Ruthless (22 page)

Zag cut him off. “Got it.”

An uneasy silence fell in our tight little circle while raucous laughter mixed with rock music around us. I looked between the two guys. They looked back at me.

“Um, I'm just gonna go throw this away.” I waved at them with my now empty plate.

“And then come straight back to me.” Zag's eyes were hard and unyielding.

“Yes,
Dad
.” I shook my head.

As I walked away, I heard Bumper ask Zag, “Any sign of Preacher or Tramps?”

“No. I wish they'd show up, though. Fuck me. I don't think I can take any more of this lying-low bullshit Reb's got me doing. I should be out there…”

The rest of their conversation faded away as I continued to the trash can. I didn't want to be caught eavesdropping. Zag was so twitchy when it came to club business. I dodged a couple making out on the sidewalk, but I hardly noticed them. My mind was whirling with scenarios involving Zag
not
lying low.

I was almost afraid to imagine what it would be like when Zag was out there living it up. I'd seen the bruises and scrapes Zag came home with. How much worse could it get? Sutures from stabbings? Bullet wounds?

My full stomach twisted and rolled. Could I handle raising a child with a man like that? What if he ended up hurt from a fight or a wreck? Or even worse.

But just as equally, I couldn't imagine my life without Zag. He'd taken up almost every corner of my life. I couldn't go five minutes without thinking about him, wanting to be with him, hear his laugh, touch his body. The thought of having none of that in my life left me with a huge gaping hole in my heart.

I was so screwed. What the hell did I get myself into?

A few hours later, after all the children and politicians and most of the news media left, things really got wild. Motorcycles still lined the street and the sidewalks heaved with people. I'd never seen so many people outside of a hotel convention before. Afraid of losing sight of Zag in the crowd, I stayed glued to his side.

We mingled and talked with bikers from visiting chapters—California, Oregon, and as far away as South Dakota. Well, we talked when we could hear one another over the rumble of bikes.

“What?” I yelled at Zag as a True Brother bike roared down the street. The biker pulled up and performed a pretty impressive wheelie. He held it at least half a block before putting it back down. The crowd cheered with approval.

“I said: Bumper's going next. We should stand back!” Zag yelled while he pulled on my arm.

I let him tug me farther from the curb, but I was confused. If we were fine where we were standing while all the other bikers performed their stunts, why did we have to move now?

My unspoken question was answered a few seconds later as Bumper tore down the street on his bike. He pulled up into a wheelie, but pulled too high and the bike flipped over on him. They both slid across the street. I caught my breath in a horrified gasp. Fortunately, the bike didn't pin Bumper down as it skidded down the street in a hail of sparks and grinding metal.

Bumper lay on his back in the middle of the street. He wasn't moving. I started toward him, but Zag pulled me back again. I looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn't looking at me. “What are you doing? We need to go see if he's all right.”

Zag stared at a point over my left shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “He's fine. That's just Bump being Bump.”

“What? I thought he was your friend…” I trailed off as I saw Bumper roll over onto his shoulder, his face split with a wide grin. He let the few people around him help him up, then went over to check on his bike.

I turned back to Zag. “Did you see that? I don't think he even has a scratch on him.”

Zag was still staring at the far side of the street. His brow wrinkled, and that mean biker look was back in his eyes.

“Zag? Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, then shook his head. “What? Nah, Bump's fine. I've seen him try the same damn trick every year, and he lands on his back every fucking time. It's a good thing he's got a hard head. Come on. Let's go make sure he's okay.”

Even though his words were supposed to comfort me—or maybe distract me—I could tell he was the one who was distracted. We walked over to Bumper, and the whole time, Zag kept his arm around me as his eyes darted left and right, surveying the crowd. I looked around, too, but whatever hidden danger Zag hunted was lost to me. It looked like the same crowd of bikers, bitches, and gawkers since we'd been here. Everyone was a little more liquored up, judging by all the red plastic cups and bottles of beer. But otherwise it all looked the same.

When we reached Bumper, he was kneeling next to his bike checking out the huge scratch down the side. “Fucking fucker!”

I hovered in the background. I really didn't want to get in the middle of a guy and his bike. If I'd learned anything during my time with Zag, it was that a man's bike was sacred. Zag practically worshipped his.

“I just redid the paint job. Fuck!”

I flinched as Bumper chucked his helmet and sent it flying across the asphalt. It skidded to a stop in the gutter across the street. I had Bumper pegged as the nice guy of the group—he was the one who cracked jokes with me and teased Zag like a brother. So to see him flipping out was kind of unnerving. He was every bit as scary as Zag when he got all pissed off.

Zag rolled his eyes and walked across the street to retrieve Bump's helmet. When he came back, he waved it at Bumper. “What the fuck do you expect? Your bike is too fucking big for that shit. When are you gonna learn?”

“Fuck you.” Bump took his helmet back with a growl. “I almost had it. Besides, Tank's bike is bigger than mine.”

“And Tank's got you beat by about fifty pounds.”

“Fuck off.” Bump sighed as he looked at the matching scratch on his helmet. “Did you just come over here to gloat, fucker?”

“No. I need you to take Jess out of here.” Zag stepped closer and the guys had a furtive conversation.

“Wait, what? What's going on?”

They both ignored me and continued their low-volume exchange.

I looked between them and the crowd a few feet away but still couldn't see the hidden danger Zag was so concerned about. Who was here? What was going on?

Did it have something to do with Preacher or the Tramps? My skin crawled, and the crowded street took on an ominous hue. They could be right there and I wouldn't know it. I didn't know about club patches and who the bad guys were. It wasn't like the westerns where the baddies conveniently wore black hats. Everyone here was dressed the same—jeans, leathers, tattoos, and facial hair.

My heart pounded loudly in my ears.

“Come on, princess. Bumper will take you to my house. You'll be safe there.” Zag put a hand on my shoulder and urged me toward Bumper's bike.

Bumper's bike that'd just skidded down the street.

The thought of riding with Bumper dovetailed with my panic, and I freaked. “Are you kidding me? He just crashed. I'm not going anywhere with him.”

“Fuck me, princess. I do not have time for this shit.” Zag cupped my jaw and breathed his biker ire down at me. “Get. On. The. Fucking. Bike.”

Oh God. I don't think there was anything I'd ever seen in my life scarier than that. I tried to move—toward Bumper, away from Zag, anywhere—but Zag wouldn't let go of me. Tears clouded my vision, and I whimpered.

Zag heaved a huge sigh and dropped his forehead onto mine. “I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to scare you. Just get on the bike, okay?”

I nodded as my breath hitched in my chest.

“Fuck me.” Zag's eyes went all soft before he took my lips in a gentle kiss. After a moment, he pulled back slightly and rested his forehead on mine. “Go with Bump.”

I melted into Zag's arms. The danger of the moment was eclipsed by the unexpected sweetness of my badass boyfriend.

Bumper pushed between us and shoved me behind him. “Shit, Zag. You packing?”

“No, why?” Zag swung around and froze solid.

Preacher slowly crossed the street, his hand ominously buried in his coat pocket. “Hey, look, the gang's all here.”

Zag's body vibrated with tension. “Keep on walking, Preach. This isn't the time or the place. There are cops everywhere.”

“Then I guess we gotta keep this quiet and between me and that bitch cowering behind you.”

“Not happening in this fucking life,” Zag growled.

“Fine, if that's the way you want it.” Preacher's arm swung out from his jacket and he pointed the biggest handgun I'd ever seen in my life in our direction.

The pop of the shot was buried beneath the roar of the bikes around us. But someone must've seen it, because the crowd roared with screams and pandemonium ensued.

Instant, searing pain sucked the breath out of me. I looked down: Blood bloomed from just below my collarbone and ran down my blouse. My head swam as all the sounds around me faded.

Vaguely, I heard Bumper curse. “Shit, Zag, you're hit.”

“Nah, he just winged me. I'm fine. Come on, let's get Jess outta here, then get our fucking hands on Preacher if the cops don't already have him.”

“Zag?” I gasped just before everything went black.

Zag spun around just in time to see Jessica collapse in a heap.

“Shit,” Bumper cursed.

But Zag didn't even spare his buddy a glance. Calling himself every kind of dipshit under the sun for not getting to his girl before she fainted, he crouched down next to her and cupped her head in his hands. He didn't feel a bump, but that didn't mean she hadn't cracked it when she hit the ground.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck me.” Bumper jumped up and tore his cellphone out of his inside vest pocket.

Zag turned his head to question Bump when he saw it.

The front of Jessica's blouse was soaked through with a dark stain. His breath stuttered in his chest as a red-hot rage swept over him. There wasn't enough light to see clearly, but there was no mistaking what that stain was.

Blood.

A hell of a lot of blood.

“Son of a bitch!” Zag tore his vest and T-shirt off. Wadding up his shirt, he pressed it against her chest to stem the flow. Jessica's eyes flickered, and she moaned. He'd done this to her. He'd promised nothing would happen to her. That this wouldn't touch her.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Come on, baby. You're gonna be fine. I've got you. Everything's gonna be all right.”

Bump's voice trickled in through all the chaos around them. “…shot—we need an ambulance.”

Zag glared at his buddy. “Where the fuck are the first responders and the cops? She's bleeding out, for Christ's sake!”

“…we're at fucking Street Vibrations. I don't know.” Bump swung his head wildly from side to side. “Virginia and Liberty. We're in the fucking middle of the street.”

Where the street had been teeming with people, it was now deadly silent. The panicked crowd had either left or was watching from the sidelines. Zag didn't bother to look up to find out which. And Preacher was long gone. No matter how badly Zag wanted to go after him, that would have to wait until later. Right now his baby needed him.

In seconds, Zag's hand felt damp with a telling wetness. He stared through a film of tears as his white T-shirt quickly turned into a bloody mess. “Bump, give me your shirt.”

“This isn't a fucking crank call. Get someone here now, dammit.” Bumper ripped his vest and T-shirt off and handed the shirt to Zag. Putting his phone back up to his face, he knelt next to Zag. “We're applying pressure, but she's already soaked through one shirt…”

Bumper continued to drone on with the 911 dispatcher, but Zag couldn't hear him over the pounding of his heart. Shit, he shouldn't have brought her here tonight. He should've kept his fucking distance since day one. Jessica deserved a hell of a lot better than him. She sure as shit didn't deserve to die in the fucking street.

He couldn't lose her.

Not now. Not like this.

He felt so powerless. All he could do was press the bundle of shirts against her chest and pray the ambulance showed up in time.

“Don't die on me, baby. You still owe me a session with chocolate syrup.” Brushing a finger across her cheek, he found her skin cold. Too cold. And in sharp contrast to the warm, damp clothes he pressed against her chest.

Oh God. Oh God.
She was gonna die and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.

“Where's the ambulance, dammit?”

As if to answer his question, a siren warbled through the chaos around them. Three blocks away, Zag could make out the beam of headlights slowly making their way down the center of the closed-off road. Driving slow as fuck. At this rate, they wouldn't be here by Tuesday.

What felt like an eternity later, the ambulance stopped in front of them and two men hopped out.

Bumper stood up. “Woman, late twenties. Gunshot wound to the chest.”

“Is there an exit wound or is the bullet still lodged inside her?” one man asked as he knelt on the other side of her.

“Shit, I don't know. We've just been applying pressure to her chest. I didn't even think to look…” Zag trailed off as his sense of helplessness doubled.

The paramedics worked efficiently, checking Jess over, strapping an oxygen mask on her, moving her to a backboard and then a stretcher, as Zag and Bumper stood back and watched.

Zag reached down, grabbed his vest, and tugged it on. He followed the medics as they wheeled the stretcher around to the back of the ambulance.

“What hospital are you headed to?” Bumper called from behind Zag.

“Saint Mary's.”

“I'm coming with,” Zag informed them as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance.

“We don't have the space. There are strict procedures—” The paramedic broke off as he turned and faced Zag. “Is that your blood?” He nodded at Zag's left arm and the flow of blood that'd tampered off to a trickle.

But Zag ignored the question. “I'm coming.”

The paramedic grabbed Zag by the wrist and calmly rotated his arm. “Barry, call for another ambulance to come out. We have another gunshot victim. Right arm. Through and through.”

“Fuck that. I'm not waiting around for another ambulance. I'm either riding with my girl or driving myself.”

The paramedic gave a huge sigh. “Fine, climb in, but don't get in the way.”

Zag scrambled in and took a seat on the side opposite Jessica. He tossed a head nod Bump's way, then turned to the paramedic and gave them his no-bullshit stare. “You guys better drive to the hospital faster than you made it here.”

Whatever the EMT might've said in response was lost to Zag as he noticed Jessica's eyelids flutter. He cupped a hand behind her head and bent down closer to her. “You're gonna be fine, princess. We're going to the hospital and they'll get ya all patched up.”

Her lips moved behind her oxygen mask, but Zag couldn't make out the words.

“Don't try to talk. We'll be there in no time. You're gonna be fine.”

Relief rushed through Zag as she opened her eyes and looked into his. They were unfocused but open. She was going to be fine. She was alive. Breathing. They were gonna get through this.

She lifted a shaky hand to her mask and pulled it off her face slightly. “Pregnant,” she croaked.

For the second time that night, Zag's heart froze.

Zag opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He was dimly aware of the paramedic bent over Jessica from the other side, attempting to question her. But all Zag could hear was the roar of his pulse.

Pregnant.

Jess was pregnant. With his baby.

And shot.

Oh fuck.

His panic returned, and it was all he could do to stay conscious. He tried to ignore the buzzing in his ears and the dots of bright lights dancing in his vision, but it was a close thing.

The paramedic shook his shoulder. “You still with me, buddy? What's your name again?”

“Yeah. Zag—I mean, George. George Cooper.”

“Okay, George. Do you know how far along your girlfriend's pregnancy is?”

Zag's eyes swung back to Jess, but her eyes were closed again. “I—uh, not far. First trimester? She…uh, hadn't gotten around to telling me yet.”

The paramedic's frown deepened, but he didn't comment. The ambulance swayed as they took a hard left turn, and they both braced themselves. A few packs of gauze rained down on Zag.

“And her name's Jess?”

“Jessica. Jessica Miller.”

Their ride came to a jarring halt, throwing Zag forward. Before he had a chance to sit back upright, the rear doors were wrenched open and the bright lights of the hospital's ambulance bay shined down on them.

Zag immediately jumped down as hands appeared to roll out Jess's gurney.

The paramedic hopped down, spouting Jess's vitals. All Zag could do was try to keep pace as they ran into the building.

“Sir, I'm sorry. You'll have to stay in the waiting room.”

Zag turned to the nurse. There was no way they were separating him and his girl. Not now. Not ever. But before he could say anything, one of the paramedics piped up.

“Actually, he's your other gunshot victim. Right arm, through and through. I didn't have time to get any vitals in the field.”

The nurse grabbed hold of Zag's right wrist and tugged him from the room. He must've lost more blood than he thought because he wasn't capable of putting up much of a fight.

“Come on through to Bed Two and we'll get you all checked out.”

“But Jessica…”

“We'll keep you apprised of her condition. But first we have to see to you.”

For the next half hour, Zag was poked and prodded and questioned incessantly by the medical staff before they sutured him up and slapped a bandage on him. The whole time, all Zag could think was Jessica was lying in the other room. Shot and pregnant. He'd done that to her. Put her life in danger when she was so vulnerable and should've been coddled.

He'd fucked it all up.

Finally, the nurses and doctor left him with a strict warning to stay put, as the police were on their way to question him.

Fuck. That.

The minute the curtain was pulled closed around his bed, he was on the move. Tugging off the hospital robe, he shrugged on his True Brothers vest, sans shirt. He couldn't even think about where his bloody shirt was without getting pissed off.

That fucker Preacher was going to pay.

Leaving the curtain in place, he slipped through the gap and went back to the last place he'd seen Jess.

But when he got there, the room was empty. No Jessica. Not even the gurney she'd been wheeled in there on. All that was left was too many discarded bandages caked with blood. And the bloody T-shirts he and Bumper had applied to her.

His head swam. How much blood could her body lose in one night?
Oh God, please don't let her die. Not like this.

But she wasn't here. What did that mean? Was she…He couldn't even finish the thought.

“She's been taken upstairs for surgery.” A battle-ax of a nurse answered his unspoken question. “And you need to take a seat and wait for the police.”

“What floor's the surgical ward?”

“You need to—”

“What I need is to know how my girlfriend is! What floor's the surgical ward?”

The nurse leaned back and her eyes flickered to the security guard already walking toward them.

Fuck. He needed to keep it together. He sure as fuck wouldn't know anything about Jess's condition if the cops locked him up for going nuts in the ER. He took a huge breath. “I'm not going to cause a problem. I just want to know how Jess is doing. I'll wait in the surgical waiting room for the cops like a good boy. You can even send security to sit on me. I just have to know how she…I mean they…are.”

He hadn't thought it possible, but the nurse's eyes softened, making the formidable woman look almost approachable. She nodded, then waved the security guard over. “Henry, escort Mr. Cooper to the surgical waiting room and inform reception that the police can meet with him there. And make sure they do.”

Zag gave the nurse a grateful look and calmly followed Henry to the elevator, and then the waiting room. He picked a chair in the back corner and sat with his head in his hands.

The next few hours were unbelievably long.

After a few minutes—and once he thought to text his buddy—Bumper showed up and silently took the chair next to him. Zag hardly noticed. People came and left. No one had any information about Jess's condition. He didn't know if that was a good sign or not.

Eventually, the police showed up, and he woodenly answered their questions. He couldn't let his rage boil to the surface. Not here. Not until he knew. But he couldn't help but blame the pigs. If they'd done their fucking job and found that fucking punk, Preacher, this wouldn't have happened. His girl wouldn't be somewhere on this floor fighting for her life.

After a few veiled threats to take him away for questioning at the precinct—Zag had a creative alternative for them but didn't voice it—the police finally left, and silence reigned in the waiting room again.

The uncertainty was killing him. He wanted some answers, dammit.

Was Jessica okay? Why didn't she tell him about the baby? Was she planning on keeping it? Was she still pregnant? All his unanswered questions were eating him up inside.

He should've left her alone. A girl like her didn't belong in his world. He'd known that since day one, but he'd ignored the obvious.

And now Jessica was paying for it.

Fuck. She deserved better than a loser like him.

“Jessica Miller?”

Zag's head shot up and he was across the room before Bumper could even stand. But Zag wasn't alone. A middle-aged man and woman stood in front of the doctor, their hands clenched together. And two men about Jess's age filled out the semicircle on the other side of what had to be Jess's parents. Her family. But strangers to him.

“How's my baby?” The woman's voice was shaky, like she'd been fighting tears all night.

The doctor's eyes flickered over Zag and his shirtless torso before returning to the family in front of him. “She's stable. The bullet missed her veins and arteries but nicked the upper lobe of her lung. We were able to extract the bullet and repair the damage. But the next twenty-four hours will tell us for sure. She's been transferred to the critical care unit.”

Relief swept over Zag. She was alive. She'd made it through the surgery. His princess was strong. They were going to make it through this. And yet he still had to know.

“And the baby?” Zag almost couldn't recognize his own raspy voice.

The woman gasped and everyone swung around to stare at him, but Zag only had eyes for the doctor. “Did the baby make it through the surgery?”

The doctor frowned. “Are you the father?”

Zag nodded jerkily.

“Yes, the fetus survived the surgery. Since the pregnancy is so young and Jessica lost so much blood, the chance of miscarriage is still very strong. You need to prepare yourself.”