Possess: An Alpha Anthology Page 17

  “Everything sorted out?” She asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Just club stuff. Nothing important.”

  She tickled under Silver’s chin. “They think I don’t know about the cigarette smuggling, but I do! Yes, I do!”

  And if she were smart, she’d close her damn mouth. She winked at Thorne. He wasn’t amused, but his patience for Rose extended beyond what any other woman would get. Then again, Rose was as much Anathema as either of her brothers, living or dead. She recognized the routes, the haul, and the damn contacts. He was just lucky she went to class instead of stealing his bike to do the deal herself.

  “Can you watch the baby for me?” I asked. “I gotta take care of something.”

  “Getting patched up?”

  What in the fuck? Rose was involved in the club, but she wasn’t fucking clairvoyant. She pointed to the speckle of blood on the carpet next to the carrier. Half of Silver’s blanket smeared red too.

  Great. The kid slept in my blood. I’d have to get her diapers and therapy now.

  “I’ll be fine.” I lifted my sleeve to make sure nothing else dripped onto Rose’s perfect living room. “Sorry about your finals.”

  “Just music theory.” She pulled Silver from the carrier to cuddle her close. “I’ll sing a couple songs in different keys to her. No worries.”

  Silver babbled to Rose, reaching for her hair again. At least the kid would be kept busy. One less thing to worry about.

  “I’ll be back in a bit,” I said. I hesitated at the door. “Hey…uh…do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just…” I straightened my cut, letting the leather hug my chest. My arm bled, and my tats promised a dozen different ways to kill a man and fuck a woman. I still smiled as Silver squealed. “Make sure she gets a little tummy time?”

  Thorne snorted. It was the first time the words probably tumbled from his mouth. “Tummy…time?”

  I didn’t feel like explaining, and the wound in my shoulder dizzied me. Rose promised to watch over the kid, and I stalked from the house with another set of problems.

  Facing my club president was easier than finding someone I trusted to grab a needle and stitch me up. Without heading across the river to the hospital, my choices were limited.

  I knew who I could go to, but I had no idea if she’d want to see me. If she’d even help now.

  Annie deserved more than my broken and bleeding ass crawling to her doorstep at midnight. She deserved an explanation. An apology. A call after I broke her heart.

  I never knew what to say to the girl I loved since I was an idiot teenager but only took out on a date three times.

  Maybe she wouldn’t slam the door in my face. Maybe she’d hear me out.

  But we had never been that lucky.

  And I doubted begging at her door would make up for the pain I caused.

  Chapter Three

  Annie

  Only an idiot opened their home to someone pounding on their door at midnight.

  And only a bigger fool would open it for him.

  I peeked through the curtains and into the darkness. It was like looking into my past, and that made me sure it was a bad idea to welcome him inside.

  Gold didn’t come to the front door, but nothing he ever did was above the board or conventional.

  Or legal.

  Even when I was younger, I knew better than to get involved with a boy who’d sooner scale a tree and sneak through my bedroom window than be seen by anyone who’d pin him at my house after one of his jobs. Or worse—to be spotted by my father, the man who probably sent him to commit whatever crime earned them their money.

  Once it was cute. Exciting. But we never had the chance for that rush or fun. Our paths crossed only briefly enough to get my heart broken.

  I didn’t need James “Gold” Mered knocking at my door after midnight, even if he was bleeding on my porch.

  Gold swore. So did I. A lifelong crush on him had resulted in nothing but misery. He was the absolute worst man to let in my house. I was smarter than this. I thought I had moved on. Only the devil knew what danger he summoned during the night. The shadow of Anathema’s scarred demon followed in his wake.

  He wore his jacket. He adjusted his cut. He knocked at my door, and I knew if I let him inside, every darkness and complication that was the MC I escaped would follow in his steps.

  I flipped the porch light on.

  Gold stilled, but it didn’t chase the shadow away. It only made more. The light exposed the man, but the leather and blood, cut and patches remained.

  Treasurer.

  1%.

  Anathema.

  All the more reason to leave him on the porch.

  “Annie!” He shouted for me. “Come on.”

  I wasn’t even dressed. Yoga pants and a hoodie were hardly appropriate to invite a man more stranger than friend into my home. Then again, what was appropriate? My chestnut hair in a French twist and lips painted coral pink? Delicate little heels and a cute skirt, ready for a night on the town?

  We tried that once. Anathema had no patience for that fairy tale.

  “Annie!”

  I pounded my forehead against the door. I should have ordered him to leave. Hell, I should have called the cops.

  But I didn’t want Gold pissed at me, and I didn’t need the entirety of the Anathema MC sniffing around my house if Gold collapsed from blood loss on my steps.

  I yanked the door open, but he didn’t get pleasant greeting.

  “Gold.” I wasn’t prepared to face him. “What the hell do you want?”

  Gold dared to smile at me. He knew it’d still work. The military style buzz cut wasn’t as intimidating when he smiled. The hint of his dimples faded from the boy I once knew, hardened into the expression of a man I hardly remembered.

  His eyes flashed blue-grey, more night-time storm cloud than sunny day. They weren’t beautiful, but they were strong. All of him was strong, which meant I couldn’t trust the suppressed rage that bundled his muscles into a tightly woven coil of threat. Gold hadn’t lost his marine edge, even after the road in Tikrit tried to shred it out of him.

  He rubbed his face with one hand. The other he hid. It was covered in blood.

  “Hey.” His voice strained, forcing pleasantry instead of apology into his words. “Can I borrow you for a night?”

  He might have, a year ago. Then, he might have had me for more than a night.

  “Why are you here?” I had to look away from his gaze. “It’s after midnight.”

  “Just need a favor.”

  “You have the wrong girl for favors.”

  “You’re the only one I trust.”

  That I believed, but it was his problem, not mine. I sighed. He smelled of the road, of leather, of sweat. It was the same scent that once drew me to him. It was the reason he bled now.

  “What happened to you? You better clean up that blood.”

  He swore as he stepped out of the puddle. “I need stitches.”

  “Go to the hospital.”

  “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s on the other side of the river.” He had the decency to explain with an apologetic shrug. “Not smart to head into The Coup’s territory.”

  Of all the ridiculous, insane, absolutely frightening reasons for a man to not get treated by a doctor for whatever hunched him over on my porch…and yet, I understood it.

  One minute in his presence, and suddenly I was fifteen again, waiting for my father to return from the run, dodging the advances of the other MC brats. The only guy I liked was shipping out to Iraq. Once he deployed, once I graduated and had no reason to bind myself to the MC, I left for college. I graduated in time to catch the bloody end of a motorcycle club civil war.

  He was right to fear traveling over the river. Enough problems existed between Anathema and The Coup. One wrong turn and he’d need a mortician, not stitches.

  “Fine.” I stepped aside to let him in. “Exam room i
s down the hall, through the kitchen.”

  “Thanks for seeing me after hours, doc.”

  “Don’t get cute.”

  Gold collapsed in the chair in my exam room. Not where my patients usually waited. I flipped on the light and washed my hands, shifting the glass jar of milk bones from the edge of the counter. Gold nodded to the metal table and full-sized scale.

  “Nice digs.” He shifted the picture on the wall—my childhood dogs. “Mitsy…Bitsy…Snapple…”

  He didn’t recognize the last one. I adopted Pendle after Gold shipped out, but he died of cancer when he was just three. One of the reasons I chose my career.

  “Pendleton,” I said.

  “Right.” He slid out of his jacket. Blood leeched through his shirt, soaking him in crimson. It looked horrendous. “This happened a while ago.”

  “What…how did…?”

  He couldn’t lift the shirt without help. I rushed forward, my fingertips trailing over the taut, straining muscles of his chest. He hurt, but he didn’t want to show it. That made him an idiot. Whatever he tried to use to stop the bleeding hadn’t worked, and the slice etched deep into his shoulder. Blood covered his chest, and I had no idea where the cut ended, where the idiocy started, and why I was staring at a shirtless Gold Mered in my clinic at one in the morning.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he said.

  “You should let me be the judge of that.”

  “Okay, Doctor Scott. What’s the prognosis?”

  “I’ll have to fit you for a cone.”

  Gold smirked. “Want me to bark like a dog too?”

  I waved over my office. “Gold, I’m a goddamned vet. I can’t…what do you want me to do for you? You need a people doctor.”

  “You’re all I’ve got.”

  “Well, unless you want a flea treatment or a microchip, I don’t know what I can do. This is a bad cut.”

  “Can you clean it up? Stitch it shut?”

  “Yeah, and give you a huge scar.”

  He held up his arm, the one not currently stained with blood. The burns and injuries from his tour never did heal right. He was lucky he had enough function to ride his bike and do whatever it was he did for the MC.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not in this to look pretty.”

  “Yeah, but…” I edged closer, pressing a damp cloth to the bloody shoulder. The cut wasn’t bleeding as bad, but it looked ugly. I rubbed the area down. “Your ink.”

  The coiled name was written in a delicate script, a simple and beautiful scrollwork.

  Sophie.

  His daughter.

  He tensed.

  “Yeah.” He swallowed. “It’s okay. It’ll fade by the time she’s older. Can’t read it yet anyway.”

  Right. I cleaned the area. It took two wash cloths before I could even approach with it any alcohol or antibiotics.

  It was the wrong kind of small talk, but I had nothing else to say. “How old is she now?”

  He stared ahead, bracing for the sting. “Almost six months.”

  “Good age.”

  “Yeah. She’s…she’s good. What do you think? Can you stitch me up?”

  “I think. I don’t have anything to numb you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Had worse.”

  Undoubtedly. I retrieved my supplies. I shuddered just looking at the needle. I could sedate dogs and cats, but I had nothing for Gold. I wasn’t even sure if he deserved the pain.

  I didn’t.

  We didn’t.

  “Hold on.” I dropped the needle. “I’ll find something.”

  I rushed to the kitchen, fighting the coiling pit of frustration and remorse in my stomach. I grabbed the whiskey, but it was as much for him as it was for me.

  God, the baby was six months old.

  How had so much gone wrong in just a year? I tried so hard not to think about what might have been. I dated. I moved from the Valley just to make my way back. Gold got on with his life, but then again, he had no choice.

  No, he made the choice to end it. A baby needed her father, a family. And as much as I hated his ex for showing up when we finally had a chance to be together, I understood. He was trying to be responsible, and I respected that.

  No sense mourning what never was.

  So why did I redo my ponytail? At least I had been lazy and left my make-up on before bed. What smeared now just looked smoky under my dark eyes. He wasn’t the boy I remembered, and, somewhere under my hoodie, my curves blossomed me into a woman deserving of a man like him.

  I returned, thrusting the whiskey into his hands. “Drink.”

  “Your hands are shaking worse than mine, Annie.”

  “Just drink it.”

  He obeyed, taking a swig big enough for both of us and swearing against the burn. I grabbed the needle and leaned over him. He didn’t even wince.

  “You’re doing good for yourself,” he said. Like he had any idea how good or bad a home veterinary clinic could do. “I’m…glad to see it.”

  I was doing well, but I didn’t want to say it. I did get a lot of work, and I put in long hours, but that was easy. It was all I had. “Thanks.”

  The wound closed, little by little. I tried to be careful, but nothing I did would feel enjoyable.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “Nothing. Just an accident.”

  “Missed yourself shaving?”

  He shifted as the needle bit too deep. His shoulders tensed, and the thick muscles in his arms and sides rolled. What wasn’t covered in ink stretched in hard muscle, tanned and lean. He still took care of himself, but he wasn’t the lanky teenage boy or the scarred veteran I remembered.

  He was healed. Strong.

  Sad.

  Then again, so was I.

  The baby was six months old.

  “When was the last time I saw you?” He clenched a fist.

  I didn’t want to answer that. I tied off the final stitch and pretended I didn’t remember the exact day and hour.

  “It was a while ago.” I cleaned the rest of his skin with a warm cloth. “Couple months.”

  “Had to be more.”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  He stared ahead. “Five months ago. Around May. I saw you at the store.”

  He got me. I nodded. “Yep. Buying dog food.”

  “Yeah.”

  I had the twenty pound bag of kibble. He had diapers. Wipes. Baby shampoo. A frozen pizza. Couldn’t sleep, he had said. The baby woke up every couple hours to be fed.

  It was the first time I had seen him since we broke up, since his ex revealed she was pregnant.

  “Never did get that third date,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I only took you out twice.”

  “You remember that?”

  “I’d never forget any time with you, Annie.”

  Me either. I could still smell the burnt lasagna I made for him. That night—our third date—he told me what happened, and I imagined him in a life with his ex, raising a child with her. There was nothing else to say, no fight to have, no reason to stay. We said goodbye. I broke down after he left, and the lasagna bubbled over and nearly caught fire. I didn’t clean it up. For a week, I chiseled blackened cheese off the oven and wished it was my heart that flaked away. Hated the smell of marinara after that. Still did.

  Gold turned before I could rub the stiches down with alcohol. I stilled under his gaze.

  The chair creaked as he stood, the heavy muscle of his body overpowering the small exam room, encroaching on me. I tried so hard to forget his presence. Now it swept over me, and every last memory of our time together hit me—explosive, quick, fierce.

  “We never had a chance.” His voice rumbled with truth and regret. “I deployed for a couple years, came back and you went to Colorado State for vet school.”

  I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t worth an excuse, it was just life, how things were.
“They had a good program.”

  Gold used to smile more. I remembered it. Not just a little smirk, but a real grin, something fun with dimples and carefree charm. It wasn’t gone, just…hidden.

  “Then I went to County,” he said.

  “Right. Jail.”

  “Bullshit charge.”

  “All you Anathema guys say that.”

  And he’d maintain it till the day he died. “Got out though.”

  “I was glad.”

  “Found you again.”

  Did we really have to talk about this? “The timing was never right.”

  Gold shrugged. The motion probably stung, but he bit back the profanity. “Yeah.”

  “What happened tonight?” I asked. “Who hurt you?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  He reached for his shirt. It sopped with blood. He didn’t put it on. I stared at the raging bands of ink, stripes and tribal markings. For so many years I dreamt of him this way. Strong and fierce and waiting for my touch. I hadn’t imagined the needle and stitches, but it was naïve to think a woman close to an Anathema member wouldn’t dress a few wounds.

  “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just got into a fight.”

  “What’d the other guy look like once you finished?”

  Gold smiled, licking his lip. “You don’t want to know.”

  “That bad?”

  He didn’t answer. Something else bothered him.

  “Gold, you can talk to me.”

  “Not about this.”

  “Is it Anathema?”

  He snorted. “You know enough about Anathema. I’d tell you. I got other issues. Personal shit. Just problems at home.”

  My heart betrayed me with a quick flutter of hope. “Sorry to hear that.”

  He twisted to look at the gash. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Is it…” I had no business prying. He answered anyway.

  “Alexis is sleeping around. Addicted to God knows what. Said some shit. Did worse shit.” He exhaled. “I can’t do anything about it. I won’t hit her, even if she deserves it.”

  I liked that about Gold. He wasn’t abusive. I couldn’t say the same for the rest of Anathema, though most of the officers weren’t as terrifying as the older generation—my father, Bullet Scott, and his counterpart, Blade Darnell, weren’t the greatest of men.