“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Bones shouted.
I grabbed two bags and started for the stairs, Pipe and Riggs following close behind me with the rest of the drugs.
“Wolf,” I called up the stairs.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Keep moving,” Pipe yelled.
“Not without Wolf,” I shouted back.
Wolf emerged from the top of the stairs, his face splattered with blood.
“Let’s go,” he ordered, bounding down the stairs.
“You killed them?” Riggs asked him, pulling his mask over his head and revealing his shocked face to us. I guess that wasn’t part of Riggs’ plan.
“No, I played fucking Chinese checkers with them,” he hissed, throwing the strap of one bag over his shoulder as he swiped his sleeve across his cheek, removing the drops of blood that painted his face.
We ran as fast as we could away from the faint sounds of motorcycles and sirens. Away from the Red Dragon’s territory and into Vic’s old stomping grounds. We loaded up the cage with the bags and Bones jumped into the back as the prospect took off and headed back to the clubhouse. The rest of us took to our bikes and peeled the fuck away from the war we just started.
The ink was dry. Our fate was signed, sealed and delivered. The Red Dragons would be gunning for us.
Reina.
Blackie.
Keep moving.
Clock’s ticking.
Come on Bianci, give me something, anything…fucking call and tell me where they are.
Lacey, I made a promise to my daughter. Get back to Lacey.
There was one card I hadn’t played, one card I kept to myself and with the faces of the people who needed me most, flashing in and out of my mind, I made a choice.
Plans change.
Things go astray.
Time to change things up.
Keep moving.
Chapter Thirty-three
I was way past feeling the pangs of humiliation. There was no reason to hang onto your pride or self-esteem when you were about to die. It’s like going in for surgery, the planned kind, not the emergency one to graft your skin, prepping your body to look its best before you’re admitted, knowing the doctor and his surgical team will see every inch of you. You worry about controlling your bodily functions while you’re under anesthesia and if the doctor will see that scar? Oh my God, they’re going to see my ass. I should’ve gone to the tanning salon because a burnt ass is better than a white ass, right? And then just like that, you realize none of that shit matters anymore because you’re coding on the table and the doctor doesn’t give two fucks if you tanned before you were admitted, all he cares about is keeping you alive.
Shameless.
That’s the word.
I wasn’t shamed by my appearance, or the smell that radiated from me. It didn’t matter I had peed my pants more than twice or that my breath reeked. It didn’t matter that Blackie had thrown up, seized and nearly choked on his own vomit and was still laying in it. We had seen each other through the humiliation, becoming immune to the embarrassment and accepting that this was death at its worst.
I wasn’t even sure Blackie was breathing anymore. That last needle they injected into his neck was a sedative strong enough to put down an elephant, at least that’s what fuck-face one said to fuck-face two. I couldn’t wait to die because ghost Reina would haunt the shit out of those two assholes.
I tried not to think of Jack, tried not to think of what could’ve been, but every time I dozed off that’s all I dreamt of. The life that could’ve been. The first thing we would’ve done was repair those holes in the wall, no need to remember Jack Junior that way anymore. We’d honor him a different way. Maybe we’d go to a Yankee game every year on his birthday or maybe we’d sing happy birthday with a cake, but Jack wasn’t going to torture himself over his son’s death anymore. I’d teach Lacey how to cook and maybe we’d have dinner on a weekly basis. I would surprise Jack at his clubhouse the night’s duty called, waiting for him in his bed. He’d take me riding on his bike and I’d bake him cherry pies.
Maybe we’d get married or maybe we wouldn’t. It’s only a piece of paper anyway and I didn’t need a legal document that said I was Property of Parrish. I was his, and he was mine. I wonder if we’d have kids. I never thought about kids and Jack probably didn’t want anymore. Lacey was eighteen already, he was free to live any way he wanted to, his responsibilities were nearly over. Still, I couldn’t help but picture the little beauty we’d create together. She’d have my blonde hair and her daddy’s soulful eyes. Then, and only then, would Jack really know sunshine. I was just a fill-in for the little girl who’d one day bring him happiness and joy, something he never enjoyed with his other children because he was too consumed by his grief.
The door opened and this time I didn’t even lift my head to see which of the three stooges strolled passed the threshold of Hell. Did it really matter at this point?