Poet (18 page)

“Don’t talk the truth? What, baby can’t handle the truth? Grow the fuck up – this isn’t
A Few Good Men
. You should be a man, accept the facts about what your mom was, and get over it. Even now, your fucking dad, the man who supported you and let you advance in the club when other men were more suitable, is in there barely hanging on to life,” she said, her voice raising with every word as she stepped closer.

“He wasn’t supposed to get hurt,” he said softly and she threw her head back and laughed, though there was little humor in it.

“You just told me your dad had a ‘thing’ for me. You knew better than anyone he’d come riding out here – fuck, I knew it, despite the fact I gave him days before I shot him myself and declared war for your fucking pissant
friend
over there jumping me, and you ordering the hit which my Sergeant took.”

Dirk didn’t say anything, merely watched her advance. What could he say that she hadn’t already? One look on his face said he knew what she said was true – he’d known Titan would come out, knew he’d try to protect her, whether she wanted him to or not. He knew there was a chance his father could die, but he didn’t care.

“You just didn’t give a fuck. You think you’re going to be President if Titan dies? Not a chance in hell.”

“You’re not a Bishop – that’s not your call to make,” he answered, but not like he believed it. The chances of the BR council voting him to lead them, when he was the cause of their brother dying, was less than nothing. It was just another thing to add to the list of shit he already knew.

“You’d better pray he lives,” Poet said, now standing directly in front of him. “You better pray he forgives you because I sure as hell won’t.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you think.”

“I know,” she retorted, reaching around and pulling the Pink Lady she’d tucked into her waistband before finding Gray. Without a second thought, she leveled it on Titan’s son and pulled the trigger twice, point blank at his chest, watching the surprise fill his face. As he fell, his own gun fired, but he shot air, gravity taking him down to the dark pavement.

Stalking forward, her movements calculated, she stood above her lover’s son. On his back, bleeding and weak, the anger and confidence in his expression had all but vanished. No longer was he the big bad boogeyman – he was now as good as dead. And, judging by the fear in his eyes, he knew it. Part of her wanted to close her eyes, to relish in the satisfaction she felt having bested him, but she wanted to check on Titan.
Finish it,
she thought.

“This is for Gray. My prospect didn’t see it coming, and neither did your father, but you sure as fuck will,” she added, aiming once more and firing, the bullet flying true through his forehead.

Poet didn’t spare a second thought for him, instead she ran back toward the restaurant, just as the loud roar of motorcycles and sirens pulled her attention back. Looking up into the darkness, she saw six of her men, Shakespeare in the lead. Behind them was an ambulance and two cop cars.

Her VP jumped off his bike and ran toward her. “Poet, shit, where are you hit?”

She shook her head, her body beginning to tremble. “It’s not mine,” she told him in answer, but didn’t elaborate. Turning away, she ran inside, Mrs. Norma hugging her hard as she came in. Poet hugged her back but stepped away quickly, desperate to be beside Titan.

“He’s fading – we need them medics fast.”

“On it,” Shakespeare said, clearly having taken survey of the situation. She watched as he turned and went outside, yelling orders to their brothers and ushering in the men who would hopefully save the Bishop.

Four policemen stepped inside the restaurant, attempting to get her attention, but Poet ignored them. Luckily, Mrs. Norma stepped in, playing the scared old lady card and giving them a recount of what happened. Frankly, Poet didn’t care. She was too concerned with the man lying beside her, the one struggling to breathe, whose hand was too weak to squeeze hers.

As the paramedics came inside, demanding they move aside, Eugene had to pull her away from Titan. After a few long moments she stopped fighting his hands and her body sagged against him, her tears wetting his shoulder. The man she’d known her whole life, the reformed biker, held her, and said nothing as she cried.

Chapter Sixteen
 

Poet paced the hallway of Greenspan County Hospital, still wearing only her cut and Titan’s blood. She hadn’t cared enough to change or ask for something else. Shakespeare had to drive her, her nerves too cranked up to allow her to ride to the hospital and, since she wasn’t his next of kin, had been denied entrance into the ambulance.

St. Agnes Memorial was too far away – especially when the paramedics talked about having to cut another hole in the Bishop’s chest to allow for an airway to be made. So she rode bitch with her VP, her hands holding him a little too hard, her tears mixing with the wind whipping her face.

Frankly she didn’t give a fuck about anything else, only that Titan would live. She didn’t care that the police were outside the waiting room, demanding they talk to her. Nothing else mattered, only the man in surgery who’d lost so much blood they could have painted the walls and still had some left over in Mrs. Norma’s restaurant.

She hated he’d jumped in front of her, that he’d taken the slug meant for her. Poet had already told him not to interfere, to not get in the line of fire, to let her take care of everything. Why hadn’t the man listened? Sure, if he hadn’t, she’d more than likely have been lying dead on the pavement, but it would have been what it was. There was no shame or blame in dying, something she’d come to know long ago, but there was serious guilt when someone you cared about died in your place.

“Poet,” Shakespeare’s soft voice called and her head shot up, face hopeful, but he shook his head. “I don’t know anything yet. But the cops aren’t backing down – Treason is two seconds away from getting his ass carted in. Up to talkin’ for a minute?”

Nodding, she made her way to one of the chairs, her eyes following her VP as he opened the doors and ushered the officers in. Treason, his face red with anger, and Vinci followed them, along with one of the Bishops, Train. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been with Dirk, ushering him out of the club office. Anger poured through her again at the sight of him and Shakespeare placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He didn’t know either – otherwise he wouldn’t be breathing,” he whispered so softly only she could hear. Train met her gaze sadly and shook his head, to which she nodded and blew out a breath.

“Poet Butler?” the heavier-set cop asked, standing with his hands on his hips in front of her, his fingers nervously fiddling with the leather on his cuff pouch.

“That’s me.”

“We need to ask you a few questions. Why don’t we head on down to the station and get this all cleared up?”

“I’m not leaving this room,” she told him, meeting his eyes and giving him a hard look. As far as she was concerned, they’d have to shoot her and drag her ass out. There was nothing that would get her out of that waiting room until she knew Titan would live.

“But –” the heavy cop, Fields according to his name tag, protested, as the other held up a hand.

“It’s okay, Fields, we’ll talk here. What happened, Ms. Butler?” asked Myers, the complete opposite of his partner as he knelt in front of her. “Mr. Carter here already told us you were jumped a few days ago?”

Poet looked from the cops to Shakespeare and back. “Yes, at the clubhouse.”

“And then someone shot your friend, nicknamed Fallen?”

She was grateful her men hadn’t told them it was a hit; the men would have been smart enough to put two and two together, equaling their retaliation on the Diablos Hermanos.

“That’s right. And then I got a text message from a number I didn’t know, saying they were going to kill me. After that, I went home and took … I took,” she choked, struggling to talk about Gray. In her concern over Titan, she’d momentarily allowed herself to forget about her prospect, which felt disrespectful and wrong at the same time.

“Mr. Gray Edwards. Yes, unfortunately the paramedics arrived at the scene too late to save him … I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I didn’t even hear it happen. I was upstairs talking to Tit – I mean, Mr. Warren. When I came down he was already gone. I’d gotten another text and I had to get out; the text said they could see me and I was already dead. I was scared, so I took my dad’s bike and went to the restaurant. Mrs. Norma and Eugene are like family … I didn’t know where else to go.”

Myers put his hand on her knee, looking up at her encouragingly. “Go on.”

Poet shifted uncomfortably until he stopped touching her, and continued. “When I got there, Marcus, Mr. Warren, showed up pretty quick after. Then the lights went out and shots rang out, taking out the glass of the door and some of the windows. It all happened so fast…

“Roman, Braeden, I’m not sure what his real name is, was my boyfriend when I was just a kid. He was bad, and changed so I wouldn’t know who he was. Anyway, we’d had, I guess, a relationship, but he decided he wanted me dead instead for ‘ruining his life,’” she told them, glazing over the real details of their conversations. She didn’t want any heat being put on either club, though she knew they’d all be under some scrutiny for a while, until everything died down. “He tried to shoot me – I knew I wasn’t going to be fast enough to do anything, and Titan, Marcus, Mr. Warren, pushed me out of the way, taking the slug in the side.”

“And Mr. Warren’s son?”

“He had arranged the whole thing – he was mad his dad and I were dating.” It was the simplest explanation she could offer, one that would actually make sense to the men staring at her. “He tried to shoot me, but I got lucky and got him before he could.”

“That explains the chest shots, Ms. Butler, but not the hole in his head,” Officer Fields spoke up again, his tone accusatory and angry. He obviously didn’t like her, not that she cared. Poet shrugged.

“I was afraid he was going to jump up again … you know, like they do in the movies? The monsters always get up.”

Tears filled her eyes as she remembered running back inside, dropping herself beside Titan again. She let the waterworks flow, her shoulders hunching as she cried. Poet allowed herself to be weak, to end the conversation, to let the pain and guilt and fear she’d been bottling up flow out of her. Idly she heard Shakespeare ushering the men away from her, giving them a card and telling them to call if they needed anything more from her.

Poet remained where she was, losing track of the time and her surroundings. Her men came and went, offering her support, but she heard none of it. She shook their hands and hugged them, but their words fell on deaf ears. Her attention stayed on the double doors at the end of the hall, waiting on a doctor or a nurse to tell her whether Titan was alive or dead.

Memories filled her, snippets of a younger her waiting in a similar chair, in a similar hospital, for news of her dad. The difference between the way she’d felt then and now, was she’d still been somewhat disillusioned of the world back then. She hadn’t believed anything bad could happen to Fury – she thought he’d be fine once they got the bullets out of him. Her dad was a force to be reckoned with; nothing could have taken him away. Now, though, she knew the truth. The ones she cared about could be ripped away faster than she could blink; it was part of the reason she kept herself so closed off. Better to not deal with any of it.

After what could have been days or years, a doctor emerged from the doors, his green scrubs smeared with blood. His eyes were careful, giving nothing away, as he approached her. She momentarily worried she’d have to demand information since she wasn’t his wife or blood relation, but he started talking before she could.

“Are you Madeline ‘Poet’ Butler?” he asked, his voice matching his expression, and she nodded, unable to speak.

The doctor sighed. “The moment Mr. Warren woke up from anesthesia, he ordered me to tell you he was still breathing.”

A surprised laugh escaped her and she jumped up, hugging the doctor. She could have kissed the man, she was so happy. When she released him, he looked startled and stepped back.

“So he’s okay?”

“Well, ‘okay’ is not the word I would use, but he’ll live,” the doctor said, waving her back to one of the ugly waiting room chairs. “The bullet went through one of his ribs, and both pierced his lungs, causing him to lose a lot of blood. We lost him for a minute on the table, but brought him back. The shrapnel was in a tough spot and took us a while to retrieve it. But he’s awake, knows where he is, and certainly knows who you are.”

The doctor shook his head, a smirk on his face. “Yes, he definitely knows who you are. Tough bastard, you got in there – would’ve ripped his lines and trudged his way out here to tell you he was alive himself if I hadn’t agreed to talk to you.”

“Thank you, Doc. When can I go see him?”

“He’ll be under observation for the rest of the night – I’d like to give him a couple days before he has visitors, but I doubt he’ll agree to that. Maybe let him sleep tonight and come back tomorrow?”

Poet would’ve agreed to any suggestion at that point, genuinely grateful. When she said as much to the doctor, he eyed her cautiously. “Perhaps you should go home, Poet. Get a shower and some sleep?”

Glancing down at herself, she understood. Titan’s blood covered her, from her hands and arms to her chest. She looked like she was wearing a zombie Halloween costume, day two. But she didn’t want to leave.

“Um, I’ll have one of my brothers bring me a change of clothes … Is there a shower around here I could use?”

The doctor looked around for a moment and sighed. “All you are the same – never doing what the doctor ordered. I’ll let the nurses know you’ll want a shower; they’ll show you to the locker room when you’re ready, okay?”

After she nodded, he turned and went back through the doors, probably to heed his own advice of a shower and sleep. Poet lowered herself back into her chair and picked up the phone beside her – Shakespeare had clearly left it with her before he went back to the club. Not that she was alone, two of her boys were posted outside the exit door, keeping watch. Normally she would’ve protested, but she was still shaky and didn’t mind the added security. Just as she was about to dial the number for the club, to ask someone to bring up a change of clothes, the entrance doors slid open and a young girl stepped inside.

“Are you Poet?” she asked, her voice melodic and sweet, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.

“I am,” Poet answered, steeling herself against this unknown person. It was strange that neither Cyrus nor Cain had followed her in, especially without knowing who she was.

“I’m Ili, Marcus, err Titan’s sister.”

Poet looked at the younger girl long and hard, seeing the similarities now that she knew who she was. Her hair was the same chestnut and they had the same jawline; it was the eyes that sealed the truth in her words. They were the same shade of honey – she’d know the color anywhere.

“Hi. You just missed the doctor. Your brother’s a tough bastard – he’s gonna be okay.”

Cecili bent down and hugged her, startling Poet as she had the doctor. But she didn’t pull away; instead she pet the girl’s head, offering what little comfort she could, understanding the need to feel someone. When the she finally pulled away the girl wiped her eyes and held up a bag.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to break down for a minute there. I was just so worried. I brought you a change of clothes…” she added and Poet arched an eyebrow. “Train told me what happened, and that you’d … you were covered … you needed some. He said we were about the same size.”

“Oh thank you,” Poet said, accepting the bag. “I need to shower. I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll be staying here for the night if you want to join me … or talk.”