some strong. My Bakersfield boys didn’t ride up here for nothing, so if they want a fight, let’s give ‘em one they’ll remember. Load up, and let’s see what we can do about fortifying this place a little, huh?”

Men scattered in all directions, and weapons were laid on tables. From the back of the bar, Trask’s voice, so much like his fathers, rang out, “If you aren’t a Son, you’ve got no business here. Donna, get the girls out of here fast.” He locked onto me. “That means you, too.”

What the fuck?
“I have spent the last few days doing everything I could for the Sons, and you’re throwing me out?”

Trask nodded. “That’s the long and short of it. If you think a slug in the shoulder is bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet. It’s going to get bad.” He stepped toward me, his voice lower, “And I hate to say it, but many of these guys don’t trust you. I’m not one of them, mind you, but you ain’t exactly Helen of Troy. We had a tense but peaceful relationship with the Devil’s Branch before you and Romero. Now I get the idea that soon enough, there’ll only be one group of biker enthusiasts in town.”

“I can help with the wounded. Hope even said so herself.”

The biker looked around. “Doesn’t matter. Hope’s gonna be gone with the kid soon, too. Romero is coming. Don’t argue, just hop on back when he pulls up.”

“Where is he taking me?” I was still angry about the situation, but the thought of losing him was growing very real. He was going to drop me somewhere and turn back, again. He was going to head for danger once I was clear.

“Fuck knows, but I don’t know if we’ll see you two again. If that’s the case, I wish you all the best. He’s a hell of a guy, and you seem like a real catch. My advice? Buy a minivan, have a few kids, and live your lives. It’s a shitload quieter than all this.” As he spoke, Trask grabbed a pistol from the table where weapons were being piled. He pulled the slider and let it spring back into place.