War (Kings of Sin MC #2)

10. Puzzle pieces

CHAPTER 10

PUZZLE PIECES

“He doesn’t know.”

Kitty moves away, and I feel the distance more than I should. Deep sorrow wraps around me, isolating me once more.

“Why was she even there with them?” I hear the bewilderment in my own voice—too many questions. Nothing is adding up. My skin crawls. I feel like there’s a puzzle before me, but pieces are missing, and I’ll never find them to complete the image.

“Again, this is something you should maybe be asking that Tyler prick.”

A cold chill trickles down my spine. Tyler. Why wouldn’t he mention she was with him that night? “He wouldn’t have hurt her.” I went to him, and he acted normal, like himself. He loved her. There’s no way he knew she was dead. I don’t believe that. I can’t.

“Listen, it’s not me who needs convincing, it’s you. Things don’t add up, but our dad doesn’t have the answers,” Kitty says, reading my inner turmoil.

My gaze darts to the door when it clicks open. Callan walks back in, his arms full of snacks. “What did I miss?” He darts his eyes between the two of us. My stomach twists with nervous energy. My heart is beating too fast. “Here,” he says, opening a sandwich packet and handing it to me.

I don’t want to eat.

“They had these pre-packaged, but the woman behind the counter said they’re made fresh every day,” Callan says, pulling me out of my internal meltdown.

I bite my inner cheek at how adorable he is. I can imagine the flush on the woman’s cheeks as he spoke to her. It’s not every day a six-foot badass comes looking for snacks for his hopeless woman.

“Thank you.” I take it from him, pulling half of the sandwich out and biting into it.

“So domesticated.” Kitty snorts.

Flipping her the bird, Callan asks, “So, what were you talking about?”

“Rogue’s sister shot dad, and he blacked out. He doesn’t know what happened to her,” Kitty says so casually, you’d think we’re discussing the kind of chips I want with my sandwich, not attempted murder. “And he wants to see you,” she adds, dipping her head when he arches a brow in her direction.

“I’ll go there now if you stay with Rogue.”

“No.” I almost choke on the bite of the sandwich in my mouth. My gums dry the bread sticking to them, almost making a paste. “I want to come,” I manage to say.

“You need to rest. You can barely stand,” Callan says flatly.

“Oh, I saw a wheelchair.” Kitty holds up a finger and heads toward the door.

“No way,” I bark out, but she’s already gone.

Callan cracks a can of soda open and places it in my hand, nudging his head for me to drink.

I tip the can to my lips, groaning as the cold liquid fills my mouth and travels down my throat to help push the bread down. “Thank you,” I say, breathless. I hand it back to him, swiping my arm across my lips. “I needed that.”

Tension thickens the air between us, coiling like a rope around our necks. I hate it. A hollowness expands inside me, dark shadows haunting my waking hours. The mystery of Harley’s death continues to eat me from inside.

I need something tangible to cling to, to keep me from losing myself to it. I need Callan’s warmth, love, and sanity.

“Callan…” Every part of me tingles when his eyes turn to mine. He’s so beautiful, I nearly swell to bursting with love every time I look at him. “It sucks not knowing what happened to Harley, but I’m glad your dad isn’t the one who killed her.”

He drops his head, his eyes closing. I hold my breath, scared of what he may say.

I’ve been selfish, only thinking about myself and my agenda. This man’s dad nearly died, and I made it about me getting my answers regardless of the fallout. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so consumed with grief that I haven’t offered you any support. Your dad is alive. I’m thankful you get that.” I push all the warmth I can muster into my words.

His lips part, but nothing comes out. Kitty waltzes back into the room, stealing his attention. She pushes a wheelchair in the room and beams, raising her hands like a magician. “Voilà!”

I swallow past the lump growing in my throat, shaking my head. “Not a chance, Kit.”

“Don’t be a snob,” she grunts.

“Where did you get it?” Callan widens his stance, folding his bulging arms across his chest.

“We’re in a hospital. It wasn’t hard.” She narrows a smile at him, sitting her ass in the chair.

“You stole it from a patient, didn’t you?” Callan sighs, rubbing his temples.

“They don’t need it if they’re asleep,” she defends.

“Oh my god, Kit.” I groan into my hands, covering my face.

“You want to get out of here or what?”

“Yes,” I say, dropping my hands, as Callan says, “No.”

“You haven’t even finished the sandwich,” he protests.

“I’ll finish it. I’m starving.” Kitty leans forward, looking over the assortment of snacks.

“Why the fuck are you so upbeat? We’re in a goddamn hospital,” he snaps at her, and I flinch.

“Fuck you, asshole. Our dad’s awake. Rogue is here with us. Life is good. We need to celebrate the small wins.”

She does seem more upbeat than the circumstances warrant. I wonder if Tim or Cutter have anything to do with that. I make a mental note to ask her when Callan isn’t around to hear us.

“Kit, grab my IV pole. It’s on wheels,” I say, trying to shift the focus. As soon as I make a move to get up, Callan is around the bed and at my side.

“You’re stubborn as hell, you know that, right?” he asks, his tone dry.

“It’s part of my charm.” A sliver of a smile cracks his stoic face, offering me a glimmer of hope. Maybe all this chaos won’t ruin us.

Callan scoops me up in a bridal hold, and I let out a little screech, clinging to him. Kitty ducks beneath my IV wire and trails behind us with the stand. Callan places me into the wheelchair. “I just want to put it on the record—I hate this. I think I can walk now,” I pipe up. When Callan doesn’t say anything, I sigh and lean back into the chair. “Fine.”

“Good girl.”

Heat blossoms up my neck and over my cheeks, despite my urge to return with a snippy retort.

“Kit, get the door.”

She nudges my IV pole closer, and I take control of it while she holds the door for Callan. He wheels me out, almost colliding with nurse Laura. “Oh, I have your orange juice!” she exclaims. “Where are you going?”

“Visiting another patient. I’ll bring her back,” Callan informs her.

Wide eyes travel over Callan’s face and down the length of his chest to his calloused fingers on the handles of my chair. Shifting from one foot to the next, she nods, a hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. I know exactly what she’s feeling. Just looking at him makes me weak too. “Okay, I can leave this in your room for when you get back,” she says, holding up the carton.

“Thank you.” I nod. I don’t tell her that I won’t be coming back.

Callan continues down the hall toward a double door with Exit blazoned in red above it. “I hate hospitals. They remind me of sickness.” Kitty shudders as we pass through the automatic doors.

“Did you really just say that?” Callan groans.

“What?” She scoffs. “They do.”

“Maybe because they’re full of sick people, genius. How the hell do you function through life?”

“How do you with that giant chip on your shoulder?” she fires back, gaining stares from a passing nurse and a man cradling his arm.

“So, does anyone else know your dad is alive, or just you two?” I ask, interrupting their bickering. Harley and I never really argued or got snippy with each other. I wonder if it’s a brother-sister thing.

“Grease knows. We couldn’t risk telling anyone else,” Kitty answers.

“You don’t trust anyone else?” I look back at Callan.

“That’s not it. We had to take those precautions because we thought it was a deliberate attack. An assassination. The best thing we could do was keep quiet until we had answers.”

“Loose lips sink ships.” Kitty winks down at me.

“You can never know what people overhear, especially with club sluts coming and going. If no one knows, they can’t let it slip or discuss it.”

“Won’t they be pissed you’ve been lying?” I rub around the sticky tape keeping my IV in place, trying to alleviate the itch building there.

“No, they’ll have their pres back and understand why we did what we did,” Callan says.

We slow at an elevator. Kitty presses the button, and the doors open straight away. Wheeling me inside and hitting the button on the panel, we begin descending.

“I feel I should warn you now, Rogue. Dad’s not happy about you being here.” Kitty shoves her hands into her back pockets.

My stomach bottoms out. I didn’t expect a parade, but I hope he gives me a chance. The situation is unusual. We’re navigating it as we go.

“What did he say?” Callan intervenes, the leather handles creaking under his tightened grip.

“Not much, just that you shouldn’t have brought an outsider here.”

My chest deflates. An outsider. Is that how they all see me?

“She’s not a fucking outsider. She’s one of us—a King.”

Kitty shakes her head, holding her hands up in surrender. “His words, not mine. You both know how I feel.”

“And what did you tell him?” Callan asks.

“That she’s one of us. Saved Cutter’s life for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s fine. He just woke up. He needs time to adjust and get to know me,” I interject.

The elevator jolts to a stop, and the doors open with a ping.

“It doesn’t help that your sister shot him.” Kitty winces as we exit the elevator.

“Well, she’s dead, so he’ll have to get over it,” I snap. My throat closes. My jaw tenses, sending shooting pains up my cheeks.

“Let’s not discuss our business out in the open,” Callan warns. We all fall silent until we reach their dad’s room.

“I want to get up,” I say as we stop outside the door.

“Is that wise?” Kitty asks.

“I’m not injured, and I want to be on my feet when he sees me.”

“He’s in a hospital bed unable to piss by himself, you think he gives a shit if you’re in a wheelchair?” Callan states. I bristle at his tone and stand, grabbing my IV. Continuing to ignore him, I push into the room, dragging it along with me.

“You look super strong carting an IV along with you,” Kitty mocks from behind me. I know how ridiculous I must sound, but Jericho is a man of influence. He’s beaten down right now, but soon, he’ll be out of here and back at the compound. I don’t want him seeing me as some poor damsel. I’ve been through too much to allow myself to feel powerless. With my shoulders back and my spine straight, I approach his bed, all my bravado dissipating the moment he opens his mouth.

“What the hell is the bitch doing back in here?” Jericho sneers. Callan tenses beside me, and I halt my advance, resting a hip against the edge of the bed. The fluids and food are already making me feel much better.

“I want to hear what happened from your mouth, not Kitty’s.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” He moves to shift in the bed, and Callan stops him with a hand on his shoulder. The fluorescent lights cast a tinged glow over his skin, highlighting the heavy bags under his eyes.

“Dad, she’s my ol’ lady,” Callan states, matter-of-fact, folding his arms. “And I need to hear it too.” There’s a similarity between these two that’s undeniable, but Jericho’s brown eyes aren’t alive like Callan’s. There’s just darkness.

“I told you, the Devil’s pres asked to meet. I had some time, so I called him.”

“So, the meeting time and place was spontaneous?” Callan asks.

“Yes. I don’t trust those fucks. The little prick had been trying to get in with us like his old man did years ago.”

“Were you actually interested in working with him?” I ask, confused as to why he would even entertain the idea.

“I weigh up everything. And the reward should always offset the cost when it comes to business. I don’t trust that slippery bastard as far as I can throw him, so no”—he jerks his chin toward me—“I wasn’t contemplating it.”

“The only place he’s getting thrown is off a damn cliff,” Callan growls. A wave of unease courses through me. So much has happened between Tyler and me, but there’s also a long and complicated history. I don’t think I could stomach watching him die.

“So, why meet?” Kitty asks, even though she’s heard the story already.

“He kept going on about a shipment worth half a million coming into one of our docks by mistake. I was curious.”

“It arrived last week,” Callan informs him. “Contraband. Not even two hundred grand worth.”

“Like I said, I don’t trust the slippery snake.” Jericho’s lips turn snow white as he presses them together. “I didn’t believe his story of a fuck up with the docks either.”

“Who was with him when he came to meet you?” Callan asks, stealing the question straight from the tip of my tongue.

Kitty drags a chair from the corner of the room, scraping the legs against the hard floor. A shriek of metal on tile blares through the room, and I cringe. All eyes shoot to her.

“Sorry.” She winces, showing her teeth, before sitting her ass in it. “Carry on.” She waves her hand in the air.

“I thought he came alone.” Jericho flits his gaze to mine, his eyes narrowing. “Out of nowhere, this kid jumps out the back of his truck and begins screaming at me like a banshee on crack.” My fists clench, pulling on the IV. “I was caught off guard. The bitch was wild, came straight for me and started attacking.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?” I take a step closer. Even in a hospital bed, riddled with holes, weak and fragile, he dwarfs the room. He could have easily overpowered her.

His juts his jaw out, irritated I’m talking.

“At first, it was amusing, then she pulled Tyler’s gun from his hip and fucking shot me.”

“Tyler didn’t try to stop her?” Callan asks.

“It happened fast. I think he was as shocked as I was.”

“This doesn’t make sense.” I shake my head, trying to work through my muddled thoughts. Harley would never be taken on a run or to a meet. “Shocked that she shot you or that she was there?” I ask, my brow crashing.

“I’m done answering your questions, bitch. Get the fuck out of my room while I still allow you too.”

“Dad,” Callan warns, a deep reverberation rattling his chest. “Rogue is my ol’ lady.”

“No, she’s a fucking Devil cunt,” he grits out, straining against the words as the vein in his neck bulges.

Callan breathes deep, slamming his hand on the cabinet by his dad’s bed. “Don’t fucking call her that again. She’s one of us.”

“I decide who’s one of us. A bitch who turns her back on her club can’t be trusted.”

I blanch, my mouth gaping. “My club let me down—not the other way around. You know nothing about me,” I bite out.

“I know you were Tyler’s ol’ lady.”

I jerk my head toward Kitty, who pales.

“He would have found out anyway,” she defends. It was bad enough we told him I was the sister of the girl who shot him and a Devil. I could have done without him knowing about Tyler.

“And your sister shot me. Is it a coincidence you’ve snaked your way into my club—into my son’s bed?” The vein in his forehead throbs, beating in time with the pulse in his temple.

“You’re out of line. She helped our club,” Callan seethes, pacing the side of the bed.

“How—by sewing up Cutter?” Jericho scoffs. “She needed to play the role.”

“And giving me an alibi for a murder charge?” Callan barks back. “Did she have to do that?”

“She took a beating from a cop too,” Kitty pipes in. I hate that my character is under scrutiny, but he’s right. It does look suspicious.

“I won’t lie and say going to your club wasn’t to get answers to questions I had about my sister. But my friendships and feelings toward Callan are real. My loyalty is to the Kings, and I’ve proven that.”

“You can bat those lashes and shake that ass all you want to get my brothers cheering for more, but I’m not buying it.” He waves a hand at me.

Callan freezes, gravity rooting him to the spot. He glares at his father and knots coil my gut.

“You’re right,” I interject. “Hopefully, in time, you’ll see for yourself who I am.”

“I know who you are,” he sneers, his voice ice-cold. “Your loyalty badge is permanently written in your flesh. Now, crawl back to your Devil pit and pray I show mercy on you when I come for your boyfriend’s head.”

“Dad,” Callan and Kitty bark in unison.

“Enough,” Callan finishes, his tone laced with threat.

My hackles rise. I want to smack that conceited glower right off Jericho’s face. Leaning into his space, I smile. Men like him hate it when they can’t figure a woman out. “The last man who came for me no longer has a pulse. Do your worst, but don’t expect a quick kill.”

“Are you threatening me?” He rages, surging forward. “Ahh, fuck!” he shouts, folding over himself, clutching his abdomen and chest.

“Daddy!” Kitty cries out.

“Just calm the fuck down,” Callan roars, pushing him back on the bed.

Ripping the IV needle from my hand, I head for the door, calling over my shoulder before I slam it shut, “It’s not a threat. It’s a warning.”