I was back in the hospital and I had no fucking idea why. I couldn't remember anything. I wracked my brain and my memories, but I couldn't put together what had happened the night before no matter how hard I tried. The last thing I did remember was being with Hunter at the church, but the rest is a complete mystery, and fuck, it irritated the shit out of me.
As soon as a nurse came into my room, I forced my eyes open, still squinting, and tried to get her attention because as I spoke, no words came out. I cleared my throat over and over, which made the nurse give me a sip of water that felt like pure ice sliding down my throat. I tried again, hoping the water had helped.
"What happened?" I finally managed to ask, feeling how sore my throat was compared to the rest of my body.
"Oh, sweetie, do you not remember anything?" She asked, checking my chart and getting on my nerves.
"If I did remember, I wouldn't have asked," I snapped, hearing the attitude in my tone and immediately feeling bad for it. But fuck, I was frustrated.
"It looks like you were brought in after being attacked at a bar. It says you were found in the bathroom unconscious." She carried on explaining everything that happened to me and all the stitches and wound cleanings I was given.
I was absolutely disgusted, and so embarrassed as she read off each disturbing act that was done to me, making a point to tell me they found an overload of date rape drugs and other sedatives in my toxicology report. I tuned her out after a while, the voices in my head talking to me about revenge and what my next steps were going to be. I just looked at her and listened to the voices, deep down wishing Hunter or any of the guys were here.
But I knew I couldn't count on anyone, and I accepted that. I went most of my life alone, and I was more than happy to continue in the same way. Instead of thinking about them, I plotted my revenge on a man who I couldn't remember. But I knew one thing for sure. Once I found out who it was that did this to me, I'd be ready and prepared to exact my revenge. I knew what I wanted to do, it was just a waiting game to find out who I was going to do it to.
18
Guard Dogs
Jax
Therapy felt fundamentally different without Scarlett. I struggled to keep my eyes open during each session, yet somehow managed to drag myself through the full hour each time, fabricating the kind of superficial bullshit the therapist wanted to hear. Anything to fucking escape that suffocating office where I felt the walls closing in around me.
After therapy, my routine typically involved a walk back to the halfway house, followed by taking Reaper out. However, on this particular day, as soon as I stepped outside, I noticed a sleek black car with tinted windows parked at the curb, awaiting my arrival. I couldn’t see who was inside, but the back passenger window slid down just enough for me to catch a glimpse ofpenetrating eyes but because of the darkness of the tint I couldn't see anything else.
"Get in the damn car, Jax," a voice commanded, those eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race.
Anxiety washed over me, and despite my efforts to mask it, I knew my apprehension was etched across my face. I circled around to the back and held my breath as I opened the door, sliding into the back seat without a moment’s hesitation. As the car pulled away from the curb, I turned my head to the left and exhaled in relief, spotting Hunter sitting beside me. Up front, I saw Michael behind the wheel and Kellin reclining in the passenger seat, his dark clothing matching the car's ominous tint.
"What’s going on?" I asked, feeling the tension that permeated the air.
"We need you and Reaper," Hunter replied, and a wide smile involuntarily spread across my face, though the gnawing feeling in my stomach remained, uncertainty gnawing at me.
"For what?" I questioned, lighting a Newport and rolling down the window just enough to let the smoke escape without fogging the interior.
"Doc was attacked the other night while we were on a job. Her memory is shot, but I've figured out who did it." Hunter cracked his knuckles, his anger simmering as he recalled the incident that had left Scarlett with no memory. "I want her to have her way with him, but we need to catch him or draw him to the church. That’s where you and Reaper come in. If Reaper needs to rough him up a bit to get him there, so be it. Just make sure he doesn’t fucking kill the bastard."
"Is she okay?" I asked, a wave of concern washing over me for her safety after everything she had endured in such a short span.
"What kind of stupid fucking question is that?" Kellin scoffed without turning around from the front seat.
"No, man," Michael interjected, locking eyes with me in the rearview mirror, shaking his head. "She isn’t okay."
I could feel the weight of their pain enveloping me, nearly suffocating. When we finally pulled up to the halfway house, I surged from the car and stumbled over to the gazebo, collapsing onto the cold, hard bench. The guys followed, their black hoodies blending into the dusk, their cigarettes glowing like tiny beacons in the growing gloom. We formed a silent circle, watching the sunset together, a moment of intimacy that just felt wrong without Scarlett.
No one spoke. No one moved. We sat in silence, chain-smoking, awaiting the impending darkness to envelop us. I could hear Reaper barking from inside, which spurred me to get up and go fetch him. Despite my eagerness to see Reaper in action, my thoughts lingered on Scarlett, wondering how much more trauma she could withstand. Things weren't going to get easier—not according to what she had planned, and I was truly worried how much more her fragile mind could take before she spiraled into a dangerous depression or even a psychotic break.
When I finally reached the door, Reaper bounded out, his tail wagging furiously as my hands grabbed the collar. The moment he saw me, his energy seemed to recharge; he tugged at his leash, eager to head out and do whatever it was dogs were meant to do at a time like this—run, bark, and live freely, while I fought against the heavy shadows creeping over my own mind. But Reaper wasn't like other dogs. I trained him to hurt, to kill, and he does such a good job at it..
“Let’s go, buddy,” I murmured, willing my voice to sound upbeat, despite the knot forming in my gut.
As we began our walk around the parking lot while the guys watched curiously, I tried to clear my mind. Focus on the moment, I told myself. One foot in front of the other. Just like Hunter had taught me. But it was hard to concentrate with thelooming dread of uncertainty nudging at me, whispering fears about Scarlett and the confrontation we were planning.
The soft thud of Reaper’s paws against the pavement steadied me. I glanced down, watching him sniff and explore, an uncomplicated creature of instinct and joy.
“What do you think, boy?” I asked him, the question more a reflection of my own desperation than anything else. “Do you think she’ll be okay? Are you ready to find the bad man who hurt her and show me where he is?” He looked up at me, his dark eyes serious yet innocent, tail still wagging. If only I could take some of that joy and stuff it inside myself.
I walked him over to the gazebo, impatiently waiting for Hunter to tell us what the fuck was going on. He looked lost. He looked ashamed, guilty. I'd never seen him look anything other than confident and evil, so I grew worried, and it all stemmed down to Scarlett.
