Crash & Carnage by Emma Slate

Chapter 30

“Oh my fucking God!”

I opened my eyes and winced at the bright morning sunlight beating down on me to stare up into Mia Weston’s concerned gaze.

She crouched down as her gaze raked over me. “Linden? Is that you?”

What did she see?

Shorn hair.

Almost nude.

The bloody bandages.

A face covered in dirt, and skin soaked in urine and filth.

“Help me,” I whispered.

The effort to speak stretched the dry, tender skin of my lips. The copper penny taste of blood filled my mouth.

She awkwardly squatted on the ground next to me and removed her brown leather jacket and gently covered my upper half with it.

There was a chill in the air, and her blue dress was sleeveless. Goosebumps broke out all along her upper arms.

She pulled her phone out of her purse. A few moments later, she was barking orders at the 911 operator.

There was a giant black hole of time in my memory. Whatever the doctor had given me had rendered me unconscious for the entire drive from Valley of Hearts to Waco.

I didn’t even remember Juan picking me up.

I was glad I couldn’t remember the drive across the border. I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to endure being trapped again.

My wrists were unbound, but I didn’t have the strength to lift myself off the asphalt even though it was digging into my exposed flesh.

If I thought too much about it, I might’ve been embarrassed at my state of undress. But the old Linden, the modest Linden, the Linden who cared how she presented herself to the world, didn’t care about the fact that her breasts were on display.

Now I was raw, abandoned, left out in the sun like decomposing garbage.

The pavement scraped my bare skin.

Mia’s voice was strong and sure as she gave the operator the address to Shelly’s.

Of course, I thought. Why not dump me right in front of the place where I’d been kidnapped? It was Dante’s way of letting the club know he was in complete control and could do as he pleased, right under their noses. What a perfect, sinister message to send.

Mia hung up and reached out to stroke my head.

I recoiled instantly and she pulled her hand back like a feral animal had bitten her.

“Ambulance should be here soon,” she said, keeping her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

I didn’t bother trying to reply.

With her eyes trained on me, she pressed a button on her phone and then put it to her ear. “Colt.”

Her voice broke on his name, and then she bent her head. I wondered if it was to hide her tears. I closed my eyes and tuned out the sound of her anguish as she relayed the state she’d found me in.

Why did she have anything to cry about?

She wasn’t the one who’d been tortured. Her life hadn’t gone up in smoke like mine had the moment Dante smashed my hand with a mallet.

I was the shallow husk of what I used to be, not her.

A kernel of anger blistered hot within me, but only for a moment. And then it died out, hissing, like water thrown onto a heated coal.

In the distance, I heard the wail of the ambulance siren.

Her eyes searched mine. “What the fuck happened to you?” she asked softly, her phone still clenched in her fist.

“You can’t figure it out?” I asked, my tone cold.

I was trapped in the prison of my mind, and even though my body was on the parking lot in front of Shelly’s, my psyche was still on the floor of that rat-infested shithole of a jail cell.

Mia fell silent and didn’t speak to me again.

The ambulance arrived, and two strong EMTs climbed out. Their eyes were somber as they looked at me. Then they glanced at one another. And like any two people that had worked together long enough, they had a conversation without speaking that said they knew what had happened to me.

The dark-haired EMT pulled open the back doors of the ambulance and with the help of his partner, extracted the stretcher. They set it on the ground next to me and then eased me onto it.

Even though their touch was professional and gentle, it felt like a thousand insects crawled along my skin, making me want to burrow deeper inside my body for protection.

They pressed a button and the machine raised me up, and they wheeled me to the ambulance doors, and then slid me inside.

It wasn’t until they tried to strap me in for safety that I balked.

“No,” I croaked, attempting to summon whatever strength I had left. “Don’t tie me down.”

“We have to,” the blond said, his blue eyes flashing with concern. “It’s for your own safety.”

“No! Don’t tie me down!” I yelled. My throat was raw, and my voice cracked.

I screamed even as they ignored my pleas. I flailed and thrashed, knowing I could do more damage to myself, but I didn’t care.

Mia climbed aboard the ambulance. “Linden,” she soothed. “It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” I cried, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. “It’ll never be okay. Never again.”

I was trapped on a gurney, trapped in my own body when all I wanted to do was flee. Leave this broken, bag of bones behind and start fresh.

But there was no escape from my own mind, no escape from pain, no escape from the life I was now living.

“John,” the dark haired EMT said.

“I got it,” John replied.

I looked at Mia and whispered, “Don’t leave me.”

And then I passed out.

* * *

My eyes flipped open, and I stared at a white ceiling. I detected no pain, nor any sort of feeling in my limbs. I was living in a general state of numbness, for which I was grateful.

Numb was better than fear.

Numb was better than pain.

And it was certainly better than wanting to rake dirty broken fingernails against my skin in an ineffectual attempt of trying to depart my own body.

I looked away from the ceiling down at my right hand. It was in a cast because it had been mutilated, demolished.

My left was intact.

It didn’t matter though. I was a surgeon.

Was.

Oh my God.

“Linden,” he said.

His voice was low and rumbly. Once upon a time, it would’ve made shivers of pleasure dance up and down my spine.

Now…

Boxer sat in the chair next to my bedside. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. He was leaning over, elbows on his jeans, his hands linked. He looked horrible.

“Get out,” I whispered. My voice was choked. I cleared my throat, which only made it hurt worse, but I said it again. “Get out.”

“Linden, I—”

“Get the fuck out of here, Boxer!” I screamed. My anger obliterated the morphine-induced state of fog. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you ever again. Get out!” I looked around for something to throw at him. I reached over to the bedside table with my left hand, grimacing as the rolling movement of my body pulled the bandage flush against the brand on my skin.

“Linden, don’t—”

Ignoring him, I chucked the plastic cup and sent it flying.

He didn’t even bother trying to move out of the way, and the cup bounced off his arm. When he still didn’t budge, I snatched the call button, pressing it like my life depended on it.

Boxer’s expression was resigned. And then he rose swiftly from the chair and strode from the room, all but ripping the door off its hinges on his way out.

I leaned back against the less than stellar hospital pillow, my breath coming in rapid pants. I closed my eyes in an attempt to ward off the panic attack.

Fuck him.

Fuck him for all of this.

How dare he be here when I woke up? He was the cause of all of this. I’d suffered at the hands of a madman because of Boxer and the club.

The door to my hospital room opened, and Peyton rushed in. She wore a pair of light blue scrubs, her red hair pulled up into a high ponytail.

“Linden,” her voice cracked. “What is it? Are you in pain?”

I shook my head, but it only made it throb.

Peyton went to the bedside table and picked up the pitcher of water, only to stop and look around for the missing cup.

“Floor,” I said, gesturing with my chin in the direction.

“Why is the cup on the floor?” she asked as she went to retrieve it.

“I threw it at Boxer.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not,” I agreed, grimacing. Morphine dulled most of my pain, but not all of it.

“Let me get you a clean cup.”

“It’s fine.” If only she’d known that I’d been drinking brown Mexican water for days.

“You sure? It’s no trouble.”

“Peyton,” I said with a sigh. “I’ve got bigger problems than a cup that’s hit a sanitized hospital floor. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered, nodding.

She poured water into the cup and then brought it to me. She stuck a straw in it and held it while I drank.

I was greedy for it, my throat parched even though I was on an IV to restore my fluid levels to normal. It reminded me of the last time someone had held water to my lips.

The water had been lukewarm and brackish.

Memories assaulted me, flashing before my eyes like pinwheels of light.

I choked on the cool water, and it ran down my chin. Peyton hastily put the cup aside and then helped me clean up once I was no longer coughing.

I leaned my head back against the pillow, exhausted.

Peyton’s eyes scanned me. Not just as a nurse but as my friend. She wouldn’t ask what had happened to me. She would keep it professional because I was in a hospital bed, but she was curious. It was written all over her face.

She could speculate. She would speculate. But I wasn’t going to talk about it.

My neck was cool, and I remembered that Dante had chopped off my hair. I wanted to see the butchering.

“Will you bring me a mirror?” I asked her.

She blanched. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because you look…”

I raised my brows. “How do I look?”

“Like someone assaulted you,” she blurted out.

“Do I have black eyes?” I asked in curiosity. The areas around my eyes weren’t swollen or tender. No. He hadn’t used fists to beat me into submission. He’d chosen other ways to break me.

“No. No black eyes.” Her somber gaze dropped to my injured hand.

I recognized the look as pity.

I didn’t want pity.

“What happened, Peyton? Why am I not at a hospital in Waco?”

“Mia demanded the EMTs bring you here. You were stable enough for that, thankfully.”

Thankfully.

“Chief Nelson took you into surgery.”

Even though Chief Nelson was one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country, I refused to bank on hope that my hand would ever be restored.

“It might be time to consider a change in profession,” I said.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Why are you crying?” I demanded.

“Because you’re talking about no longer being able to be a surgeon—and I know how much that matters to you.”

“C’est la vie, Peyton. C’est la vie.”

I’d once understood the empathy gene. I’d been born with it. Most doctors I knew found a way to either ignore it or compartmentalize it. Not me. My empathy had leaked out whenever I’d dealt with patients.

Their pain had become mine.

But this—Peyton crying over me and my trauma…I found it annoying. Compassion was one thing. Pity was another.

She hastily turned her head and wiped away her tears. “I saw Boxer leaving your room. He hasn’t left your bedside in hours. We tried to kick him out; he wouldn’t go.”

“Don’t talk to me about Boxer.” I glanced away from her to stare out the window. The blinds were shut, but sunlight peeked through them.

“I keep saying all the wrong things, don’t I?” she asked quietly.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling. I didn’t know how to alleviate her concerns. I wasn’t sure it was my job to do that. I was the patient. I was the one that was supposed to receive care. I wasn’t supposed to be comforting my friend because I’d been the one to live through hell.

“Mia is in the waiting room,” she said after a long moment of silence. “So are the other Old Ladies. Do you want to see them? Do you want one of them to come sit with you?”

I shrugged. I would be alone whether someone was in the room with me or not.

Safety was nothing more than an illusion, I realized. Because all it took was one moment, one wrong turn, one accident, or one attack and everything in your life could change.

Life wasn’t safe, no matter how you tried to convince yourself it was. Dangers lurked around every corner. Shadows oozed in the night.

Some nightmares were real.

What I’d endured…I would never be the same again. Like clay shoved into a kiln, forever altered.

“I don’t mind visitors,” I said. “As long as it’s not Boxer. He’s not allowed in here. Do you hear me, Peyton? He’s not allowed in here.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Loud and clear. He’s not welcome.” Her gaze was somber again, but she didn’t try to dissuade me.

For the moment, I had my emotions under control. The anger was at bay, as was the hysteria. But seeing Boxer…talking to him…it would send me off the deep end.

Peyton examined my IV bag and made a few quick notes on her tablet about my vitals. And then she left the room.

What more was there for her to say?

I stared at the TV with the blank screen, watching nothing. A few minutes later, the door opened.

“Can I come in?” Mia asked.

“Sure.”

She stepped inside the room, carrying her shoulder bag. Her brown leather coat was slung over an arm as she waddled her very pregnant body toward my bedside.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as she plopped down in the chair.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

She bowed her head. “I didn’t think you’d react that way. When you saw him.”

“How do you know how I reacted?”

“He told me. He told all of us. Everyone’s in the waiting room.”

“Why? Did you all drop everything and drive here only to camp out indefinitely?”

“That’s exactly what we’ve done. And we’ve booked some rooms at The Rex so we don’t have to drive back home tonight.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

She stared at me. “You really don’t understand, do you? You’re family, Linden.”

Her words were shards of glass eviscerating my heart.

“That’s not the only reason I’m sorry,” she went on, completely unaware of what her casual declaration did to me.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hold it together when I found you in the parking lot. You didn’t need me to fall apart or hear me panic when I spoke to Colt. I let my emotions get in the way of what you truly needed. You don’t have to talk to me, Linden. But if you do, I’ll listen.”

“Why do people keep apologizing to me?” I asked after her impassioned speech. “Do you feel better saying everything you just said? Because it doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s not like it erases the past. An apology is just empty words.”

The color leached from her face. I realized how I sounded but being tortured at Dante’s hands had opened up something inside of me, and it was leaking vitriol. It wasn’t just that he had broken my hand and no doubt taken away my surgical career.

No. He’d found the place deep inside me—my soul, my psyche, my very essence—and he’d peeled away the layers to reveal it. And then he’d bathed in the blood of its gruesome end, relishing in the destruction of who I used to be.

I wasn’t the same person who’d fallen in love with Boxer. I would never be her again.

There was nothing left of me.

My feelings didn’t belong to me. They belonged to the other. They belonged to the stripped-down version of me that no longer cared about platitudes or niceties.

If I had any hope of surviving this, I had to become something else. Something ruthless, feral, and angry.

Something powerful.

Someone in control.

Anger would be my fuel, like coal powering a steam engine. Anger would keep me going. Without it, I would just be a pathetic, broken toy to be discarded when others were done with me. If I stayed pathetic and broken, then what the hell was the point of living?

My eyes strayed to the dark TV.

“Do you want to watch something?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She grabbed the remote off the bedside table and pointed it at the television. Cartoons. Game show. Animal kingdom.

She flipped through the stations, one by one.

“Go back,” I commanded. “I want to watch that.”

A lion ripping into the meaty flesh of an antelope filled the screen.

“You sure you want to watch this?”

“Why not?” The lion’s golden muzzle was stained red as it gorged on the organs of the still living antelope as it was pinned down by massive paws, struggling to escape. “Nature is cruel. Especially if you’re weak.”

The morphine was wearing off, and lucidity was returning. I hit the call button, and Peyton came almost immediately. She greeted Mia with a smile and then turned her attention to me. “Can I get you something?”

“Morphine’s crapping out on me,” I said. “I’d like more.”

“Linden, you’re on as much as we can give you right now…”

We stared at each other, and then she sighed. “Let me get Chief Nelson, and I’ll see what we can do.”

I turned my head back to the TV, dismissing her. She caught her breath, like I’d hurt her feelings. I didn’t have it in me to apologize.

If I didn’t get another dose of morphine soon, the numbness would fade completely. And I wanted to stay there as long as I could. There would be plenty of time for rage. I’d embrace it when the time was right.

And when I embraced it, I’d unleash it on the person who deserved it the most.

Myself.

This was my fault.

Sure, I could blame Boxer. I thought he’d been strong enough to protect me. I thought the club was, too. But this was all on me, because I’d not only left Shelly’s by myself, but I hadn’t even thought to pull out my can of mace. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I wasn’t safe because I’d been at a biker bar.

Never again. Never again would I put my safety into other people’s hands. Never again would I be so damn foolish.

Mia’s phone chimed softly. She reached into her bag and extracted her cell, reading the text. “Colt’s asking if he can come talk to you.”

“If he must,” I said with a sigh.

I leaned my head back against the pillow, my eyes slowly drifting shut. The animal kingdom show had switched focus to a pack of lions killing one of their own. I appreciated the gruesome picture. I even felt a kinship with it.

The door to my room opened. “Hey, Doc,” Colt said softly.

I looked at him, but I was unable to read his expression. He placed a huge paw on Mia’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and then he helped her out of the chair. He leaned down and brushed a kiss along the apple of her cheek and then with a glance that seemed to say farewell, Mia left the room, leaving me alone with the president of the Blue Angels.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gruffly.

“Doped up on morphine. How are you feeling?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fuck, Linden. I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” I suggested.

Colt sighed. “I’m not gonna bug you now and ask what happened. But I need to know how deep this goes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you know who kidnapped you?”

“Yes, I know who was behind it.”

“Cartel?” he asked, pitching his voice low.

I hesitated and then nodded.

“Yeah. Thought so. Fuck.” He shook his head. “Goddamn it all to hell; it wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to—fuck, I have to let Boxer explain.”

“I don’t want to see Boxer,” I protested.

Colt’s brown eyes were hard. “You’ll have to. At some point, you have to hear what he has to say.”

I clamped my jaw shut and looked away from him.

“When you’re ready, okay? Whenever that is. Listen, I hate to put the pressure on you, but there’s something more pressing going on right now. There are two detectives here. They’ve been chomping at the bit to talk to you, but I got the chief to get in their shit and tell them you needed to rest. They won’t wait anymore. Be evasive, Linden. Be vague. I need you to lead them to a dead end.”

“Why? So I can protect the club?” I hissed. “It’s all about the club, isn’t it? I’m just a fucking casualty, aren’t I?”

Before Colt was able to reply, the door to my room opened again, and Chief Nelson strode inside.

I’d once thought him formidable and imposing. Especially when he’d interviewed me for a job. But he didn’t intimidate me now. Not after Dante.

Chief Nelson turned to look at Colt. “Mr. Weston,” he greeted.

“Chief,” Colt said, rising and holding out his hand.

They shook hands, and then Colt dropped his. “Mia will be back later, if you want.”

“Fine,” I said, my tone clipped.

Colt inclined his head and then strode from the room, leaving me alone with Chief Nelson.

“Nice guy,” Chief Nelson said.

I raised my brows but didn’t reply. I shouldn’t have been surprised that Colt had gotten on the good side of Chief Nelson. The Blue Angels had ways, apparently. No wonder the detectives had waited to speak to me.

“You’ve made some very good friends,” Chief Nelson said. “There are a lot of them in the waiting room.”

“So I’ve heard.” My eyes skated back to the television. Chief Nelson went to the TV and pressed the off button. The screen went dark.

He moved to stand at the end of my bed, drawing my attention to him.

“Peyton said you’re asking for more morphine. Are you in a great deal of pain?”

“If I say yes, will you give me another dose?”

He didn’t smile at my dry tone.

“The brand on your hip will scar and even with a laser, I don’t think it will ever be able to be completely removed. The wound in your arm was paltry, all things considered, and you don’t have any nerve damage, thank God. But your hand… Your hand is in a very bad state, Linden.”

“I’m aware.”

“We won’t know the extent of the damage until you’re healed and in physical therapy. What I’m saying is, don’t think the worst—”

“Don’t give me the party line,” I said. “I’m a doctor. I know about party lines. Give it to me straight.”

“I don’t think you’re ready for straight.” He cocked his head to the side and studied me. “The EMTs said you were hysterical when they tried to strap you to the gurney.”

“And?” I prodded. “Did they tell you the state they found me in?”

“Yes. And that’s exactly why I want you to talk to someone. A psychiatrist.”

“Which one? Dr. Meddlesome or Dr. Happy Pills? I’m not a fan of either.”

“You have to talk to someone.” He leaned forward. “I’ve been practicing medicine for the better part of thirty-five years. I’ve seen a lot of shit. I know what was done to you. This is serious. The cops are here.”

“I know.”

“They want to talk to you.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Tell them what happened. The truth.”

“Here’s the truth, Chief Nelson. I was kidnapped off the streets. I was tortured, maimed, and released. I don’t know who did it or why. Wrong place, wrong time, I guess.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “The blond biker. Boxer… He’s your boyfriend?”

“He was. For a bit. He’s not anymore.”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me,” he said. “He hasn’t left your side since you came back from surgery.”

“You’re my boss,” I reminded him. “This isn’t any of your business. Now, where do we stand on more morphine?”

“Of course, we’ll modify your pain meds and take care of you, but I also want your word that you’ll talk to a professional about what happened to you. Even if they don’t work here.”

I turned my head so I didn’t have to look at him. “Please turn on the television on your way out.”