Page 128

“He did when he sewed on his patch.” She pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

I followed her through the main doors. We walked fast, eating up the distance to the ICU unit. Adrenaline spiked my blood, rushing hot through my veins. Skin was the only thing holding me together as the scents and sounds twisted in my mind.

Finally, we stopped at the desk to check in.

Clover spoke to the receptionist or nurse—she wore scrubs and had a name badge so she could be either—sitting behind a desk along with a security officer.

“This is Jaymi—” Clover waited for me to reply.

“Jaymi Bardot.”

The door buzzed, allowing us through. The stark white corridors and medicine smells triggered my PTSD. Nausea stewed in my gut, and my throat constricted against the need to vomit. I clutched my purse, a wholly inadequate anchor to keep me from spiraling. Box breathe.

We passed an open lounge. Clover paused, and several people turned to me. Hellers.

Bullet approached. “I’ll take her,” he said to Clover.

Not that I wasn’t grateful that Clover had come for me, but I didn’t want to see her with Brett. She’d been with him all week, and yes, dammit, I was angry and jealous.

Bullet walked beside me down the corridor. “I don’t want to scare you, but he looks like shit.” He paused at a wall of glass. “Vega’s in there with him. If you want one of us to stay, we will.”

I nodded, unable to form words with the emotion clogging my throat.

Bullet pushed the door open. Brett rested in a hospital bed with tubes and wires attached to his body. Fluids dripped from IV bags, and machines beeped and buzzed as they monitored his vitals. I stared at the digital line bumping with his pulse.

A river of tears flooded my eyes, cascaded down my cheeks, and dripped from my face.

Vega stood from the chair in the corner. “The respiratory nurse was just here. He finally pressed the fucking button for pain relief. After he coughed enough for her, he was asleep two minutes later.”

I approached the bed. I didn’t need a medical degree to know this was serious. His color was horrible. Beneath the bruises, his skin was gray and splotchy. Somehow, his cheeks were hollow beneath a week’s-worth of whiskers, but his face was swollen. His lips were pale and cracked.

I hesitantly touched the hair at his temples. Please, don’t take him from me. In my mind, I whispered words, praying for him. Praying for us. With every breath, I realized how wrong I’d been.

“What happened?”

“He made an enemy of a friend,” Vega said.

Brett’s friends were in the MC. “One of his brothers?” They were supposedly a family.

Bullet stood behind me and stared at Brett. “We’ll talk later,” he said to me. “But don’t worry. Kodiak will spend every day of his life looking over his shoulder until he’s dead.”

“Shouldn’t be a long life,” Vega said.

I glanced over at him. “Will he get arrested?”

Bullet chuckled. “Nothing the cops can do. Kodiak didn’t just fuck over his club. He pissed off the mafia.”

Vega stood. “Not that we’ll protect him, either.” He came around the other side of the bed. “Can I bring you anything? They have water and soda in the lounge.”

I shook my head and focused on Brett again.

“We’ll keep everyone out.” Bullet slid a chair next to the bed.

“Thank you.” I sat and folded my hands in my lap. I wanted to hold Brett’s hand, but there wasn’t anywhere I could touch that wasn’t bruised, cut, or hooked to a machine.

“Give me your phone.” Bullet held out his hand.

“My phone?” I dug into my purse and handed it to him.