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We move through the basics—including the fact that I don’t have insurance—and it all goes well enough, right up until the moment the intake nurse asks, “Reason for visit?”
“Possible broken arm,” Leon interjects before I can downplay the situation.
The nurse narrowed her eyes at me as if she knew I’d planned to tell a different story. But she doesn’t ask any questions, instead typing away at her computer. “Take a seat. Someone will call you shortly.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, and Leon leads me to a row of hard plastic chairs.
“Lacey Nixon?” A different nurse calls my name after what feels like an eternity. As we walk over, I catch her staring at my jacket, one I was given ages ago after one of the older club members died. It doesn’t have a patch—I’ll never truly be a member of the Burning Heretics MC, after all—but you can still see the spot where Pride’s patch used to be. The nurse doesn’t say anything, but her gaze makes me feel exposed.
“Follow me, please. We’re going to take an x-ray of your arm,” she says, leading us through the maze of hallways. I glance back at Leon, who offers me a reassuring smile. It’s a small gesture, but it gives me the strength to keep moving forward.
The x-ray room’s cold air bites at my skin, leaving goosebumps as I wait for the technician. The x-rays don’t hurt, but the technician’s attempts to manipulate my arm into position bring tears to my eyes.
Once the x-rays are done, a nurse leads me to an exam room, where Leon and I wait for a doctor. Leon seems just as uncomfortable as I am in the sterile environment.
I study the white walls of the room, trying to distract myself from the pain throbbing in my arm. The silence between Leon and me stretches out like a taut wire, heavy with unspoken words. Swallowing hard, I decide to open up to him even more.
“Before I met you, Control destroyed most of my art portfolio,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart feels like it’s being squeezed as I remember the torn pages, smeared paint, and shattered dreams.
“Rebellion . . .” Leon’s eyes widen as he takes in this new revelation. His grip on my uninjured hand tightens, a silent vow of support. “That’s terrible.”
“Control never understood my passion for art,” I say, anger simmering beneath my words. “He always thought it was a waste of time, that I should be focusing on the club and the family business.”
“Your art is incredible, Rebellion,” Leon insists, his gaze unwavering. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, especially not your father.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, feeling a warm glow spread through my chest, chasing away some of the coldness inside.
Leon pauses, and I can feel him trying to find the right words to say something.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You still haven’t told me what you and the clubwhore were discussing.”
Shit. He’s right. Have I unconsciously been avoiding that?
The cold hospital room practically echoes the fear that clings to me like a second skin. Leon sits next to me, his eyes filled with concern and determination. I know that I have to tell him what I know, but my throat feels like it’s filled with cement.
Finally, I whisper, my voice barely audible above the beeping of the machines echoing from the rooms around us. “I overheard my father talking to some drug supplier from Birmingham.”
Leon’s brow furrows, and he leans in closer, his hand reaching for mine. “What did they talk about?” His voice is low and steady, a stark contrast to my trembling one.
“Control—” I hesitate, swallowing hard before continuing. “He was discussing the Burning Heretics taking over the Birmingham territory from the Sons of Gods.”
“Shit,” Leon mutters under his breath. He glances away for a moment, his jaw clenching tightly as he processes the information. I know the implications are dire; this could mean an all-out war between the two clubs, and all our lives would be at risk.
“Are you sure about what you heard?” Leon’s eyes search mine for any hint of doubt. But there’s none. I am certain, and I can’t sit idly by while people I care about are caught in the crossfire.
“Positive,” I say as a sense of resolve builds within me. “We have to do something. We can’t let this happen.”
For a moment, Leon simply stares at me, weighing the gravity of the situation we now find ourselves in. Then, with a nod, he squeezes my good hand reassuringly.
“Okay,” he says firmly, his voice laced with conviction. “We’ll figure this out together. No matter what, I promise you, we’ll make this right.”
My heart hammers in my chest as I search Leon’s eyes, silently pleading for some reassurance. “I’m worried about the people I love in the Burning Heretics getting hurt. There’s so much at stake, and it feels like it’s all just teetering on the edge.”
It seems like the sterile air in the hospital room grows heavier and colder with each passing moment. The hum of the fluorescent lights above us echoes in my ears, only amplifying my anxiety.
“I swear on my life, I’ll do everything I can to make sure the Sons of Gods don’t totally wipe out the Burning Heretics.” His eyes burn with determination, and I feel a flicker of hope.
