War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

9. The Truth Hurts

CHAPTER 9

THE TRUTH HURTS

Tyler. Tyler. Tyler.

His name leaves Jericho’s mouth and crashes into me with the force of a semitruck.

That makes no sense. It’s suicide.

A myriad of emotions turn over within me.

“He shot you?” Callan’s voice is hauntingly low.

“No—” Jericho barks out a cough, his face contorting in pain. His hands fly to his stomach, flattening against it to hold the stitches in place. He winces, his skin paling.

“Daddy?” Kitty panics, grasping his face in her hands.

“Get him some water,” Callan orders, seizing a remote clipped to the side of the bed and raising the mattress. Kitty holds a cup of water to her dad’s lips as I step toward the bed, a spectator making herself known.

“Do you want me to get the nurse?” I ask.

Wide, stunned eyes clash with mine. Knocking the cup from Kitty’s hand, water splashes against the bed and down Kitty’s legs. Jericho points to me, panic and shock twisting his features.

“Her,” he wheezes. Trying again, he chokes out, “It’s her.” He grips Callan’s arm, attempting to pull him closer to his mouth. “That’s her. She shot me.”

A gasp whips through my lips, my hand going to my chest. “What?” Callan, Kitty, and I ask in unison. Jericho’s brow crashes. His gaze racks over me. I move closer, standing beneath the light directly over his bed.

“She’s different but the same,” he croaks out.

“Harley.” I clutch a fistful of my sweater to stop my nails from creating moon shaped dents in my palms. “He’s talking about Harley.”

Dread spreads through me, its icy fingers engulfing me with fear.

“Who the fuck is Harley?” Jericho scans the room, his gaze bouncing between us all.

“Did you kill her?” I grit out, a haze washing over my vision. The room spins.

“Harley’s her sister,” Callan informs him.

Jericho takes a few deep breathes, a rattle wheezing from his chest with each exhale.

“Then who the hell is she?” The strain to talk is evident on his bright red face. He pauses, maneuvering himself against the mattress into a more upright position.

“Answer the question,” I demand, my tone harsh.

“She’s with Callan, Dad. She’s his ol’ lady.” Kitty turns to me. “Calm down, Rogue.”

How dare she tell me to calm down . Harley’s bruised neck and dead eyes assault me. A fresh wave of anger surges inside me.

“Since when do you have an ol’ lady?” He looks to Callan, a sneer slashed across his lips. “And why the hell is this bitch barking at me?”

“Dad, she’s with me.” Callan’s tone is deep, firm.

My legs tremble. Unable to hold myself up properly, I grip the bed for support, my head hanging between my arms. Why is the floor moving?

Wait—it’s not the floor.

It’s me.

I’m falling toward it.

“Rogue!” Callan’s voice distorts, wrapping around me as darkness creeps in until there’s nothing but black.

* * *

A bright light sears my vision. Cringing, I swat at the hand pushing my eyelids open. “There you are,” a woman’s soft, warm voice declares. I can sense the smile on her face from her tone. Once the spots clear from my eyes, I realize I’m lying on a hospital bed. Callan is by my side, an intense frown line creasing his brow.

“Did I faint?” Embarrassment heats my cheeks.

“You lost consciousness, yes. Can you tell me if you’ve eaten much today?” the nurse with the gentle voice asks. She’s an older woman, her silver hair pulled back into a bun. Laugh-lines crinkle her mouth and she has gray eyes.

“I can’t remember when I ate last,” I mutter, pushing the stark white sheet from my legs.

“This is my fault. I’ve pushed you too much,” Callan rumbles, clenching the metal bar on the side of my bed.

“Her blood sugar probably just dipped. We can run some tests to be sure, but it’s likely nothing to worry about,” the nurse says, trying to comfort him.

“I don’t want tests. I’ll just get a sandwich from the vending machine,” I say, pulling the heart monitor from my finger.

“I wouldn’t recommend the vending machine, but we do have a cafeteria on the third floor.”

“Rogue, let her do the tests,” Callan begs, his jaw clenched. It’s a waste of time. I just need some food.

“No.” Dread gnaws at me. “I need to know the rest of your dad’s version of events.”

“I can ask him,” Callan insists, struggling to pull the sheet back over me.

“No. I need to hear it directly,” I snap, smacking away his hands.

“Rogue.” He sighs in defeat.

“Callan, please.” I attempt to get down from the bed, but slump back as dizziness swarms through me.

Shit .

“You’re exhausted.” Leaning over, he shifts my body until I’m back in the middle of the bed.

“Let’s get you some fluids and food,” the nurse says, slipping the heart monitor back onto my finger. She writes something down on her chart. “I’ll be back soon,” she informs me before leaving the room.

“It looks like I’m resting for a couple minutes.” I exhale, laying my head against the pillow.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Callan says, his face ashen. I want to reach up and touch him, but my limbs feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each.

“That’s becoming my thing.” I snort, breathing in a deep breath. I close my eyes, silence settling over the room. Jericho’s words run marathons in my mind. Tyler was meeting him. Maybe he was setting Jericho up. But to what end?

“Are you going to kill Tyler?” I find myself asking. My skin prickles. The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I don’t know how I feel about Tyler going to ground.

“We’re not talking about that right now.” Callan strokes a hand across my forehead.

“I have to.”

“Rogue, you’ve been through so fucking much lately and wouldn’t see the doctor after what happened with Larkin.”

My eyes spring open. I scan the room, fearful someone will hear him. We’re still alone in a private room, four blue walls and just us two.

“You’re worrying over nothing. I’m just tired and hungry. It’s been a long day.”

“I shouldn’t have made you come here.” He tortures himself, scrubbing his hands down his face before folding his arms.

“Jericho has the answers, Callan. You can’t make me do anything; I chose to come. He knows what happened to her.” I attempt to pull the sheet away again, but he stops me, holding it in place.

“He’s not going anywhere. The answers will still be there once you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Harley doesn’t even own a gun.” I can’t picture it. Harley had a quick temper, but she was harmless. “She would mouth off to a grown man, but to shoot him…”

“We don’t know what we’re capable of until we’re in the moment. You know that better than anyone.” He bares his teeth, his fist clenching at the memories angering him.

“He must have provoked her,” I surmise.

“Maybe.” He nods.

“If he killed her, I’ll kill him, Callan. Blood for blood.” I sound pathetic from my hospital bed, weak and woozy. But I won’t stay this way. I’ll get strong. He will feel my wrath. “It’s the way we live. You know that.”

“Don’t talk that shit out loud. Let’s find out what happened before we start planning my dad’s murder.” Irritation sparks in his eyes, a bolt of lightning bursting through a starless sky.

“Will you kill me?” I mutter, my fingers clutching the material of the sheet.

“What?” he asks, his posture stiffening.

“If I kill him,” I clarify.

“Stop, Rogue. Your mind is going a mile a minute. You’re angry and in shock.”

“Will you kill me? Could you?” I urge, grabbing his forearm as he attempts to move away.

“Fuck.” His brow crashes. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “I’d rather cut my heart from my chest. I could never hurt you. You should know that.” Grasping my chin between his fingers and thumb, he shakes his head. “My heart belongs to you. I want to spend my life loving you. I’m in deep, Rogue. You’re my life. To kill you is to kill me.”

Emotions squeeze my throat. Tears prick my eyes, burning like lava. “I love you too.” The words are so small, measly, nothing compared to the gravity of the feelings inside me. I’d need a hundred pages to write down all the ways I want to love him for the rest of our lives.

“I’m just thinking out loud.” I sniffle. The dam bursts, and water overflows. Emotions flood like a tidal wave, crashing against the walls I’d constructed to keep myself functioning.

“Don’t cry,” he begs. I grab handfuls of his shirt, burrowing my head into his chest and absorbing his scent, his safety. Sobs vibrate through me as I come undone. “Fuck, you’re killing me.” He climbs onto the bed, curling my body into his. “Shhh…It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”

I cry until no more tears are left and I’m just a husk. Exhaustion douses me so rapidly that my eyes close of their own fruition. I don’t dream. There’s just a dark abyss.

Movement drags me from my slumber. Callan’s no longer on the bed with me. He’s sitting in a chair by my bedside, one leg crossed over the other with his ankle resting on his knee and his hands clamped on the armrests.

“Is it okay if we call you Rogue, or do you prefer Princess?” The nurse from before is back, standing with a younger woman with a tray next to her. Callan must have given her my information.

“Rogue is fine.” I push myself into a sitting position.

“I’m Wendy, and this is Laura. We’re going to put you on a saline drip and take some blood. Do you have any allergies we should know about?”

“No.” I look over at Callan. He anxiously bites his bottom lip.

“Okay. Have you been feeling unwell or had any falls or accidents recently that we should be aware of?” Wendy asks, placing a blood pressure strap around my arm. She presses the button on the machine until the cuff squeezes my arm to the point of pain. The air disperses with a hiss, and she unstraps it, jotting the numbers down on her chart.

“No falls.”

“Yes, she has,” Callan pipes in. My lips purse.

“When?” Wendy raises a brow.

“Last week, she took a spill off a motorcycle.” He leans forward, steepling his hands. Larkin.

“Did you see a doctor?” She flits through her notes.

“No, she refused treatment.”

I glare at Callan, narrowing my eyes. “Shut up.”

“It was bad.”

“It was bumps and bruises.” I shake my head, instantly regretting it when the room dips.

“She broke her ribs.” This asshole is about to have a broken rib.

The nurses look between each other, the younger of the two’s mouth dropping open. “We should do a full physical,” Wendy states.

“No.” I slice a hand through the air. “You can take some blood and feed me, but that’s it. I have things to do.”

“Rogue,” Callan warns.

My eyes cut to him. “Don’t fight me on this.” I don’t want doctors touching and scanning me. I want to get my answers and be left alone to plan what will happen next.

Shoving to his feet, Callan marches past the nurses. “I’ll get her food,” he says, not looking at any of us. The door clicks shut on his departure, and the older nurse shuffles up to the bed until she’s near my head.

“Is there anything you need to tell us?” She frowns.

“Like what?”

“If you need help, you can tell us. We’ll make sure he doesn’t come back in here.” Her eyes dip to the bruising on my jaw. For Christ’s sake, of course they think he’s beating me based on my reluctance to get medical help.

“He would never hurt me. I really did take a fall from a bike,” I half-lie.

“I’ve been doing this job a long time,” she informs me.

“I’m safe with him. I promise.” I put as much conviction into my words as I can, needing her to hear me.

She’s silent as she studies me a moment. “Okay.”

“How are your veins?” The younger one intervenes, taking my hand and stroking her finger up my inner forearm.

“My left arm is best for blood,” I inform her, relieved that Wendy dropped the inquisition.

Pulling her tray with her, Laura travels around my bed and wraps a rubber cord around my upper arm. “Make a fist for me please.”

I squeeze my hand into a fist, and she rips a needle and vial open. There’s a sharp prick as she pushes the needle into my vein. Crimson liquid flushes into the vial. Switching out the vial for a new one, she smiles up at me through her lashes. “Just one more.” She switches them out again. “You’re doing great.” If she knew what I’d endured at the hands of Larkin, she’d see this shit is a cakewalk.

“There. All done.” She pushes a cotton ball to my arm and pulls the needle free, applying pressure for a few seconds before sticking a bandage over the small hole. “Now, the IV will go in your hand.”

The older nurse wipes my right hand with an antiseptic wipe before inserting a small tube attached to a needle into the vein in my hand. The prick is annoying but not painful. She sticks tape over it to hold it in place. Her form becomes hazy as the wooziness returns. Dropping my eyes, I inhale a deep breath. Maybe they should have fed me before taking blood.

“Now that we know a bit more about what’s been going on with you, I want to get some antibiotics into you. If you’ll allow it, I’d also like to set you up for a CT scan.”

“No. Honestly, I’m fine. Just the fluids and antibiotics.”

“Okay.” She nods to Laura and attaches the saline bag, hooking it on a stand positioned by the bed.

“Laura’s going to bring you some juice. Would you prefer apple or orange?”

“Orange, please.” They both move toward the door as Kitty comes through it.

“This place is a maze. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She puffs out a breath, sweat beading on her forehead. “Hey.” She waves to the nurses as they pass her.

“You okay with visitors?” Wendy asks me, holding the door open.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Kitty offers Wendy a tight smile, her eyes narrowing as Wendy lurks for a few seconds before leaving.

“What’s up with her?” Kitty snorts, coming over to the bed and flicking the saline bag.

“She thinks I’m a victim of domestic violence.” I scrunch my face up, pointing to the yellow bruising.

“Ew, you’d need to be domesticated for that.” She raises her chin. “Seriously, though, are you okay? I’ve never seen my brother so freaked out. Not even when dad got shot.”

“I just need to eat something. Callan went to find me some food.”

“You have him whipped, girl.” She’s avoiding eye contact and fidgets with the fluff on her jacket.

“Did your dad say anything else?”

She jams her hands into the pockets of her jeans and teeters on the heels of her boots.

“Your sister shot my dad, Rogue,” she states, repeating what he already told us.

“And did he kill her in retaliation?” Fear, anger, and sorrow thump through my chest. I can barely draw a breath.

“No, he blacked the fuck out with three bullets in him!” she squawks.

“What?” I croak, shaking my head.

“He didn’t kill her. She shot him, and he blacked out.”

I swallow past the rock wedged in the back of my throat.

“She was alive when he passed out.” Her features soften. Pulling her hands from her pockets, she takes my right hand and squeezes.

“Then who killed her?”