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Category:
Romance
Type: Fiction
Pages: 315
Copyright: Dec 2013
Price: $3.99 (eBook)
Three people and one truth that will change everything. If they live long enough to find it
Three people with missing memories are drawn to the same small coastal town in North Carolina.
Zeke Justice is there because it's home and when he left the service he had no where else to go.
Roxy Quinn has no idea why she's there. She's been on the road for a year and this is where the road took her.
West Franklin is there to bring down an MC who traffics drugs and guns. The same MC that is run by Zeke's family.
Who would have guessed that both men would be drawn to Roxy, and she to them? That their meeting would spark the return of memories that open the door to danger they had not imagined. And that this triangle of love would either save them all.
Or destroy them.
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
There it was again. That feeling. A complicated blend of dread, regret and need, mixed in uneven parts over a foundation of confusion. It was an unappealing concoction, like a bitter draught that met her every time she woke.
Forget the sounds of the birds singing outside the window of the small room where she slept, or the streams of light filtering through the cheap blinds announcing the start of a bright, sunny day. The feeling overshadowed any joy that the peace and beauty might offer.
The shame of it was that she accepted it as the norm. For the last year it had been her one constant companion. It was that which drove her through life, dictated her path and actions.
War or peace, feast or famine, heartache or happiness, nothing had erased or diminished the feeling since the day it claimed her. There was nothing that could strip it from her. There would be no ease to her particular pain until she found it. The problem was, she didn’t know what it was. She only knew she would know no peace or happiness until she found it.
And it was not here. Whatever whisper had led her here had lied. She was no closer to her goal.
Where are you?
Even now, after all the time that had passed since she was taken hostage by the unwanted feeling, the question that rose in her mind, crying out like a lost and frightened child baffled her. Who or what was she crying out for?
With an annoyed expulsion of air, she threw back the bedcovers and rose. It was time to go.
*****
Zeke straightened from his task and turned to look out of the opened bay door of the garage. How many times had he stood in this same spot, looking out at the compound? When he was a child it had seemed like the world, big and full of exciting things like bikes and cars, tools and men who treated him as if he were something special. Now memories of that time were like shadows in darkness, insubstantial and murky. Instead of wonder and a sense of belonging, now the gray metal buildings and tall chain-link fence seemed more of a prison. A world enclosed within metal that hid things not so pretty or clean.
The car behind him, a 1969 Boss 429, was nearly ready for its owner. When the Boss debuted in 1969, Ford fans thought the Boss would be the car to rival the best of the Vettes. Didn’t turn out that way. It just wasn’t designed to be a street dominator.
That didn’t stop people like DeWitt Matthews from snapping this one up at auction and spending a small fortune to have it tweaked out like new, only to park it in a garage and have someone crank it once a month.
That kind of excess in spending was beyond Zeke’s ken. Probably because he’d never had excess.
But for the moment, people like DeWitt and his obsession for collecting paid the bills, and allowed Zeke to feed his own obsession. Bikes. Not bicycles. Motorcycles. He loved them. Always had.
That was probably because he grew up around them. Like his father Raff before him, Zeke had been born into a motorcycle club, the Renegades. He’d spent more of his childhood in the club’s garage than at home.
Zeke shoved aside thoughts of his father and his childhood. It was the club and the life it offered that had prompted him to enlist when he was eighteen. He knew if he didn’t, he’d either end up like his uncle Reese; in and out of prison, or like his father, gunned down and left dead on the street.
As much as he loved the club and all the people in it, he didn’t want to spend his life following in his old man’s footsteps. Leaving the club wasn’t an option. He was one of the youngest members to be patched – to be given the opportunity to wear the club’s cut that signified him as one of them. It was more serious than entering the priesthood, akin to being made family in the Mafia. Once you were in there was no turning back.
No, there was no walking away from the club. He was in for life. The only way out was the military and that wasn’t getting out, it was being granted leave.
He probably would have never left the military and returned to Harmony if he’d been given the choice. A bullet in his back in Afghanistan made the decision for him. It took him six months to get back on his feet from that, five of which were spent learning to walk again.
The doctors had predicted that he would never walk again. He couldn’t accept that. He would walk. He would run, he would fight. He would not return home.
But here he was. When given the choice between a desk job and retiring, he chose the latter. He couldn’t sit behind a desk. He wasn’t a clerk. He didn’t have the patience or interest. He was a soldier, a warrior, a trained killer who excelled at what he did.
Not that he didn’t try. He did. For a year he tried riding a desk. One long, painful year of seeing his unit leave and return. One long year of hearing their tales about their missions. One long year of feeling trapped and unhappy.
He couldn’t take it. So, he retired. A week before his discharge he was approached by the SAD, the Special Activities Division, a division of NCS, National Clandestine Services, within the Central Intelligence Agency. There was a job for him if he wanted it. Zeke gave it serious consideration. One of his buddies, West Franklin, a guy he’d grown up with in Harmony who’d enlisted at the same time as Zeke, had left Delta for NCS a few years earlier.
NCS is responsible for covert operations, or “special activities”. SAD, the child of NCS is comprised of two groups, once for tactical paramilitary operations and the other for covert political action. The division interested in recruiting Zeke was SOG, the Special Operations Group.
It is a department within SAD responsible for operations that deal with the collection of intelligence in hostile regions, and all high threat military or intelligence operations that the government does not want to be associated with.
The SOG is considered to be the most secretive special operations force in the United States, and its operative are selected from Delta Force, 24th STS, DEVGRU and other special operations forces within the military.
Zeke considered the offer, but after doing research on past operations, decided against it. He had no trouble with the military and its decisions in protecting the citizens of the United States. He never questioned orders and believed in the right of the military. The CIA was a whole other sea of fish as far as he was concerned, and he didn’t think he wanted to toss a line in their water.
Twenty years and too many missions to count and suddenly he was a civilian again. A civilian with no clue what to do with his life.
So here he was, back where he’d started. Harmony. The Renegades. Home.
Shit on a stick.
“That rich bastard’s gonna be here in an hour.” The voice behind him had him turning toward the door leading to the office.
His uncle Eli stood framed in the doorway. At nearly sixty-five, he was still a bear of a man. Well over six feet with shoulders like a linebacker. His hair, now gray was still thick but worn cut almost military short. Sure, he sported a gut and the lines on his face stood testament to a life that held too much fighting and booze but he was still solid and strong.
Eli ran the garage. It was owned by the club, of course, but was run as a legitimate business. Nothing illegal touched Renegade Custom Rides. Those parts of the club’s business operated in Selma, the next town over. Harmony was hallowed ground, protected by the Renegades for three generations. This was home, and nothing tainted home.
“It’ll be ready. Just gotta get Billy to rag it down.”
“Just put on a fresh pot of coffee,” Eli replied.
Zeke nodded. “Yeah, I’ll grab a cup in a minute. Need to clean up.”
Eli grunted and turned back to the office. Zeke stood there for a moment longer, and then grabbed his shirts from where they were draped on the tool chest and headed for the restroom.
“Jesus!” He barked when he opened the door. Did no one ever clean this damn place? Twice this month already he’d scrubbed the bathroom. Now it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in six months. Damn nasty bastards.
He washed off as best he could, using his button up to dry off with since there was not a paper towel to be found except those on the floor. After pulling on his t-shirt, he made his way to the office.
How they managed to find anything in this place was a miracle. The wall to his right housed an old metal desk, piled with work orders, receipts, invoices and god knew what, along with a line of four old metal filing cabinets. The wall to his left sported a smaller desk but larger chair and a door leading out into the parking lot. The wall across from him was lined with four additional chairs and a small table bearing a coffee pot and a stack of Styrofoam cups.
Stella, Eli’s wife and Zeke’s aunt, sat at the desk to the right, clicking away on the computer. In her mid-fifties, she was still an attractive woman. Long braided hair that changed colors for the seasons now boasted of the color you’d see in spring daffodils. She glanced over her shoulder as he entered.
“You look like shit.”
“Love you too, Stell,” he replied and poured himself a cup of coffee thick and black enough to stand without a container.
“That Boss ready to roll?” She asked.
“Need Billy to give it a rub and she’s good to go.”
“You tell him?”
“No, ma’am.”
She barked a colorful phrase and got up to stomp out of the room, muttering how it was always left to her to make sure things got done. Eli chuckled and lowered his stocky frame into the empty seat at the second desk.
“Dice and Razr making a ride over to Selma later. Reese wants you to go with ‘em.”
“Why?” The last thing Zeke wanted to do was go with them to check on the whores or the guns. He hated the whorehouse. Regardless that he’d grown up with it, he couldn’t understand why any woman would debase herself like that.
The guns? That was even worse. Zeke loved guns. Love the look, the feel, the touch and the smell of them. Being around them woke something he tried to keep asleep. So far he’d resisted having anything to do with the illegal aspects of the club. He’d made it clear he was out of that. He’d work in the garage and had the club’s back if push came to shove, but he wasn’t part of their criminal activities.
The only reason Reese, the club president, accepted that was because Zeke was a war hero. And the son of his best friend and wife. Zeke’s mom, Carrie, had married Reese a few months after Zeke’s father, Raff was killed. Reese protected her like the freaking Queen of England. She was goddamn royalty in the club. The wife of a former and present president and daughter-in-law to a founding member.
Zeke used her status to his advantage. So far she’d supported his decision to stand apart from the club’s illegal activities, but he had no doubt that her support would be short lived. In the years since his father’s death, Carrie had become as greedy and corrupt as Reese.
Eli’s response brought a frown to Zeke’s face. “Got some muscle trying to move in on the whores. Last night one of them got the shit beat out of her. She was told to give us a message. The Renegades are done in Selma. The Raptors are moving in.”
Raptors. Fucking bird of prey, his ass. A more apt name would have been Buzzards. Carrion who feasted off the remains of others. They were notorious for trying to move in on established operations. They weren’t particularly bright or resourceful when it came to establishing a financial base for their club. What they took over they ran into the ground within a year then abandoned and went in search of another enterprise to raid.
Their only asset that he could see was numbers. They were one of the newest and largest clubs in the country. They took what other clubs rejected. And like any good soldier knew, sometimes a battle was won simply because of the number of troops.
The Raptors had the numbers. Which meant, the Renegades had to rely on their wits and their strength.
Zeke didn’t want to go to war. Didn’t want to have to put his mind to coming up with a solution. But he knew that was what Eli was asking. Access the situation and form a battle plan.
Shit on a stick.
CHAPTER TWO
This wasn’t good.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something was going down when a dozen bikes roared into the parking lot of the flea bag motel. Even with the noise of the water in the shower and the clank that came from the pipe she recognized the sound.
She hurried to finish her shower. It was definitely time to get the hell out of Dodge.
She’d called an hour ago about a job opening she saw online this morning in a place called Harmony. The name of the town had jumped off the screen at her. Harmony. Just saying the word was like answering the call of a siren. Why? Chances were life in Harmony was no more peaceful or harmonious than in any other place. Chances were, what she sought would not be there.
Still, she’d picked up the phone and called. Perhaps it was an omen that she’d been asked to come in tomorrow for an interview. She’d immediately agreed. It was only twenty-five miles east of Selma. She’d drive over after she checked out of the motel and spend the afternoon wandering around to get a feel of the place.
Now she figured she’d leave sooner rather than later. If there were biker gangs in Selma, she definitely wanted to make a hasty exit. She hated them. Always had.
Maybe because she’d grown up with a father who’d spent his life in one. Were it not for his lifestyle, she wouldn’t have ended up in the hospital at fifteen, gang raped and beaten nearly to death by a rival gang. She wouldn’t have run way before she turned sixteen. It wouldn’t have taken her living on the streets and doing things she was ashamed of to survive.
As far as she was concerned, bikers were the lowest of the low. To hell with their creeds of loyalty to the club and their brothers. Their loyalty and protection only served to keep people prisoner to their way of life. Only served to turn young girls into club whores, and if they were lucky, into someone’s “old lady”.
No way in hell she was going to live that way. Even if it meant starving and stealing and occasionally whoring herself to survive. She’d done what she had to do. She’d managed to graduate high school and immediately enlisted in the army. It offered a life that was predictable and orderly. At least until her last tour in Afghanistan. Then it all went to hell in a hand-basket. One bullet changed everything.
She didn’t even remember being shot. She just remembered waking up to discover she was not alone. The feeling woke with her. Other things did not. Like her memory. Almost five years of her life was gone. Only bits and pieces remained, disjointed and foggy like a steamed up mirror that reveals only vague shapes.
Cerebral embolism. At least that was the official word. She was lucky to be alive.
She shoved aside thoughts of the past and focused on getting dressed and packed.
*****
Zeke saw the line of bikes in the parking lot. He looked over at Dice who rode beside him. Dice gave him a nod. Zeke growled in frustration. No doubt about it. It was going to get nasty. The thing he’d avoided so hard was getting ready to slam into his face whether he liked it or not.
He didn’t fear getting hurt. Battle was second nature to him. Killing came easy. That’s what scared him. It was one thing to kill for the sake of your country. Killing for the sake of territory, well where was the honor in that?
If he’d posed the question to a brother in the club, or even his kin, the answer would have been the same. Club was family. Defending the club’s territory, business or people was something you did without question. Their loyalty was absolute and therein was the honor.
Zeke had a hard time buying into that. Not that it mattered right now. He could see the bikes lined up in front of the old motel, the motel the Renegades owned and used for their whores. He, Dice and Razr would roll up and go to war despite being outnumbered and outgunned.
That meant that the burden of seeing them walk out of the fight would rest on his shoulders. His brothers would fight, knew how to shoot and kill, but against superior numbers they were doomed. It would be his skills that saw them survive.
He had only moments to decide. Turn around and ride away or wade into battle. If he turned, he would be shunned, possibly killed. Death didn’t scare him, but being shunned was a bitter pill. Right or wrong, good or bad, this was the only family he had now.
So battle it would be.
They pulled up at the end of the row of bikes and cut their engines. Zeke pulled his handgun, checked the clip then nodded to his boys. “Go around the back. When you hear shots, take the back door. Clear every room, work your way toward me.”
They gave a nod and climbed off their bikes to head around the side of the one story motel. Zeke made for the lobby door.
The three Raptors at the front desk did not see him until it was too late. They were too busy beating the shit out of the desk clerk.
Zeke kicked one from behind, sending him stumbling forward. His two partners turned, drawing their weapons.
Zeke pulled twice on the trigger. Down they went. Clean shots to the center of their foreheads. The fallen Raptor was climbing to his feet when Zeke’s boot caught him under the chin and sent him careening backwards. Right into the knife the beaten clerk had snatched from the Raptor’s belt. A gurgling noise emerged from the man’s lips a split second before the blood spewed.
Zeke didn’t wait to see what happened next. He turned toward the hallway where the sound of moans and thuds came through opened doorways. Obviously the Raptors were filling their blood lust on the whores and Johns.
He heard shots from the end of the hall. A moment later, Dice emerged from a room at the end of the hall. A split second later, all hell broke loose. Raptors emerged from other rooms, blood on their gun wielding hands.
Zeke fired twice, taking down two and knowing they were dead. He didn’t miss. Never had. He never broke stride as he proceeded down the hall. The Raptors were pinned between him at this end and Dice and Razr at the other. It was a hail of gunfire and screams.
“On your six!”
A woman’s scream had him pivoting and firing at the same time. Unfortunately, her warning had alerted the Raptor emerging from a room behind Zeke. The man grabbed the woman and yanked her in front of him at the same moment Zeke turned.
Zeke’s hand jerked in reflex but not before the bullet slammed into the woman’s chest and blood erupted. She and the Raptor holding her went down, but the Raptor shoved her weight from him and fired.
Lucky for Zeke the Raptor was a lousy shot. Zeke was frozen. He’d just shot a woman. He didn’t kill innocents. No women or children died at his hands. It was his code. He’d never broken it. Until now.
The bullet that passed inches from his head snapped him back into focus. One shot and the Raptor on the floor was dead.
Were it not for a yell from behind him from Razr, he would have taken a bullet. He dove, rolled and fired twice, taking down two Raptors. Within moments, the gunfire ceased. The screaming and moaning did not. From every room on the hallway came the sounds of fear and pain.
Zeke ignored all of that and raced to the woman he’d shot. She was on her back, her eyes wide, and her mouth working to make a sound.
He knelt down beside her, placing his hands, one atop the other over the gaping wound in her chest. The bullet had caught her in the upper right of her chest, above the breast but under the collarbone. By the blood frothing from her lips, it had punctured a lung. He knew she would die unless he did something fast, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He shoved his middle finger into the hole.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, and her body went rigid. For a moment, he thought she was going to die. Then her eyes focused and moved to his face. Where before there was pain and fear, now something else shown in their depths. She seemed surprised, or shocked. He didn’t understand it, nor did he have time to contemplate.
Keeping one hand clamped down on her wound, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
“We need an ambulance now. No cops.”
That was a tall order, but if anyone could make it happen it was Eli. Dice ran up behind him, and Zeke looked up at him. “You know her?”
“She’s not one of ours.” Dice replied.
“Then who is she?”
Dice looked at the suitcase in the doorway and the shoulder bag on the floor nearby and scooped up the bag.
“Roxy Quinn. Atlanta.”
“Shit.” Zeke looked down at the woman who had lapsed into unconsciousness. An innocent. He’d broken the code. He’d shot an innocent.
He shook off as much of the self-loathing as possible and looked up at Dice. “Listen to me. You and Razr each find a girl. Tell the cops you were with them when the Raptors stormed the place. Make sure the girls back you up. You acted in self-defense. If they back you, you may get hauled in but it won’t stick. Tell the guy who runs the desk to make sure he tells the cops the same story.”
“He’s one of us. A prospect. He’ll back us up.”
Just then the sound of a siren sounded.
“What about you?” Dice asked.
“I’m going to the hospital with her.”
“So you can make sure she tells the cops what we want her to? You could just let her die and there won’t be a problem.”
Zeke just turned away and moved his gaze to the woman. He couldn’t do that.
She was a beautiful woman. Dark hair, high cheekbones and full lips. She was probably around five foot ten, and endowed with the kind of body that women hated and men loved. Full breasted and substantial hips, small waist and a well-developed musculature. Obviously a woman who worked out. She looked strong. He’d be willing to bet that she was sexy as sin when not lying bloody on a floor.
But that look in her eyes. What the hell did it mean? That was something he needed to know.
And why had she shouted “on your six?” He needed to know the answer to those questions. At the moment, it was the most important thing in his life.
Why?
He didn’t have a clue.
CHAPTER THREE
Pain. That was her first awareness, followed closely by confusion. Where was she and why was she in so much pain?
Before she could ponder those questions it hit her. The feeling! Where was it?
That caused her more fear and concern than the pain and confusion over where she was. Her companion. Where was it? Without it, she wasn’t real or whole or herself.
Her eyes flew open. A hospital? Yes, it had to be with all of the IV bags and monitors beside the bed she lay on. She was in a hospital. But why?
A jolt nearly lifted her off the bed as it came to her. She’d been shot. In the motel. She’d heard the commotion and stepped into the hallway, intent on getting out of there. That’s when she saw him. A man walking down the hall, gun in hand, his back to her. He was wearing a vest with a club patch. What was it? She couldn’t remember. There was another man, one coming out of the room across the hall from her, raising his gun at the first man’s back.
She’d screamed a warning. The man across from her grabbed her and then…She closed her eyes, trying to will the memory to the surface. The man with his back to her turned.
Again her eyes opened, this time with shock. He’d shot her. Then sat with her. She had seen his face, looked into his eyes. And fallen into darkness.
How had she gotten here? She turned her head to one side and once more shock ripped through her. He was there. Sitting in a chair beside the bed.
“You’re awake.” His voice was deep and low. He stood and leaned over her.
“Are you in pain? Should I call a nurse?”
She couldn’t focus on his words. All she could do was look at him. Her heartbeat accelerated until she thought sure her heart would burst from her chest. She felt sweat gather on her upper lip and forehead. Something swelled inside her, something that had her wishing she could throw herself at him, wrap her arms around him and hold him fast.
What the hell was happening to her? She’d never seen him before yet she felt she should know him. He was a tall man. Well over six feet she’d guess, with features that made her think of a warrior of old, all angles and hollows, with a strong nose, thick dark brows now drawn together over the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
“Are you okay?” He put his hand on her forearm, and she jerked at the touch.
It seared her, and not just her skin. Something blazed in her mind, something just out of reach but vital.
“Who are you?” She managed to croak. Her mouth felt dry and sticky, her lips cracked.
“The man who shot you.”
Roxy’s mind was in a whirl. There was too much coming at her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t make sense of what was going on inside herself. She opened her mouth to tell him to go away, to call a doctor. Her heart was beating so fast it hurt.
But before she could utter the first word, the world went black.
Zeke heard the fast beep of the monitor and the alarm that sounded a split second after her eyes rolled back. She was going into cardiac arrest. He heard the sound of running footsteps but was already doing CPR by the time the crash team raced into the room. He stepped back and let them do their thing.
Once, twice they shocked her. Nothing. The doctor injected something straight into her chest. No response. Once more they put the paddles to her. Still nothing. The doctor checked his watch.
“Call it. Time 3—“
The beep of a monitor cut his words short. “We’ve got a rhythm!” A nurse exclaimed.
For several minutes they worked, monitoring her vitals, administering drugs to the IV’s attached to her arms. Finally, the team left. Zeke stepped up beside the bed, looking down at the woman.
Shit on a stick. Obviously her condition was a lot worse than he’d been told. She’d survived surgery but had to be placed in a medical coma for three days. It took more than 48 hours for her to come out of it once they discontinued the drugs. Far longer than they’d anticipated. There was concern that she would not wake, that something had gone wrong.
A specialist had shown up to take over her case.
For an entire day, they ran one test after another, wheeling her from the room every few hours for another scan. It had them puzzled. There was unquestionably brain activity. In fact, there was too much. It was like someone who was conscious, in a life or death fight, areas of the brain that control the flight or fight reactions were lit like the fourth of July, as were the areas that were associated with dreaming.
It made no sense. No one knew what the hell was going on with her.
Least of all him. But he waited. He’d barely left the hospital except to go home to shower and change. He would be there when she woke, to claim responsibility for what he’d done.
The club thought he was doing it to protect his ass. The truth was, he didn’t know why he was doing it. All he knew was that when she’d been lying on that floor in the hallway of the motel, bleeding, she’d looked up at him, and something had happened.
Something tore in his mind. He’d felt it. It was a little like the feeling when you’ve pushed your body too hard and you feel a muscle tear. That’s the only thing he could equate with the sensation. Something ripped and when it did, a feeling claimed control of him.
Even now he couldn’t describe the feeling or explain it. It still didn’t make sense. It was like he’d suddenly been thrust into someone else’s head, someone who loved the woman and had been searching for her a long time. Someone who would lay down his life before letting her die.
Zeke shook his head and flopped down in the chair. It was crazy. He’d never laid eyes on the woman until that day in the hotel. He knew he didn’t love her. Hell, he didn’t even know her. Yet he couldn’t leave her side.
Try as he might, he couldn’t make sense of it. Maybe he was just losing his fucking mind.
He slouched lower in the chair and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was asleep. And that’s when the first dream came.
He sat with his back against an old oak. Wild grass with the tender blades of spring cushioned the ground beneath him. Above him, the ancient branches formed a canopy. Light filtered through the leaves to cast speckled patterns on the ground.
Before him the land sloped gently to the bank of a lake. The breeze he felt whisper against his skin was too gentle to disturb the pristine surface of the water. It reflected the scattered clouds of the sky and the incredible gold and reds of the sunset.
She sat between his legs, leaning back against him. His arms circled her and hers lay atop, hugging his tighter around her.
He tilted his head to one side and leaned slightly to place a kiss on the side of her face. Her skin was pale and covered in a sheen of sweat. Blood stained the front of her blouse, a crimson blossom that covered her entire chest. She would not survive the gunshot. Even the thought of that caused more agony that any injury or wound he’d ever received. He loved her more in this moment than ever before.
“It’s time.” Her voice was weak, almost too soft to be heard.
“I am not ready.”
Her hands tightened on his arms. “I will find you.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. Always.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She sighed and relaxed back against him. “How can you not?”
He tightened his hold on her. He couldn’t let go, didn’t know how he could ever let go. She was his life, what made him whole. It was not supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be the first to go. She was stronger, she had more faith. She could survive. He could not.
But he could not let her see his weakness. She had depended upon him for strength as he had her. He could not fail her now. And so he sat, listening to her breathe, for the last time.
“I love you,” her voice was barely a whisper. “I always will.”
“As will I,” he promised. And then he felt her go. There was no pain or fear, just a release. One final breathe and she was gone.
His chest clenched in pain, and his mind went blank with grief. When reason returned it was night. “Please be right,” he whispered as he stood and gathered her into his arms. “Find me.”
There was, of course, no answer, not even a whisper on the wind.
Zeke came to with a jerk, for a moment confused where he was. The hospital. Of course. He raised his hands to his face and was surprised to touch wetness.
Had he been crying?
He got up and paced to the window. That was one strange dream. So real. So sad. He didn’t want to remember it, but couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted it.
“Hello?” A soft, husky voice came from behind him.
He whirled around to find the woman on the bed watching him. “You’re awake.”
“So it would seem. You’re him, aren’t you? The one who shot me?”
“Yes.”
She nodded but didn’t say anymore. She just watched him, her eyes focused and clear. He walked over to stand beside the bed. “I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident.”
Zeke had not expected that. She said it in such a matter of fact manner, like she’d just stated the time of the day or day of the week.
“It was,” he agreed.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
He wasn’t sure what else to say. And it was getting harder to think the way she was watching him. It made him uncomfortable on more than one level. Her gaze was too focused, too probing. He almost felt as if she were looking inside his head.
And then there was the fact that she was beautiful. What the hell kind of man was he to be turned on by a woman who’d damn near died thanks to him?
“Well … I guess I should go,” he said.
She followed him with her eyes as he made his way to the door. He stopped at the threshold. “I think the police might want to question you now that you’re awake.”
“It was an accident,” she said.
“There’s no need for you to worry Mister…?”
“Justice. Ezekiel Justice –Zeke.”
“Zeke.”
Shit on a stick. He’d never heard his name spoken like that. It was like a prayer falling from her lips, a wish that had found vocal expression. It shook him to his core. So much that he could not respond. All he could do was flee.
Zeke didn’t stop until he reached his bike in the parking lot. What the hell was going on with him? He didn’t have time to ponder it. His cell phone rang. It was Eli. Reese wanted everyone to meet at the club, ASAP.
Chances were the meeting would be a call to war. No way was Reese going to let a rival move in on their territory, not even if they had sent a clear message by killing everyone at the motel. No, Reese would want more blood than that.
Zeke climbed on his bike. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave the military after all.
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