CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stella stormed down the corridor, her face hot and her thoughts treading molasses. It felt like a monsoon careened through her thoughts. Hot, muggy anger swamped her synapses and tinged every thought with a sickening mixture of frustration and, oddly, sadness.
A sudden movement in the corner of her eye caught Stella's attention. She stopped suddenly, hand flying to her hip holster. When her mind registered the young man – he looked to be barely out of high school – her tension eased.
Her mind fingered through the memorized files of the Seven Tribesmen. Thomas Shupe, nicknamed Newb until his official patch-in. Who knew what banal moniker he'd end up with? Young, at twenty, but joined the Seven Tribesmen out of high school. He was more of an errand boy than a member, but his father was a founder of the 7T. Juvie records weren't up for snooping, but he had one, as indicative by his late graduation.
Thomas weakly grinned and waved at her, indicating her to enter his glass box of a room.
Stella's feet hesitated. In the corner of the room, she caught sight of a kutte laid across a chair. The insignia of the Seven Tribesmen leered back at her, the tattooed skull grinning at her. Her stomach lurched. In the back of her mind, paranoia whispered about convoluted conspiracy and award-worthy acting skills.
In spite of her uncertainty, Stella edged toward the room. He seemed harmless enough and probably unable to act to save his ass. The automatic door slid open upon her arrival and a puff of sterile air, bandages, and stale blood hit Stella in her face. She choked down her uneasy nausea and stepped into the room.
The young man smiled at her, paler than Bishop. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and bandages peeked out from beneath his patient gown. Bruises lined his jaw and his arms. An IV fed medication or pain killers into his elbow. Around him, an army of machines beeped and quietly recorded his biometrics.
A stab of guilt slammed into her chest as realization cleaved through her mind. This was the Seven Tribesmen boy who climbed into the van. The one who had taken a bullet. Throwing a sidelong glance at the files hanging from the foot of his bed, it seemed that the young man suffered more than a bullet.
“Thank you,” the woman murmured, her throat thick. She realized nothing she said could express her immense gratitude, but she had to try. “For your help the other night.”
“No problem, miss. Just a couple broken ribs and a couple bullets.” The young man shrugged and smiled, but failed at hiding his wince of pain. Another stab of guilt slammed through Stella. Giving a one-shouldered shrug, the young man kept up his bravado, “I'm young; I'll heal up fine.”
Stella shook her head, a light chuckle on her lips. At least someone in the 7T had a sunny disposition. “People have died over less, kid.”
“Yeah, well, I took a pledge to the club.” Thomas's smile broadened. His eyes drifted to his hands, his gaze tracing all the wires and tubes hooked up to him. His voice took on a faraway tone. Stella suddenly felt out of her depth as Thomas continued, “We take care of each other, and the boss likes you a lot.”
Suddenly, cold shock slid up Stella's body. It stopped near her throat, making the woman feel as if she were suffocating. Her eyes wide, she was barely able to breathe out, “What?”
“Didn't you notice him the other night? Charging into the crowd like he had nothing to lose,” Thomas cocked his head to the side, his smile broadening. He shook his head, a lick of awe filtering into his voice, “Never seen him so impulsive, especially with the Seven Tribesmen around.”
“So, you don't think Bishop could have set that up?” Stella's mind struggled to cling to some understandable knowledge. Neither her head or her heart could cope with the possibility that Bishop felt more than fleeting desire for her. Her chest strained to contain the heat inside her.
“What would give you that idea?” Thomas jerked back, eyes wide, as if Stella had struck him. Stella could almost see his world shattering before he straightened out his belief. His eyebrows dipped down into a 'v' as he shook his head, “The boss wouldn't knowingly put any of us in danger and, well, I ended up here.”
Stella licked her lips. Her paranoia fought against the information. Thomas Shupe was a newbie; he hadn't been around long enough to gauge anything. “You're new, though, right?”
“Yeah, but I'm one-hundred percent certain, ma'am.” The young man caught her gaze, holding it in his unwavering leer. Sticking his chin out, Thomas Shupe became the epitome of certainty. His shoulders set, his jaw worked, and his eyebrows furrowed. The sheer determination to make his worldview a reality, if it wasn't already, bowled off him in strong waves.
“Well, thank you for this conversation.” Stella bowed her head, her heart calming at Newb's sureness. However, she didn't want her relief to be blatantly advertised. Her feet already headed for the door as she spoke over her shoulder to Thomas, “I should let you get some rest, Mr. Shupe.”
“Thank you, Agent Holmes,” the young man murmured. His tone was suddenly soft and exhausted. Stella paused in the doorway, glancing at the young man. Thomas Shupe pressed his head back against the pillow, his chest rising and falling with effort. Sympathy and regret wavered through Stella as she wordlessly watched him.
“Excuse me, miss–” The sentence stopped suddenly from the corridor. Stella snapped her gaze to the two men who shifted from foot to foot. Both wore the kuttes of the Seven Tribesmen. One held a box of chocolates in his palms. Two names lit up in Stella's mind: Patrick McFarley and Ross Franklin, two intermediate members of the 7T.
Both of their expressions darkened and became stiff. In unison, they muttered, “Agent Holmes.”
“Mr. McFarley. Mr. Franklin.” Stella swallowed and returned the nod. Quietly, she stepped out of their way. Tension laid heavily between the three people as the two men sidled inside the room. As soon as they entered, their expressions lightened. They grinned at the sleeping Thomas, setting down the gift chocolates. The other gingerly tugged the blanket over Thomas's torso, smoothing down the blanket. Together, the men sat down near Thomas, like a couple of dogs next to a sickly child.
Stella hurried off down the corridor. Her thoughts swung around what Thomas had said, Bishop's feelings, and the scenes she had witnesses today. Despite her paranoia and her sense of propriety, the woman began to wonder if the Seven Tribesmen truly were greedy or out to protect what they considered important to them.