Page 111 of Bleed Me

I sighed. “So, for now, she’s safe.” My chest seized. “Mr. Ward?”

Diesel patted my shoulder. “He’s solid, kid.” Chuckling, he said, “You may look like a badass biker now, but I see you’re still kindhearted. Good to know.” He opened a door that led into a dark room and pointed to a bed. There was a blanket showing a man’s body curled up under it, his back to us. The sight made me wonder if that is what I looked like when Saph watched over me my first night, banged up with a concussion.

After Diesel shut the door behind me, I walked toward Art and sat on the edge of his bed, not wanting to wake him, but he said, “Hey,” his voice dry and raspy.

“Brother, you good?”

He chuckled, but it held no humor. Not one ounce. “Is Justice here?”

I figured he was needing the one person that could understand how he felt right now so I apologized, “No, sorry—”

The darkness wasn’t enough to cover his cry. He coughed, trying to choke it down. “Where is she? Alone? Don’t let him get her—”

“She’s in lockdown.” I tried to calm him.

“Are you sure? She should be here!” He coughed again, fighting more tears, and swallowed.

Art, so shook up that he felt Justice under attack with us at the clubhouse was safer than with the enemy, made my skin crawl. So, I forced my voice to sound confident. “I got her underground, man. I swear it.”

His sigh echoed in the quiet room as he rolled to his back.

“She’s safe.” I tried again to reassure him.

He drew a palm down his face, wiping wetness we all tried to hide from time to time. “Not if they’re anything like him.”

“Your pops killed him.”

He rested a bent arm over his eyes. “I know.”

“They hurt you, Art?”

“Fuck those pussies.”

Even though it was still dark, I nodded. “Yeah, I understand that.”

He smacked the side of my thigh as if we weren’t talkin’ heavy shit. “Hey! How’re your little brats?”

“Ah, shit.” I tried to laugh. “Fucking the club up. Ice even puked on Lynx’s cut.”

Art started laughing so hard it quickly turned into him wincing and rolling back to his side. Grabbing a bottle of water from his nightstand, I asked, “They get your ribs?” while trying to help him sit up.

“They’ll heal.” He took a sip from the bottle.

“Yes, they will.”

Through a wince, he eyed me. “Sorry about that.”

Remembering the last time I was in this town, hanging from a rope in an abandoned barn, sore as hell from Art’s beating, I set the water back down. “I had that shit coming.”

“He did. Not you.”

Shrugging, I admitted, “One and the same.”

Exhausted from the little bit of exertion, Art laid back down. “Giver… When Justice and I were at Seth’s dad’s place, we saw wicked shit.”

“Justice told me a little about it.”

“Seth… Well, it wasn’t only us who were hurt.” His fingers pulled at a loose string on his comforter. “At least Justice and I had each other. Seth… He was alone.” After a pause, he added, “Why that kid grew up to want revenge for his abusers—Shit. Maybe I do know that answer. Something was always off with him, then… we witnessed his change.”