Chapter
5
~Hammer~
Healing. What a crock of epic shit.
I survived. I lived. I’m one lucky son of bitch.
They all remind me how fortunate I am.
Fortunate? What kind of life could I possibly live in this chair?
Confinement. Entrapment. Imprisonment.
Four months have passed since the mission that went FUBAR. I’m tired of looking at this cold, sterile hospital room and smelling antiseptic solution. At least I was asleep for the first two weeks. My body was too worn out to do anything more than eat, sleep, and poop, kind of like a baby. Well, that’s what I fucking felt like.
The last three and a half months, I have spent my waking hours listening to these gossipy-ass nurses talk about their daytime TV shows, which doctors are banging which nurses in the supply rooms, and how they are tired of cleaning up other people’s shit. Literally.
I have no freedoms. Hell, when people look at you and make wiping your own ass a milestone, your life is seriously fucked up. Yes, I can now wipe my own ass; check that one off the list, along with transferring myself from my bed to my chair.
My chair—those two words are a bitter pill to swallow. What some might consider freedom in the form of a rolling seat attached to two wheels, I consider a prison. And the irony is that, for the first time in my life, I’m stuck on two wheels that aren’t my motorcycle.
Yet, all these chipper fucking nurses keep reminding me of the amazing quality of life I can have as I continue to heal.
They don’t get it. They focus on all the little things I can do while my mind swims in what I can’t do.
What I can’t do is work. What I can’t do is walk. What I can’t do is run. What I can’t do is drive. What I can’t do is chase down a motherfucker. What I can’t do is shit!
I can’t even fuck.
Sure, my dick gets hard … science and all that bullshit. The minute I move my hands to the wheels on my chair to move, though, nothing is hard anymore. The reminder of my immobility is more than a buzz kill … It is a life kill.
Everything about my life has changed, and not for the better.
Sure, I may walk again in time. The doctors are hopeful. Prognosis is good. Oh, how everyone loves to tell me that one.
Running, working—those are still questionable.
Traveling—that is one cruel joke now. A metal screw holds me together. Yeah, those airport security people will love me. Wheelchair or no wheelchair, if I see one airport security guy pull on a latex glove while looking at me, I’m going to jail for a whole lot of different reasons than setting off some damn alarms.
The therapist spouts off about the healing process emotionally. Seriously, if my dick would stay hard, I would tell the fucker to suck it and shove all these emotions up his ass. However, my dick won’t work right, and since I’m apparently growing a pussy, I will tell him my emotions.
Hatred.
Anger.
Disgust.
There ya go, doc. Choke on those.
Part of me is glad I’m stuck here at this rehabilitation center and not at home. I don’t want my brothers to see me like this. They still come to visit me, but they aren’t here long enough to see me struggle just to go to the bathroom or when I need help to bathe myself. Even if I do get my legs back, I will never want another woman in the shower with me again. Being helpless enough to have broads help wash me has cured me of that particular sexual enjoyment.
What I wouldn’t do for a beer and my recliner right now. Instead, I’m living in this sterile room for the time being without the comforts of home. The one time Ice tried to sneak in a couple of beers, the nurse sniffed that shit out as soon as I popped the tab on the can.
Jesus. I worked with military K-9s who couldn’t sniff out bombs or drugs as fast as that bitch caught my beer. I’m usually not one to believe in any sort of abnormal or paranormal things, but I keep an eye on that particular nurse now. I swear she has super powers or some shit. Yeah, I’m keeping an eye on Nurse Nosey now because I don’t trust that bitch and her super sniffer.
The sound of a knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts. I look over to see the super powers nurse walk into my room. I watch her with narrowed, suspicious eyes as she saunters in, writes something up on the board, and then walks over to make my bed.
The sight of her doing the simple task only irritates me. When I bother to make my bed back home, it took me all of thirty seconds. Now, if I bother to try, it takes ten minutes. I want to put my hands around Nurse Nosey’s neck and wring it.
Not wanting her in my space, I snap, “Leave my bed the fuck alone.”
I may not be happy about being here, and this might just be a pseudo hospital room, but it is my fucking room. I don’t like her coming in and messing with shit that is supposed to be my space.
My gruff command doesn’t faze her. She simply steps away from my bed, gives me the evil eye, and puts her fists on her hips in irritation.
“Somebody’s grouchy again today, Mr. McCoy,” she says in a feigned sweet voice.
“A man might be less grouchy if you didn’t take his beer away.”
“Too bad for you,” she responds.
Walking back over to my board, she points at the schedule the doctor and nurses have written down for me. “Your physical therapist says you can handle a longer workout now, so he’s moving your session to two o’clock. That gives you an extra thirty minutes. Make sure you meet him in the gym on time.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I growl, “Don’t worry about me gettin’ there on time, woman. I’m going to my appointment so that I’m one step closer to walkin’ out of this place as fast as fuckin’ possible.”
Nurse Nosey gives me a genuine smile. “I’m glad to hear that, Mr. McCoy.”
She turns to walk out of the room, but before she clears the door, I make sure I have the last word.
“I’ll be glad to have you choke on your words and my dick.”
~Desirae~
“How ya holdin’ up, Des?” Sass asks gently, bringing me a bottled water to the couch.
“Suffocating.” I sigh. “I know this is to keep me safe, but the walls feel like they’re closing in.”
Tank set me up in one of the Hellions’ duplexes in the back. The duplexes are behind the clubhouse and within the gates of the compound, so I’m as safe as I could ever get. He put me in what Sass calls his ‘Cave of Coming.’ Someone was apparently always coming to this duplex, both to visit and because he used to be a man-whore. Thankfully, I was assured I am sleeping on a new bed.
Learning this about Tank only reminds me that I don’t know much about him before he got shot and ended up in a coma. The man I know now is completely devoted to the redheaded vixen sitting next to me.
I am completely miserable.
“You gotta know, Desirae, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Bikers have a code they live by. You’re family, and we’ll keep you safe. It’s not always easy, but it’s necessary.”
“I know that. Really, I do.” Tears fill my eyes, and Sass reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I wish I knew what kind of trouble Suzie was in. I wish I knew who the people—” I sob, letting the tears fall yet again.
“The boys are gonna find out who did this, Des.”
I know Sass is trying to make me feel better, but it only makes it worse. My mind is running on a constant loop of watching my sister being murdered. I’m starting to wonder if I will ever be able to close my eyes without seeing her bloody and pleading with me to run away. I can’t sleep; I don’t want to eat; and every little noise I hear sends me into a panic, afraid my sister’s killers have somehow found me.
What is worse, I didn’t get a chance to lay my sister to rest. Leaving the task to my parents makes me feel like I have abandoned Suzie. They barely took care of us in life, so why should they be the ones who get to say good-bye to her while I run for my life? It should be me who gets to say that good-bye, not them.
Because of this, I am filled with a renewed bitterness toward my mother and father. I’m not sure I will ever be able to forgive them for finally stepping up to take care of my Suzie when her life was over. I already know I will never be able to forgive myself for realizing too late that she needed my help.
I cover my face with my hands as I wonder for what must be the millionth time, Why didn’t you tell me that you were in trouble, sweet Suzie Sunshine?
The front door opens, and I jerk my head up to see Tank walk in with Roundman, the Hellions club prez.
Sass gets up and greets her man, who then practically consumes her in a sloppy and loud kiss.
I turn my head, feeling like I’m intruding on a private moment between them.
“Cut that shit out, you two,” Roundman barks at them.
They make their way into the living room where Sass sits back down beside me while the men pace around the room.
“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” Roundman starts. “Anthony Ricca, sound familiar? Antoney? Tony? Any of those sound familiar?”
I shake my head, and Roundman rubs his goatee as he thinks. Tank watches me as if I should know this name.
“Your sister”—Roundman looks at me—“you know who she was fuckin’?”
My mouth drops open in shock. Sure, Suzie and I talked. We talked about sex even, but I never thought about who she slept with.
“She started dating a guy. For a while, it seemed pretty serious.” I pause, thinking about what Suzie told me of her man. “She was smitten.”
“You got a name?”
Taking a moment, I think back. “Nino. She called him Nino. She never told me his last name. See, the first few dates, he was a perfect gentleman: said the right stuff, did the right things, total swoon worthy, as Suzie would say. Then he got pushy. That’s all she told me.”
Roundman looks at Tank, and they share some unspoken conversation as I sit back, baffled.
“How long ago was that?” Tank asks, still watching Roundman.
“Three months before she came to see me, give or take a week or two.”
“Nino Ricca is Anthony Ricca, great grandson to Luciano Ricca, head of the Chicago Ricca crime family. This is bad news, Desirae. We’ve gotta make some calls. Last word was Ricca tied himself to a man named Wellington. Nino Ricca might be related to big crime, but from what we understand so far, he wasn’t all that big himself yet. He was still working his way up the chain in the family mob business, and one of his moves to impress his Don was forging a working relationship with the major supplier of designer drugs in the area. That’s where Wellington came in.
“He’s a totally different story, an old-money type of man who never had enough, so he made himself a kingpin on the Chicago streets by dealing in pharmaceuticals. Maybe more. We’re still digging to find more info on both Ricca and Wellington. We’ll sort this out,” Roundman states, stepping out.
Tank shakes his head and remains silent. Sass sits with me as I take pause to reflect on what all of this could mean. Was Suzie tied to something with the Ricca family? How pushy was he?
I look up at the ceiling and begin to count the popcorn puffs to myself as I try to slow my thoughts. We never had secrets growing up. Now I’m worried my little sister may have had a whole life I knew nothing about.
There is a knock on the door, taking me out of my reverie. Tank answers it, and there are two bikers from Catawba I have come to know as Tripp and Shooter. They all greet in the man half-hug, back slap thing they do, and Sass gets up to give each man a hug of her own. I stand and simply brush my hands down my jeans nervously.
Shooter looks at me, holding a black box. “Desirae,” he pauses.
I nod, not understanding the box.
“We … umm, brought your sister to you.”
I stare at the unmarked container, and something inside me snaps. I can’t bring myself to reach out and hold it.
Collapsing to my knees, I sob uncontrollably. My parents didn’t want to pay for Suzie to have a funeral. I had already been informed of my parents plan to cremate her. I wasn’t prepared for the Hellions to step in and bring my sister to me, though.
After mourning her, thinking I wouldn’t be able to truly give her peace and put her to rest, she’s here. In that very box, she’s here … with me.
A dark part of me wishes I were there with her, instead.