I can’t stay confined within these walls any longer. I need to get out of this place. I have spent too long caged.
“Boxer?” I say quietly, he’s softly snoring in the chair, but doesn’t stir. I decide not to wake him. He’s been watching over me without rest, for too long.
I get out of bed and gingerly hobble to the door rolling the IV stand with me and open it. Ghost’s back is to me. He’s a wall of a man.
“Excuse me…” I pause when he swings around looking me up and down, then looks over my shoulder noting where Boxer is sleeping.
“Going somewhere?” His face softens when I try to side-step around him, an almost amused look on his face as he moves with me, blocking my way.
“I am not a prisoner,” the words spring from my lips. “I can go where I want, when I want.” My inner strength is stamping its foot.
He slowly holds his palm out to me not touching me. “This is true, but you’ve been injured and you need to get back into bed, darlin’.”
“I am not a prisoner!” I repeat, louder. “I don’t need these walls and a guard blocking my way.” He doesn’t move out the way.
With more strength I say, “I. Am. Freedom.”
The direction his eyes swivel gives away who is now standing behind me. I don’t acknowledge Boxer, but repeat. “I. Am. Not. A. Prisoner.” I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
With my elbow still hooked around the IV stand and with determination plastered on my face, I take a few painful steps. My free elbow pushes into Ghost’s hard chest as he allows me the space I need to get past him. When nobody stops me, I keep hobbling forward. I have no clue where I am walking to, I just need to make the statement and get out of that room. I know my feet will be suffering for my determination and pride.
Boxer is shadowing me. I feel every step he takes behind me. I can’t gauge where Ghost is and I’m not about to look behind me.
Dr. Castille comes into my line of sight. She too looks over my shoulder with a questioning look on her face, as she approaches me.
“Sara, would you like me to get you a wheelchair?”
I want to say yes, but then I am being controlled by somebody pushing me. “No.”
My head is buzzing. I want to be free of those walls and all that white. I need color.
“I don’t want to be in that room anymore. I can do what I like, because I’m free,” I respond, my voice robotic to my own ears. “I can’t be in that cell anymore,” I add on.
All the information Boxer has given me has weighed heavily on my soul. I pretended to sleep, but I couldn’t. I was growing more and more agitated lying in that bed. I didn’t feel free.
“You need clothes,” she tells me quietly. “You need to be off your feet for them to heal.”
“I do.” It is the logical response. I’m wearing only a hospital gown and it will be cold and snowing outside. My feet are very painful, but I’ve felt worse.
“Where would you like to go, honey?” Anywhere but here, Doc.
I try to explain. “My room is too white and there are too many walls and a door closing me in.” I think I’m going to crack. I take in a deep unsteady breath, because for all my bravado I feel weak and I need to sit down, my soul hurts—but I will not tell them that.
I keep right on walking. “This was the place I was held as a prisoner and I also tried to escape from.” This time I was going to move about as a free person. “I’ve been brought back here—I hate it,” I say with a fierce honesty.
“What do you need, Sara?” Doc is patient with me.
“I need color and open spaces.”
A gentle hand lands on my shoulder, halting my steps. “Love, you want to leave here and go somewhere you can feel free.” Boxer is not asking me a question.
I nod.
“I need my freedom,” I whisper. “I am not going back to that room. I am not going to be controlled anymore. I am not a slave.” My voice cracks on the last word and I start to fall, my determination and strength have given out on me, unable to hold me up any longer.
“Boxer—” I hear the doctor gasp out his name and then I’m being swung up into strong arms.
“Love, I’ve got you,” Boxer murmurs. “Ghost, how’s the security at your place?” The big man in black has stepped into my sight.
“Better than here and I haven’t got a white wall in the place.” He grins down at me. I feel my anxiety lowering when I hear these words.
“Is it far?” I ask him.
“Nope. Phoenix and Doc can have you set up all comfortable soon enough. Got a big screen TV you can watch too.” He winks at me.
“Thank you,” I whisper on a yawn. I’m now very tired as I try to keep my eyes open. The fight has left me. “No more drugs.” My eyelids start to droop. Did the doctor inject something into my IV?
“Love, you’re just exhausted.”
And I believe Boxer, as everything goes black, because he won’t lie to me.
***
I wake-up on a deep, comfortable, leather couch covered in a blanket, feeling rested. I remember Boxer telling me I was going to be taken to Ghost’s place.
My bandaged hands rest protectively on my stomach, a basic instinct now installed in me. I no longer have the IV. My hands and feet are sore, but I’m not complaining. I am out of that place.
I want to know where Boxer and Dr. Castille are because I trust them explicitly.
My eyes dart about my surroundings until they focus on Phoenix, who is sitting on the floor, cross legged, by a large crackling fire. She’s reading her book.
I think of Miss Catherine’s little cozy den and how I miss curling up on her couch, while she crocheted by the fire and I read one of my own books. I wish she was here.
There is another matching couch filling some of this large room and big leather chairs designed for maximum comfort. This is definitely a man’s room; very masculine in earthy colors and furnishings. I remember Ghost telling me he didn’t have a white wall in the place and this room certainly doesn’t. I don’t feel so closed-in.
“Hi, Whi—Sara,” Phoenix stumbles over my name, correcting herself. I like that she tries to make me feel comfortable, my gut tells me I can trust her.
“Hi,” I say a little timidly, because it’s just the two of us in the room and she looks so pretty and sure of herself. She’s wearing an Aerosmith, Live Bootleg T-shirt and tight jeans. Her dreadlocks are wild and free. She’s just been labeled the cool-chick by me, because of her style and the dream catcher tattoo on her arm.
I carefully push myself up into a seated position and cock my head and listen. There are masculine voices in other areas of this house, together with other background noises and the smell of coffee.
“This is Ghost’s place, in Alaska?” I know it is, but I still need to confirm it with her. I like hearing the truth told to me.
“Yes. The men who helped save you are living here at the moment, too.” She puts the bookmark inside her book, marking her page, and places it down on the thick rug.
These are Edge’s, biker friends. I try not to feel nervous about meeting them, but my anxiety levels start to rise. I need my family and my only friend as my buffer against the new people.
“Where is Lincoln?”
“He’ll be back soon. You’ve been asleep every time he’s looked in on you.”
I want to ask if Edge is here, but the words won’t form. I fiddle with the hospital gown I am still wearing. I hate it.
“Would you like to change into something of mine and feel more like your own per—”
Phoenix gets cut off by a mountain of a man entering the room wearing designer jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt in solid black, which fits his torso and muscled arms like a second skin. His physical presence seems to fill up a part of my open space. He sits down right next to Phoenix on the floor, his body naturally leaning towards her. He’s got very pretty eyes and short almost cropped brown hair.
He gives me a smile and a wave.
“This behemoth of a man is, Slade. He’s a good guy, one you can feel safe around, even if he is a little on the large size.” I hear almost affection in her words, but when he gives her a big grin, she rolls her eyes and looks away.
I don’t know what to say to this man, so I comment on Phoenix’s appearance. “I like your hair and T-shirt.”
“Thanks, girlie. Maybe we can go shopping together one day?”
I stutter in reply, “T-that m-might be all right. I-I’m not sure. I umm...” I take a deep, slow breath into my body, willing my nerves to relax. Normal people shop. Sara is normal. I’ve never had a young female friend. I think of Lincoln again wishing he was here now. I wish Boxer was here.
“Darlin’, you look like you have a lot of things buzzing through your head right now.” Slade’s got a nice voice. “What do you want to know and we will see if we can answer your questions?” His kind blue eyes watch me—waiting for me to speak up.
“Where are Boxer and Dr. Castille?”
“They are getting some shut-eye. Both of them have been awake for a long time. Doc was exhausted on her feet, only way she would rest was if Boxer took a nap too. We all thought you might sleep a little longer than you did, but here you are awake,” he tells me.
A strong tattooed man swaggers into the room wearing a short sleeved T-shirt with a leather vest over the top. There is a patch on the front: V. PRESIDENT. I can’t read the other patches. He’s not as built as Slade, but he is a big, sculpted man with blond hair reaching nearly to his shoulders. His Nordic blue eyes don’t miss a beat as he watches me studying him, while one hand plays with the closely shaved scruff around his square jaw, like he’s not used to the length of it.
“Hi, Viking,” Phoenix says. She is comfortable around him. He gives her a warm smile in return and a nod in Slade’s direction.
Viking drops down onto the thick rug on the floor a few feet from Slade. One jean clad leg flat to the floor, the other bent at the knee, his thick arm resting casually on it. He is comfortable and relaxed and wants me to know that.
I know why Slade and Viking have both chosen to sit on the floor, because now there are two big men in this open room, filling it up with the sheer bulk of their bodies. They want to seem smaller, less intimidating to me, but sitting on the floor doesn’t change that.
“How are you, Whisper?” I want to tell Viking I am Sara.
“Viking… she would like to be called Sara,” Phoenix explains what I can’t.
“Sara, how are you feeling?” he repeats, inclining his head on a variation of his previous question. He keeps his voice low trying not to frighten me. He’s dialing up the trust-me eyes, letting them crinkle a little at the corners.
“You should grow your hair and braid your beard if you’re going to have a name like Viking, like they do on that Vikings show on television,” I tell him. I could imagine his hair long and fierce, turning him into a warrior.
He laughs briefly, softening his features even more. “Cut my hair and had to lose the braid in my—once—very long beard. Had a pretty girl to help rescue and we didn’t want to be comin’ in as big scary bikers and bringin’ a pile of unwanted attention to ourselves, so I had two choices: the hipster look or businessman look, instead of the badass biker.” He leans forward a little as if in confidence. “Trust me—we’re still badass, just less hairier.” And then he seals his words with a wink.
Hipster or businessman?
Movement to my right startles me and I jump like a scared rabbit. The blanket slides down my body, my hands instinctively moving to my belly as I curl my body away from any danger.
Damn I’m jumpy.
A mistake I realize when I catch Viking out the corner of my eye arching an eyebrow at where my hands went, his head turning slightly to look at Phoenix who he catches shaking her head ever so slightly at me. Then his eyes are sliding back up to mine.
I put great effort into uncurling my body as casually as I can.
Large palms are held up. “Whoa there, darlin’, nobody is gonna hurt you, here,” says the tall man entering the room with the gruff voice and his hair tied back. He carries himself like he has authority. “I’m Hazard and this is a safe zone at all times for you.” He sits in the chair closest to me and rests his right ankle on his left knee. “You can relax. We were all just getting a little curious to say, hi, now that you’re awake.” All? How many more are there? He doesn’t speak another word to me, just lets me take him in.
My eyes travel across his chest to the front of his leather vest. There are five patches, but the one that stands out the most for me says: PRESIDENT. I don’t linger to read the rest of them, because he’s watching me.
I’m nervous so I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You chose the hipster look.” His dark eyes are almost smiling at my comment.
“Much easier to keep the beard”—his mouth kicks up in a lazy grin as his hand combs his thick brown beard—“and the hair. I’m not much for the businessman look.”
“Incoming… just giving you the heads up Sara, before I appear,” a voice shouts from outside this room somewhere.
“I don’t know if this was a good idea,” Phoenix announces, loud enough for everybody listening outside the room to hear. “You were all supposed to come in very slowly over the next few hours, not one after the other.” She’s very comfortable being around these men and saying what’s on her mind, even in front of bikers.
Slade tips his head down and tries to hide a grin and then he looks up at me and winks.
The man belonging to the voice walks in giving me a casual wave. “Hey, there gorgeous, I’m Blueblood.” His smile is genuine. He looks like one of the—
Another man follows close on his heels and waves at me. “I know what you’re thinking, bella, my hermano looks like one of the Musketeers.” I was thinking that. They both drop down on the other couch. “The name is, Lethal.” This man is younger than the others, softer looking with no beard, clean-shaven and hypnotic eyes. He’s more your cover model on a magazine. His leather vest has the patch: V. PRESIDENT on the front and that says more to me, than the innocent look Lethal wears on his face for me, because I know he would be a very dangerous man.
Sons of Anarchy TV show is my only go-to for biker information. Their cut will have the name of their club, a club logo and their territory or chapter on the back. The men filtering into the room are either Soulless Bastards or Lion’s Den MC and all are trusted by Edge.
Phoenix smiles at each one stating their name, inadvertently introducing them to me.
“Hey, Viper,” she calls to the man who looks a lot like Viking.
“Sara… I’m that one’s brother from the same mother,” Viper says to me, as he points to Viking. He’s a redhead, with a sharp jawline, like Brad Pitt in his early days, has a strong build and tattoos. He looks younger than Viking.
Two more men enter the room. “And these guys are Billy and Drill,” Phoenix says.
Drill has the greenest eyes and wears a Lion’s Den vest and what I am learning to be the biker uniform: jeans and a shirt, under their cut. Billy is like Slade and doesn’t wear one. They both nod their heads at me and lean up against the wall.
Next up is a man with tamed ash-blond hair, cut neat to just above his shoulders. He looks close to Edge’s age. He’s very lean and muscular and carries an air of authority. PRESIDENT is on his leather cut, but I also get a glimpse of the back and there is a LION’S DEN patch curved across his shoulder blades and a lion head logo in the center with EL PASO underneath.
This man is a lot more serious when he looks at me, he isn’t smiling. I feel like he’s weighing me up to see if I was worth all this trouble. He takes a seat in the other chair.
Motorcycle clubs are violent, yet these men make me feel protected—even this man who sits watching me. “I’m Torque.” He cocks his head to the side…waiting. I feel like he wants me to say something.
I’m not quite sure what to do as they all watch me. Phoenix trusts these men and I decide I will try to do the same. They didn’t know me, but they came for me. I say the only thing I can think of. “You all saved me, thank you.”
“Edge saved you, too,” Torque says, “I haven’t once heard you ask after him.”
The mood in the room shifts once Edge’s name is mentioned. I look down feeling awkward and out of my depth surrounded by so many of Edge’s friends. I don’t know what they want me to say.
Edge hurt me.
He helped me.
He saved me.
I’m very confused.
“Umm… I …” My face feels like it is drained of blood. I don’t know where to look. I want to run, but there are men everywhere and I won’t get far before I am caught. “Umm…” I start to lose focus of my surroundings and feel like I’m going to faint. Hazard said I was safe, Phoenix told me the same. They all told me I was safe here.
Nobody is stepping in to help me, because it’s true. I haven’t asked how Edge is or where he is.
Phoenix is by my side, her arm around me. “Breathe, honey. Torque doesn’t understand the stress you are under at the moment.”
“I’m okay.” I pull away from her arm and look Torque in the eye straightening my spine. “You are right. All this”—my hand waves around the room—“is a little overwhelming for me.”
I look over to Hazard, but he doesn’t step in, he’s curious to hear me out.
“I thought maybe he didn’t want to see me. I have wondered of his whereabouts, but I am also…” I don’t know how to express myself. My bandaged hand touches my shoulder where I was shot. “I umm…it’s very confusing for me at the moment. Men haven’t been kind to me.” I don’t want to bring up the abuse and all the mind games ever played on me. I don’t want sympathy. I just want them to understand that I need a little time to find me again.
I look to every man in the room. “I’m… lost,” I say quietly and it is the brutal honesty of the emotional turmoil, I am in.
“Well, fuck!” Torque mumbles.
The people in the room have been forgotten as my head dips, my hands cover my belly, protecting my womb. I’m petrified by the knowledge I will be a mother in less than eight months.
The pain in my hands ebb, as a tide of deep emotion rolls in washing over me, bringing with it a wave of tears that I blink back fiercely.
What have I done?
The realization I haven’t got a clue about what I am doing with my own life and now I have one growing inside me, hits me.
I need space.
“Fuck!” I hear Viking curse. “Whose is it?” he demands.
“Viking, please, not now.” Phoenix wants to silence his revelation.
“Phoenix, I like you, but don’t you go telling me what the fuck I can say and—”
A noise is coming from Slade as he stands strong and ready in Phoenix’s defense.
“Darlin’, are you with us?” I look through the curtain of my hair to see Hazard crouched by my knees. I didn’t even hear him move.
“Umm…” I want to be invisible. My eyes take in the men in the room as the tension has turned it icy. I am seeing these men for who they really are—very dangerous predators.
Phoenix pulls me sideways against her, like she’s protecting me.
“Viking, it’s none of your fucking business and Slade, get a hold of yourself,” Hazard warns both men without even looking at them. “Torque, we need to dial down the tension because Edge will be fucking pissed if he knows shit has been going down while he’s away. He didn’t get us all the way to Alaska with a new hairstyle for a fucking vacation. He’s claimed this girl and we need to honor the code of protecting another brother’s woman.”
Claimed me?
I swipe my tears away—determination has set in. “I am nobody’s to claim!” I say with as much certainty as I can to a room full of dangerous men. All I get in response is a lot of head shaking and mumbling from the room.
Hazard squeezes my knee and I thought I caught an eye roll before he stands and continues addressing the men. “You all keep your mouths shut and let Edge and Sara sort out the shit they need to sort out. Nobody knows shit about nothing between those two, until they know what that shit is, themselves.”
After a moment I pull away from Phoenix, it feels strange because she isn’t Miss Catherine.
Billy appears with a plate of small, mixed sandwich triangles and offers it to me. “A little morning tea for you doll face, you slept through breakfast and you should eat something.” His eyes slide over my belly and then he observes the room of men. “I think a little distraction is in order, as well.”
I take the plate, because I can’t say I’m not hungry when my stomach starts rumbling loudly at the sight of them. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Eat up.” He gives my shoulder a gentle pat and moves away. He’s built like a tank, a well defined chest and back. He looks like a bouncer in a bar. I don’t doubt he knows how to handle himself, but he’s also got a softer side.
“We should all eat,” Torque announces while Viking is in a heated huddle with Hazard and Slade.
More plates of food are brought in and everybody settles into talking among themselves and devouring the masses of sandwiches.
I‘m nibbling on the third small triangle, trying not to let my nerves get the better of me, because I know it won’t be long until I come face to face with Edge.
I start to feel sick. I try to get rid of the feeling by sipping on some water, but it won’t go away. The nausea only gets worse.
Phoenix is chatting away beside me, oblivious of the condition I’m in. “Wow… when ya think you’ve ordered way too many platters of fancy-ass sandwiches from Didi’s Catering, and this lot prove you wrong, when they hoover them all down in less than ten minutes.”
“I need the bathroom,” I quietly tell Phoenix. I get up, not worried about wearing only a hospital gown in front of these men. I’ve worn much less.
“I’ll help you, honey,” she says beside me.
“I’m okay. You finish your food.” My feet hurt badly as I gingerly shuffle forward avoiding the men scattered around the room.
“Honey, let me get you some help.” Phoenix is tagging along next to me.
I can feel the room watching me. I ignore Phoenix, concentrating on not hurling in front of these men. I’m desperate. There has to be a bathroom around here somewhere close by. Sweat is beading on my forehead. I swipe at it with my forearm.
Drill, the one with the pretty grass-green eyes and the red beard approaches me, cautiously.
“Will you allow me to carry you to the bathroom?” He is giving me the choice to ignore him or allow myself to be in his arms. “Edge is a very good friend of mine. I’ll be careful with you and treat you as though you were my sister.” His green eyes wait for my decision.
I nod my head mainly because I need the bathroom sooner than later with the nausea getting worse and don’t want to lose the sandwiches all over the floor.
He scoops me up against his hard chest. I look anywhere but at him, as he takes long strides to a set of stairs and we climb to another level. He keeps walking like I weigh nothing until we reach a master bedroom and we hit an enormous bathroom decorated in navy and white. I feel conscious of being in what looks like it could be Ghost’s, private bathroom.
Phoenix has been tailing along behind us, which helps to reassure me when we entered the bedroom that I was safe. She’s by my side when Drill gently places me on my feet and steps away from us and disappears leaving us alone.
“Do you need a hand with anything, chickie?”
I respond with lurching forward, dropping to my knees and vomiting in the toilet bowl.
And without a second to spare.