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“I’m fine,” Finn insisted.
“You’re not,” the other biker said. “Where are they?” he asked, tone surprisingly calm.
“Down that road. In the woods too.”
“Where’s your gun?” he asked, tone even more serious.
“In the woods. I lost it,” Finn said.
“We’ll find it. Did you hit any of them?”
“I don’t know. It was dark.”
“Okay,” the other biker said as more figures joined us.
A man walked into the woods, then emerged a few moments later, tucking a gun into his waistband, then driving off.
What was going on?
My brain wasn’t working right.
I felt cloudy and slow.
“What’s your name, babe?” Finn’s brother asked, and it took me a second to realize he was talking to me.
“Lexy,” I said.
“Lexy. The cops are pulling up now,” he told me, looking off toward the highway. “And I can hear the ambulance. You’re gonna be alright.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “Lottie,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Lottie. Her sister. She’s partying at the club,” Finn explained.
“Okay,” his brother said. “I will call Brooks. We’ll get your sister to meet you at the hospital, okay?” he asked.
“Okay,” I agreed, hearing the slamming of doors.
The police, I assumed.
A moment later, there they were.
With so many questions that my head spun, making me close my eyes. A move I instantly regretted as my stomach sloshed and twisted.
“Okay, alright,” Finn said, turning me as I gagged, allowing me to throw up onto the dirt instead of all over myself and him. “She’s gotta have a concussion,” he said, seeming to speak to the cops.
More of them showed up, taking off toward the road and the woods before, finally, the ambulance was there.
I was moved away from Finn, and I felt his absence with a stabbing sensation in my stomach.
But the EMTs had their own questions, did their own poking and prodding.
Then I was strapped to a gurney, loaded into the back of an ambulance, and driven toward the hospital.
Things happened quickly there.
I had a scan of my head.
My fingernails were scraped for evidence. My clothes were also taken for that because there was blood on them, and I couldn’t say for sure if it was just my own, or my attacker’s as well.
Eventually, my cuts were treated, my head was stitched, and ice was given to me for my face before the detectives came in to start to question me about the events of the night.
I gave them all I knew. Which wasn’t much.
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“Who, ma’am?” the detective asked.
“The biker who drove me home,” I said. “He looked bad. Is he here?”
“I think he refused treatment,” the detective said, and there was something tight in his voice.
Before I could wrap my head around that, though, a voice rang out through the emergency room.
“Where is my sister?”
Lottie.
Not a minute later, she was rushing into the room, eyes huge. Still drunk, but getting closer to sobriety as she looked at me, as she immediately teared up.
“This is all my fault!” she cried.
“No, it’s not,” I assured her, even as the migraine ratcheted up. I just wanted quiet. And less clawing lights than the stupid fluorescent ones overhead.
“I wanted to party. You wanted to sit home and watch reruns. It’s all my fault,” she said.
“If you remember anything else,” the gestured said, placing a card on the foot of my bed, clearly wanting to get away from Lottie’s emotions.
I gave him a nod and watched him leave.
“How’d you get here?” I asked, thinking of all the drunken bikers.
“I drove her,” a deep voice said, making me look toward the doorway where that wall of a man who’d come out to talk to Finn for a moment then disappeared again back at the clubhouse, said, giving me a nod. “Sober as a judge,” he added, sensing my concerns.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “Is Finn okay?” I asked.
“Had the same question about you,” he said, and I was picking up on a bit of a drawl. Was that Texan, maybe?
“They’re keeping me tonight,” I told him, getting a nod. “I have a concussion.”
That only made Lottie cry a little harder.
“Hey, darlin’,” he said, speaking to her. “How about you and I go get you some coffee?” he asked. “Sober you up a bit while your sister rests?”
“I can’t leave her,” Lottie insisted.
“Think the doctor wants to check in with her again,” the Texan flat-out lied, even shooting me a little wink.
“Oh. Okay. Ah, yeah. Do you want something?” she asked, wiping her red eyes.
“A bottle of water would be good,” I said. “Cold, if they have it.” My throat was killing me.
“Okay. I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.”
Behind her back, the Texan waved a hand as if to say Don’t worry. I’ll stall her as long as I can.
I mouthed a Thank you to him before he led my sister away, and was granted over an hour of complete silence to nurse my migraine. Well, as silent as an emergency room could be anyway.
