Chapter Nine

 

 

They headed northeast out of town and across Lake Ponchartrain. Then headed down some dirt back roads. Cat soon became lost and was content to stare emotionless at the scenery passing the windows: old fish camps and houses up on stilts over the water of inlets and bayous. Spanish moss hung from the trees that stretched over the road to form a canopy. At several points the narrow road ran adjacent to the bayou, no more than ten yards from the pavement.

Cat felt the vehicle slowing, and she perked up in the seat, frowning at what appeared to be a stockade. The gates swung open, and the Prospect pulled through. Once they were clear, two men scrambled to shut and secure the heavy gates again. This place was locked up like Fort Knox.

The tires crunched across the gravel as the van rolled up to the clubhouse. Cat glanced around, taking it all in: the six foot high wooden fence and the huge metal building with the extended roof that covered a cement slab with a half dozen picnic tables. There were a couple leather-clad men sitting on the tabletops, their booted feet on the wooden bench seats. Others stood around them, smoking cigarettes. They all turned when the van rolled in, eyeing it as it stopped up front.

Blood yanked on the door handle and slid the side door open, jumping out to the ground. Turning back, he held his hand out to Cat. “Come on, angel. It’s okay.”

She turned at the sound of the rear double doors opening, and then Sandman dragged Dax out the back. The Prospect jumped out and helped him.

She saw a biker walk up, eye Dax’s battered face, and ask, “What happened to him?”

“He decided to take a closer look at Blood’s fist,” Sandman answered with a chuckle.

“Cat.”

Her eyes swiveled back to see Blood still standing with his hand out. Everything seemed so surreal. She couldn’t believe her sister was taken. She couldn’t believe she was here with another MC. Would they be any better than the last bunch?

She looked into Blood’s eyes. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. She could feel his protectiveness radiating off him, had felt it as he’d held her close in the van, insisting to her over and over that everything would be okay, that she had to be strong for Holly. That he’d find her if it took him all over the state to do it. He’d track her down, and then he’d kill the motherfuckers who had her. He’d promised.

She believed him. She had no choice but to believe him, because if she didn’t, she’d shatter into a million pieces. Blood was right, she had to be strong.

She slipped her hand in his and stepped out.

Bikes, lined up in rows, sat gleaming in the hot sun, their chrome almost blindingly bright. She squinted and looked over at the men sitting under the overhanging roof.

They stared back at her blankly, and she wondered if they knew who she was and why she was here. Was that curiosity she saw or apathy? Perhaps they didn’t really give a shit why she was here. Perhaps she was as inconsequential as she’d heard women were to men like these. Cunts don’t count, she’d once heard Dax say, teasing her big sister, Stacey, with a phrase he’d picked up hanging around the MCs in Texas.

Was it true? Did she not matter at all?

Probably not to the club, but maybe she mattered to Blood. At least, he seemed to feel he owed her for what she’d done for him. And perhaps that’s all any of this was. Respect. Loyalty. She’d heard those were important to these clubs. Perhaps debts owed meant something to them, too.

Blood took her hand tightly in his, almost as if he was afraid she’d bolt. Then he led her through the doors of the clubhouse, and she clung closely in the wake of his tall body and broad shoulders. Sandman and the Prospect disappeared somewhere with Dax.

It was dim inside, especially after coming in from the bright sunshine. She blinked several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The place was cavernous. A bar came into focus off to the right, pool tables off to the left. A staircase in the back led to what must be a second level.

A man behind the bar called out, “Blood, Doc’s up with Undertaker waiting for you.”

Blood nodded, and Cat half expected him to park her ass on a barstool and go meet with his President. He surprised her by pulling her along behind him toward the stairs.

When they reached the second level, he led her down a long hallway to the last door at the end. Rapping twice, he barely waited for the “Come in!” that was hollered out, before he twisted the knob and walked in.

It was a large office with a big desk on the left side. The man she recognized from earlier sat behind it: Undertaker, their President. His VP, Mooch, leaned against a credenza off to the side, his arms folded. Another man sat in one of the chairs facing the desk. He wasn’t a biker; that much was plainly obvious. Although he did look pretty young. Cat figured he had to be the doctor the man downstairs had referred to. He was leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them. He’d been laughing at something Undertaker had said.

He twisted to look when they came through the door. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and his light brown hair brushed the button-down collar of his chambray shirt. He wore khakis and running shoes. Not exactly the picture of your average Intern. She wondered if he was a real doctor.

“You get her?” Undertaker asked quietly.

Blood shook his head. “Guy was alone. Sandman’s puttin’ him in the room.”

The room. Cat wondered what that meant.

Undertaker nodded, then his eyes flicked to her. “Sorry, kid.”

The man in the chair stood then, drawing her attention. He extended his hand toward her. “How do you do? I’m Dr. Richard Sanders.”

“Dr. Sanders.” She shook his hand. “Catherine Randall. Call me Cat.”

He glanced at Blood, then to her. “I understand you treated Blood.”

She nodded. “Yes, Doctor. I’m a nurse.”

“Mind if I have a look at your patient?” he asked with a nice smile, gesturing to Blood.

“Please.” Cat wasn’t used to doctors being so kind or respectful to nurses.

Dr. Sanders grabbed his black leather doctor’s bag from the floor and gestured toward a couch against the back wall. “If you don’t mind.”

Blood shot Undertaker a look that said, Is this really necessary?

“Humor me,” his President growled.

Blood moved to the couch, pulled his cut off, tossed it over the arm, and lay back.

Dr. Sanders pulled a pair of gloves and a mask from his bag and put them on. Then sat on the wooden coffee table and leaned to remove the bandage. He bent to examine the wound, front and back. “How was the patient when you first examined him, Ms. Randall?”

Cat suddenly felt like she was back in nursing school doing her nursing practicum. “Yesterday at five pm, his fever was one hundred and six. He was dehydrated with signs of delirium. His eyes were glassy. I examined the wound and found it to be a through and through gunshot wound. It appeared to have entered from the back and deflected off the rib, causing no severe damage. I irrigated and packed it. I changed the packing once, this morning. I started him on a saline IV and a course of antibiotics.”

“Which one?”

“Ampicillin sulbactam, three grams IV every six hours. I was able to give him three rounds. He finished the last one”—she glanced at her wristwatch—“three hours ago.”

Dr. Sanders nodded. “I’ll start him on oral.” He looked at Blood. “Appears to have only got the flesh and muscle. Lucky for you it didn’t enter the abdominal cavity. It looks good. She took good care of you.”

Blood met her eyes and grinned. “That she did.”

“The packing needs to be changed out every day until its healed. I’ll leave enough supplies for Ms. Randall to continue that at home until its healed, if you’d like.” He looked from Blood to Cat as if to ask if she’d be around to do these home healthcare duties.

Blood answered, not giving her a chance to speak. “That would be good.”

“All right then, let me write you a prescription for antibiotics and a pain killer. I’ll need to see you in my office end of the week to see how its healing.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Blood said.

Undertaker approached and shook his hand. “Yes, thank you, Richard. I appreciate you coming to take a look at him.”

“Anytime.”

Dr. Sanders quickly wrote out the prescriptions. Then he turned and shook Cat’s hand. “Ms. Randall. If you’re ever looking for a job. I’ve got a small clinic, and I’d be glad to have you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sanders.”

He cocked his head at her. “How are you holding up? Undertaker told me your sister was missing. I could write you a script for something to calm your nerves or to help you sleep, if you’d like.”

Cat shook her head. “No, thank you, Doctor. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and patted her upper arm. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”

After he left, Undertaker turned to Blood. “I had the girls come in to fix some food.”

Blood nodded and patted his taut stomach. “I’m starved, and I know Cat hasn’t eaten either.”

Undertaker nodded then jerked his chin to Mooch. “Take her down and introduce her to the ladies. I need to speak to Blood. We’ll be down in a minute.”

Mooch nodded. “Sure thing, Boss. Follow me, honey.”

Cat looked to Blood, unsure about being separated from him.

He lifted his chin. “I’ll only be a few minutes, then I’ll come find you.”

She nodded and followed Mooch out.

 

***

 

Blood watched the door close, and then his eyes swung to his President, knowing the man wanted to discuss the Death Heads situation. “Find out anything?”

Undertaker lifted his chin toward his desk. “Sit down.”

They both took a seat.

“There wasn’t much left at that house. The boys swept it over… didn’t find shit. Nothing to tell us what the hell they’re up to. You want to tell me exactly what happened? How the hell did they get ahold of you?”

“Some girls by my place were getting hassled—”

“By girls, you mean—”

“Hookers. Anyway, I interceded. When I asked where the hell their pimp was, Cherry told me John had been busy lately with other things.”

Undertaker stroked over his beard, taking it all in and making his own summations. He knew all the players in this town; Blood didn’t have to explain who he was referring to. “And you went lookin’ for him?”

“I decided it’d be in all our best interests if I knew what was keeping him busy. What did Black Jack have that was more important for John to be doing than keep an eye on the girls?”

“It’s always a good idea to know what Black Jack is up to.”

“Anyway, I walked down toward his compound, came around the corner, and the last thing I remember is seeing four Death Heads standing in the alley. I woke up chained to that bed.”

“And the girl?”

“They brought her in to treat me. Infection was setting in. I was bad off. Thought I’d never get out of that room.”

“What I’m wondering is why they kept you alive.”

“Been wonderin’ that myself. Only thing I can come up with is to use me to get something from you.”

Undertaker stroked his beard, thinking.

“So what do the Death Heads have to do with him?” Blood asked.

“Don’t know. But we’re gonna find out.”

Blood stared at the scarred wood of the desktop. “I’m taken near his compound. The Death Heads are right there. They don’t want to kill me, or maybe someone stops them.”

“I think the clue to all this is sitting in the room downstairs.”

Blood nodded. “Dax. Let’s go talk to the man.” He started to rise from his chair, but Undertaker waved him back down.

“We will. First there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?”

“Nurse Hotty down there.”

Blood’s jaw hardened. “What about her?”

“You helping her find her sister… What’s that about? Death Heads took her. So now it’s your job to fix this for her?”

“I’ve had worse jobs.” Blood gave him a look.

Undertaker read his look and grinned. “Jobs I’ve given you, huh?”

“Maybe.”

Undertaker leaned forward on his elbows. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“Does there have to be something in it for me?”

Undertaker chuckled. “Yeah. Usually.”

“I promised her. I owe her. She saved my life. That means something to me.”

“It means something to me, too. And gratitude will be shone. But is that all this is? Is it just about you owing her?”

Blood had always been straight with Undertaker, since the day he’d met him. That was the one thing they had. So Blood gave him nothing less now. He shifted in his chair. “I owe her a debt, a debt I need to repay. More than that? Hell, I don’t know. I suppose if I had any sense I’d know there’s no shot with her.”

“Why do you say that?”

Blood shook his head slowly, trying to find the words. “She’s been through some shit. She blames men like me for a lot of it.”

“Men like you?”

“MCs. Bikers. How do I roll around that? She’s got no reason to trust me.”

“Then give her one,” Undertaker replied, leaning back in his chair.

Blood huffed out a laugh. “It’s just that easy, huh?”

“If it’s what you want, you’ll bring her around. I have no worries on that. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“You’ve got no reason, old man.”

“Why do you think that? Because you made it out?”

“No, because I nearly died, and that changes everything.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Helps you to see what’s important.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You should know. You found it once.”

Undertaker studied him with that “all knowing” look that could always cut right through everything Blood ever thought about hiding. “Love? That was a long time ago.”

Blood looked away, staring at a picture of a pretty dark-haired girl with sky-blue eyes Undertaker kept on the credenza. “I’ve seen what Shades and your daughter have. You had that once, too, with her mother.”

Undertaker followed his gaze, taking in the photo of his daughter, Skylar. “And you want that?”

Blood studied him and grudgingly admitted, “Maybe.”

“I want that for you, too. Son, there’s nothing I want more. But this girl…” Undertaker tipped his head toward the door. “I’m not sure she fits in, and I’m not sure she wants to fit in.”

Blood looked away and nodded. “Maybe, but she’s lookin’ at me to fix this. If I can’t find her sister—”

“Then she’ll need a strong shoulder to lean on and help her through this, and you’ve got that in spades, Blood.”

“No matter where it might lead?”

“Bonds are created in rough situations. Don’t forget that. And there’s something else you shouldn’t forget. Your first duty is to this club.”

Blood met his eyes with a burning look. “You think I need you to remind me of that?”

“Just makin’ sure you remember.” Undertaker lifted his chin toward the door. “Go get some chow with your girl. Dax can wait.”

“She’s not my girl.”

Undertaker grinned. “Your guest, then.”

Blood stood.

Undertaker stopped him before he got to the door. “Hey, if she’s not yours, am I having a room made up for her?”

That stopped him short, the vision of Cat in his bed momentarily flashing through his brain. While he’d like nothing more, he also knew now was not the time to press that issue. Soon, though. Very soon. He looked back at Undertaker and nodded.

Undertaker chuckled. “Fifty bucks says that doesn’t last the week.”

Blood gave him a look, and then he went in search of little Nurse Hotty.

 

***

 

Cat stood at the stove in the clubhouse kitchen, stirring a pot of gumbo. Mooch had brought her downstairs and led her through what appeared to be a big dining room to a large kitchen where three women were busy cooking. He’d gruffly introduced her to them, motioning to the one with the red kinky hair tied up in a bandana as Roxy and the other woman, who had a braid of dark hair going down her back, as Sissy. They were both middle-aged, wearing jeans and tank tops and tons of silver jewelry. Then he spoke to the third woman, who turned from the stove.

“Mama Ray, this is Cat. She’s with Blood.”

Mama Ray was an older woman dressed in jeans and a faded black tank top that read Support your local Evil Dead MC on the front in fading white lettering. She had short, gray curly hair and dark brown eyes.

“Mama Ray was Jaybird’s ol’ lady. She takes care of the clubhouse now.”

“Was?” Cat asked.

Mooch nodded. “He was killed a couple years back.”

“I’m so sorry,” Cat said, looking to the woman.

She gave Cat the once over, peering through her glasses. She noted the scrubs but didn’t reference them. Instead she asked, “Cat, huh? That a nickname or short for something?”

“It’s short for Catherine.”

“Huh. Can you cook, Cat?”

“Some.”

“Some good? Or some bad?”

“I’m okay.”

“Guess we’ll see.” She set a head of cabbage on a cutting board with a big knife. “Here, make yourself useful. Cut this up. You can make the coleslaw.”

She had picked up the knife and began chopping away, scooping up the shredded cabbage to toss in a stainless bowl. The three women began to chat and soon were including her in the conversation. They were down-to-earth women, all committed to the club. They gave her what amounted to an interview, putting her through the wringer with question after question, wanting to know who or what she was to Blood and why she was there.

Her answers didn’t seem to appease them, or at least didn’t seem to sound plausible to them. Blood, in need of help? Their Blood? Not possible.

They were sad to hear about her sister, but were equally as curious at the fact that Blood had promised to get her back for Cat.

Roxy frowned, while Mama Ray openly laughed.

“Our Blood? Right. Sure he is, honey,” Sissy insisted.

“What’s keeping you here?” Mama Ray asked, her hand on her hip. “I was you, I’d hightail it out of here and go find my sister.”

“He told me he doesn’t say shit he doesn’t mean. That sound like ‘your’ Blood to you?” Cat gave it back with a snap in her voice.

That had Mama Ray lifting her chin, her eyes narrowing as she studied Cat. Then without another word on the subject, she snapped, “Food’s ready.”

Cat watched her pick up a large pan of pulled pork and storm off into the other room.

Roxy picked up the bowl of coleslaw, held it out to Cat, and then picked up a large pan of baked beans. “Her bark is worse than her bite, and she’s protective of the guys. Don’t worry. If Blood wants you around, she won’t make trouble for you.” She winked. “Come on, sweetheart.”