Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 115186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 576(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
They. So, he hadn’t been splattered like a bug on the front grill of an eighteen-wheeler.
“How’d I get here?” he croaked.
“Wick.”
“Where’s he at?”
“Not sure. We’ve all been takin’ turns sittin’ with you.”
“To keep me company?”
“To make sure the motherfuckers who fucked you up don’t come back to finish the job.”
Romeo let that sink into his shaken and bruised gray matter.
They. Motherfuckers. Wick. Bits and pieces of the attack were slowly coming back to him.
Bishop picked up his phone again. “Gonna let Magnum know you’re awake.”
“Fuck that. Wanna talk to Wick first. He tell Magnum what happened?”
“What d’you think?”
His mouth and throat were so damn dry, he needed water. Though, whiskey might be a better choice.
Lifting his unbroken, but severely bruised, arm—the one with the needles stuck in both the back of his hand and forearm—he reached for the cup sitting on a rolling table next to the bed. Unfortunately, it was empty. “Water.”
Bishop popped up and grabbed the pitcher, filled the plastic cup, and held it out. “Want me to help?”
Romeo swiped at the cup and missed. He tried and missed again.
Bishop held the straw to his lips. “Might take a while to get back your coordination. Remember that old commercial where they cracked an egg into a fryin’ pan and said, ‘this is your brain on drugs?’ Your brain’s sorta like that right now but instead of one egg, they broke a whole dozen.”
What the fuck was he talking about?
Whatever it was wasn’t important. But what was… “My cut?”
“At your place.”
“It okay?”
“That’s fucked up, brother. You’re more worried about your damn cut than yourself?” Bishop shook his head. “It’s safe and sound. Wick thought ahead and left that and the piece you were packin’ at your place before the ambulance hauled your ass away.”
He’d sigh with relief but figured doing so would hurt like fuck since his ribs were tightly bound for a good reason.
But… his piece? Why didn’t he pull it if his life was in danger?
“I give any of ‘em an extra hole or two?”
“Don’t think so. Seems like the only blood that needed to be washed off the pavement was yours.”
Great.
“Think it was the Fury?”
Bishop’s forehead wrinkled. “Why the fuck would it be the Fury?”
Shit. “It wouldn’t. You’re right about my mind bein’ scrambled.” He quickly changed the subject. “Wick found me?”
“I just said that.”
“Need to talk to him.”
Bishop shook his head. “You just said that.”
For fuck’s sake. Did he have permanent brain damage? “What’s wrong with me?”
“Listin’ what’s right would be shorter.”
“That supposed to be a fuckin’ joke?”
The Knights’ VP sighed. “No, Rome, it’s the fuckin’ truth. Don’t remember what the doctor told you?”
“Don’t remember shit. Just bits and pieces of me bein’ jumped.”
“Then I’m sure she’ll give you a laundry list the next time she stops in.”
“No brain damage?”
“We asked her how we’d be able to tell when you’re normally an idiot.”
“No way to talk to your prez,” he grumbled.
“Rather me lie?”
“Yeah.”
Bishop snorted.
“Gimme my phone so I can text Wick.”
“About that…”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Sully already got you a new one. Had the phone company transfer all your shit, so not much should be lost.”
“My phone lost or did those fuckers take it?”
“Got as beat up as you did.”
“Didn’t get fuckin’ beat up. Got ambushed.”
“Your ass got beat. Badly.” Bishop jerked his chin toward the hospital bed. “The proof is you bein’ stuck in that bed.”
Like he needed that damn reminder.
He was done with this conversation. The only one he wanted to talk to right now was Wick.
“Text Wick, then go get me my new phone, my sled and my cut.”
Bishop hooted loudly. “How the fuck you ridin’ your sled when you’re in goddamn traction?”
“Will figure out a way.”
“The only vehicle with wheels you’ll be ridin’ for a while will be a wheelchair.”
The good news kept coming.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“See who it was?” Romeo asked Wick not even two hours later and after a short, much-needed nap.
Wick leaned back in the chair and propped his boots on the hospital bed. “Kinda.”
Romeo narrowed his eyes at those dirty boots until Wick dropped them back to the floor. “Was it the Fury?”
Wick’s forehead creased the same way Bishop’s had. “The Fury? Why would they wanna kick your fuckin’ ass?… Oh… fuck… ‘Cause you banged their property without permission? That hot thing belongin’ to that scary fucker Shade? What’s her name?”
“Wick,” Romeo growled, then quickly regretted it. Coughing was not good for broken ribs. Not one, not two, but a whole rack of them. “You recognize any of ‘em?”
“No and didn’t see a fuckin’ cut in sight. If it was the Fury, they’d be representin’ to let you know it was them and make sure you know why they’re visitin’.”
The man was right. If it was that MC, they’d make sure Romeo knew they were delivering that message. “Wanna hear the details.”