Kid: Cerberus MC Book 2 (5 page)

“That may be the case, but you still want to fuck her.”

Truth.

And that fact makes my stomach turn a bit.

“She’s not even eighteen. I won’t touch her.”

He laughs beside me like it’s a feat I can’t handle. Then I remember that Shadow tends to like his women on the younger side. Well younger to him. I don’t know that he’s ever messed around with someone under the drinking age, but at thirty-two, that’s quite an age gap.

“Seventeen is legal in New Mexico.” He cuts his eyes to me, making me question the thought I just had. Maybe Shadow has dabbled some with much younger women.

“I saw her at the park, man. She’s stacked to the fucking gills. She doesn’t have the body of a seventeen-year-old.”

I groan beside him. “You’re not making this any easier.”

He laughs and slaps me on the back, standing from the couch. “Let me check with Kincaid. I know he doesn’t want any trouble coming down on the MC.”

I watch him walk away. I have no idea which way this will go. I hope he gets back to me fast. The hospital will end up discharging her tomorrow, and I need to have a plan in place.

I drag my tired ass off the couch and head for my bed. Visiting hours begin at nine in the morning and I have every intention of being there the second I’m allowed back inside.

I talk a big game about wanting to be alone, but sitting in this hospital room with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company is its own kind of torture.

Do I want to die? No, I want to be happy. I want to have a home, a family, and a reason to live. Do I see that happening? No. Alec was my light at the end of the tunnel. He was coming back, we’d get married, and we leave Farmington for good. We could build a life together, an unconventional one, but a life none the less.

I grab my phone from the bedside table. No messages, no missed calls. Not one person has asked how I am. Not one person has reached out to me, even though I know the news of my failed suicide attempt has to be a hot topic right now. The simplest gossip spreads like wildfire in this town. I’ve gone unnoticed for so long, but I have no doubt people are talking about me now.

Alone in this hospital bed, I deactivate every one of my social media pages and delete the apps from my phone. Not like I’ve used them on a regular basis. There were a few people I talked to when I was in school, but I haven’t heard from any of them since leaving the beginning of last semester to get my GED.

It’s the one thing I’m grateful to my foster parents for. They signed the paperwork so I could drop out of school and take the test. Even my case manager was okay with it since she’d rather I have a high school equivalent than being in trouble for truancy. I knew I wouldn’t have a problem with the test; I’ve always been pretty smart. My grades and apathy caused others to doubt my ability to pass the test however.

I hated school; hated what it stood for. It was nothing but a cesspool for mean kids to get together every day and treat people they felt were below them like shit. I was on that list for no other reason than the fact that I was a foster kid. They’d taunt me; tell me I was worthless. That I must be horrible if my parents didn’t even want me. They assumed that my parents gave me up, awarded my custody to the state. I wonder if they knew the truth if their opinions would change. Probably not.

Alec was on their list. He was hot, like Ricky Martin hella sexy hot. Their problem with him? He never gave any of the girls a second look. If he wasn’t interested he must be gay. Well at least they got something right. The guys more than the girls treated him horribly.

We were both outcasts and much like people who are different from the ‘in-crowd,’ we gravitated to each other. When the plan to pretend we were a couple started I can’t even remember. It just sort of evolved over time for the most part. The torture from the guys ceased. Not so much from the girls. Women are relentless when it comes to things they don’t like. They will literally lose sleep in order to think of better ways to torture one another.

Pretending to be in a relationship with Alec was easy. I loved him, even if it was as just a friend. Most people didn’t look hard enough to tell the difference. I don’t even try to keep the tears from falling as I flip through pictures of us on my phone. What have I done in my life to warrant such bad luck? Everyone I love dies.

I hear a soft knock on the door. Before I can answer, the door is shoved open, and the emo nurse from earlier comes in. She doesn’t say a word as she swaps the empty IV bag with a full one. I hear the empty bag land in the trash with a thud. Nurse Emo makes her way to the sink and washes her hands.

“There aren’t many pills you can get on the street, even with a prescription these days that are strong enough to kill you.” She’s applying more eyeliner to her already heavily covered eyelids. “Zolpidem sure as hell isn’t one of the few. You’d have to have a couple bottles at least to do the deed.”

What. The. Fuck?

Is she trying to help me out for next time or tell me I’m an idiot for even trying? So much for the Hippocratic Oath. Do nurses even take that oath or only doctors?

“They just make you sick as hell and land you in the hospital for a couple days. Well,” she says finally turning from the sink and looking me in the eye, “it could be longer than a couple of days. That all depends on what the head doctor thinks after you talk to him.”

She walks out and closes the door softly behind her. This has to be the weirdest day of my life. First the interloper biker and now the nurse who practically just gave assisted suicide information.

She mentioned medications that are available by prescription from the pharmacy, but I know there have to be even stronger meds in this hospital. I let my mind wander and concoct a ridiculous plan to steal drugs from the hospital to finally carry out my plan.

I have two choices; kill myself before I have to meet with the shrink or get out of here before he visits. I’m a horrible liar. Alec used to tell me that all the time. So if he talks to me, I know he’ll keep me in here, and in the psych ward, there’d be no way to get ahold of anything to hurt myself.

If I weren’t so tired, I’d get up and walk out of here right now. I close my eyes and wait. I’ll get a few hours of sleep and then make my escape. No sense in attempting another suicide in a hospital; the very place that has all of the resources to bring me back. I need a quiet place, a place where there’s no chance of a rescue.

***

Waking up in the hospital is like déjà vu. I’m disoriented, but my memories flood back much quicker this time. My throat is still pretty sore, but nothing like it was yesterday. Once again my eyes open to meet the knowing chocolate eyes of a biker.

I smile at him and shift in the bed before I can stop myself. My smile drops and I try to turn on my hardened girl act I’m famous for, but it’s impossible when his finger reaches up and strokes my cheek.

“How did you sleep?” He asks, watching my mouth, waiting for me to answer.

“I hate it here,” I answer.

“You’ll be out soon enough,” he promises.

It’s empty, though. He shouldn’t say things just to try to reassure me. I’ve heard it all my life, starting with the social workers who showed up after my parents died. They swore to me that everything would be okay. I guess it’s just something you tell a nine-year-old who just found her parents dead. They lied then, and he’s lying now.

I hate it when people say things just to placate someone else. I turn my head away from him because looking in his eyes almost has me believing him. The last thing I want to do is believe the lies.

“What time is it?”

“Just after ten. The nurse said the psychiatrist will be here around eleven to clear you so you can leave.” His voice is calm and reassuring. I want to close my eyes and listen to him speak all day, but I have less than an hour to get out of here.

I cut my eyes back to him. “I need to leave.” I begin to shift my weight to the edge of the bed, noticing that my IV is gone. Nurse Emo must have removed it sometime last night. A small white bandage on the back of my hand is all that remains. Good. One less thing to worry about.

“Hold tight, Khloe.” Kid reaches his hands up to stop me from getting off the bed. “You have to wait until you’re discharged.”

“I can’t,” I say with a harsh shake of my head. “I can’t meet with that doctor.”

“You have to,” he says trying to stay calm, but I can tell he wants to use some sort of authority over me.

That pisses me off more than anything. Who the hell does he think he is telling me what to do? I don’t even know this man.

“I can’t,” I say again.

His eyes widen slightly as if he’s just realized what it would mean if I talk to the doctor.

“Please don’t,” I beg him, knowing he’s reading the despair in my eyes.

“You’re not done,” he says softly, giving life to my intentions; intentions that up until now were only racing thoughts in my head.

“They’ll cage me up,” I confess. “They’ll lock me in a room and pump me full of drugs until they deem me sane.” I have no idea if that will actually happen, but I’m not above making him think that. That’s what happens in the movies, and I imagine there’s some truth in the onscreen dramatizations.

“You can’t leave if you’re just going to try again. I can’t let that happen. I can’t just walk away knowing the ideas you have swimming around in that beautiful head of yours.”

Beautiful?

Don’t listen to him, Khloe. He’s only saying things to get you to do what he wants.

Two can play this game.

“I have a history,” I lie. I’ve never been suicidal before. Depressed? Of course. What teenage girl hasn’t been? Alec’s death just tipped the scales. “If I stay, they’re going to keep me just out of precaution. I’m not going to hurt myself, but I won’t be able to convince them of that.” I look into his eyes, pleading as best I can. “Help me get out of here.”

“Where will you go? You told me yesterday you don’t have a home.”
Damn
. “I can’t just let you wander off. What kind of man am I, if I let you do that?”

Before I can belt out a lie about staying at a friend’s house, he continues.

“Come to my place,” he offers.

“You want me to stay at your house?” His offer makes me slide back further on the bed. I narrow my eyes at him, doing my best to figure out his intentions before responding. He’s got his leather biker cut on again today, but rather than the plain shirt he had on yesterday, he’s wearing a t-shirt that showcases Chewbacca riding a motorcycle. It’s cute and comical, and it feeds my inner nerd like nothing else.

“I live at the clubhouse. There’s quite a few of us that stay there,” he explains.

I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t know what’s worse, being alone with him at his house or being in the middle of a group of bikers. I don’t have the luxury of time to sit here and think about it.

“Perfect,” I say attempting more enthusiasm than I feel. If I get there and don’t like it, I’ll just leave. Before that can happen, I have to get out of here. “Can you grab my clothes?” I point to my things in the plastic bag by the sink.

He goes to get my clothes, and I stand from the bed. Without a second thought, I whip off the hospital gown just as he turns back to me. He freezes, eyes raking my body up and down. Chill bumps pop up all over my skin at his perusal. I’m standing in nothing but a small pair of panties, and he’s acting as if I have my feet near my ears begging him to come get a taste.

I huff and cross the room to him, snatching the clothes out of his hands. He snaps out of his trance and turns his back to me.

“Calm down, biker boy. They’re only tits. Something tells me you’ve seen your fair share.” He chuckles and shakes his head slightly at my comments.

I tug my clothes on, and I’m working on my shoes when he turns back around. I see relief wash over his face, finding me dressed.

“I’m ready if you are,” I say standing from the chair I sat in to tie my shoes. If I’m being honest, I’m completely exhausted. Just getting dressed has worn me out. I’d like nothing more than to lie back in the bed and take a nap, but there’s no time.

“Here,” he says reaching for my hand. I place mine in his and frown when he reaches into his pocket. He pulls a large knife out, flicking it open and bringing it to my skin. I try to pull my hand back, but he holds me tighter. I watch, riveted as he places the tip under the hospital band on my wrist. He slices it quickly, allowing it to flutter to the floor. “Don’t need anyone thinking you’re sneaking out of here.”

He releases my wrist, closes his knife, and bends down to pick up the information band. He holds it out to me. I take a step back.

“I don’t want that,” I say honestly.

“You’ll want it later,” he says closing the distance between us and tucking it into the front pocket of my jeans.

He doesn’t step away immediately, if anything he takes another half-step closer. My breathing hitches, and not from discomfort. I tingle, every hair on my body stands on end. For a split second, I find peace. I let my mind believe that this handsome man standing in front of me sees me as a woman and not a child. In a flash of a second, I let myself imagine riding off into the sunset on the back of his bike. I imagine every care and concern in my life just melting away.