Hyde: Northern Grizzlies MC Next Generation Book 1, page 6
“We gotta about a forty-minute ride ahead of us, I’m going to gas up,” he tells me, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and pulling out some cash. “Go inside and get a bottle of water, disinfectant, and whatever gauze they have, plus an ace bandage.”
“What? No!” I squawk out the words, shaking my head in confusion until I pull his cut open and see that the lining on his right side is stuck to his T-shirt.
“Get moving, Le-Lee. We don’t have much of a lead and I need to get you safe.” Joe cuts me off, and I grip the front of his cut, giving him a stern look before turning to follow his directions.
The grunt he lets out, acknowledges the implicit threat my look was meant to convey. That he damn well better be alright.
I’m quick once I’m inside the store and not seeing a bathroom, I ask about the location. Hurrying back outside, I hand the bag of supplies off to Joe and while he seems frustrated at the idea of leaving me unattended; he knows better than to try to drag me to the men’s bathroom.
“How did you know it was me?” Joe asks on his return and I tilt my head, continuing to evaluate his stride for any sign of pain. “On the bike, when you howled. You knew it was me, didn’t you?”
“I just did,” I answer him, with a shrug of my shoulder. There’s no way on Earth that I’ll ever admit that the smell of him brought back a flood of memories. “Where are we going?”
“Yanceyville.” The single word means absolutely nothing to me, so I wait for him to add on to it. Then I wave my hand in frustration and he finally continues. “Still so impatient.”
“I doubt I’m not the only one who’s never heard of the booming metropolis of Yanceyville.”
“Bite your tongue, booming metropolis. The locals would probably burn down any chain store that tried to open there. We can hole up for a while at Alex’s place,” he finally answers me before sliding on his bike.
We’re pulling out of the gas station before I realize he’s talking about Silver’s niece. It’s been years since I’ve seen her and my nostrils flare at the thought of the beautiful woman, about ten years my senior who’s apparently still in touch with Joe.
During the ride, I enjoy the guilty pleasure of riding without a helmet on. Most of the time, I simply rest my cheek against Joe’s back—happy to be plastered against him.
Pulling up to a completely overgrown driveway, he flips his mask up and tells me a code to punch in on the pad near the gate. When I hear the lock release, I push it open far enough for him to get through before securing it behind us and climbing back on the bike for the short trip up to the cabin.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask him the question that started bothering me about a half an hour ago.
“Flint asked me to pick you up, since I was in the area,” he answers. Pulling his helmet off he looks paler than I’ve ever seen him, and I don’t miss how he keeps his arm tucked against his side. “Come on.”
Joe braces himself on the railing as he reaches up to the overhang and feels around until he clicks his tongue and wiggles a key at me. I take it from him and proceed to open the door to see what we’re dealing with here.
“Woah!” I exclaim, sliding my bag off as I spin, looking around the main room. I’m impressed by the surprisingly modern interior in comparison to the dilapidated exterior.
“Yeah, there was, well, a problem here a couple years ago, so Alex had it gutted. She keeps swearing she’s gonna sell the place, but I doubt she will.” His familiarity with Alex is feeding this little green demon that seems to have taken up residence inside of me.
I look back to see him grasping the doorframe, and I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping him on his feet right now.
“Let me take a look at your wound,” I demand, taking a step toward him, trying to figure out how to support him without causing him more pain.
Naturally, he waves me off, walking over to sit on the coffee table. Shrugging his cut off of his shoulders, Joe gingerly starts to pull his T-shirt off, but the dried blood is holding it in place.
“Stop,” I instruct him, striding directly to the kitchen sink and looking in the cupboard below it.
Just like at the cabin in Idaho, there’s a medium sized First Aid bag stowed underneath, and I tug that out.
Turning to kneel in front of Joe, I open the kit and dig around until I find a pair of scissors and quickly slice his shirt open from the hem to the collar.
“That was my favorite shirt,” he deadpans, as I’m digging for a pair of gloves to put on. It belatedly occurs to me that I need to wash my hands first, so I double back to the sink.
While I know there are more important matters at hand, all I can think is that he isn’t wearing the necklace I gave him. Somehow, I’ve always pictured him with it on and just hope he didn’t toss it along the way.
“So, you were close by?” I ask him and he tilts his head before lifting one shoulder instead of answering me, pulling the gloves on as I walk back to him. “This is going to sting.”
That’s his only warning before I start dabbing at the deep furrow with an alcohol-soaked cloth. The catch of his breath is the only acknowledgement he gives of any discomfort, but mostly he stays still, studying my face.
“Do you and Alex spend much time here?” Knowing my attempt to keep my voice neutral utterly failed when he lets out a chuckle, I mentally berate myself.
“Yeah, I’ve joined her and her Ol’ Man to do some hunting here a few times,” he answers, effectively squashing my jealousy with that last little tidbit. I look up at him, raising an eyebrow in his direction even though I know he’ll be smirking at me. “She told me you’re every bit as smart as Riley and finished up high school early.”
“Did she also mention that I lack Mom’s ambition?” I respond, dismissing my surprise that she kept track of my accomplishment—especially since I didn’t know she had an Ol’ Man now.
“I doubt that,” he shakes his head at me. “Especially since Danny mentioned how intricate your carvings are at your dad’s business. And Marc said you’re going to start working for his mom.”
“Sounds like you talk to a lot of people,” I say, pressing clean gauze against the wound, needing the pressure to stop the blood that had started to flow again. The hiss he lets out tells me that he definitely felt that. “But you couldn’t ever check in with me?”
The very moment he opens his mouth, his eyes roll back in his head, and I grab his bicep trying to steady him. Instead, he falls forward, hitting me hard enough to push me backwards as he lands half on me, half on the rug.
“Dammit, Joe,” I sigh after straightening out my legs. “Crap.”
Wiggling out from under him, I decide that I might as well secure the wound before trying to wake him up. Reaching back into the bag, I find some blood clotting powder and glue.
While I’ve seen others handle wounds like this, I’ve never been in a position to care for anything other than scrapes and sprains.
How hard can this be? I think to myself before pouring the alcohol over it, adding the powder, and dabbing it nearly dry before I add little dots of glue along the edge and press it together. Yeah, I’m not sure I did that right.
“You damn well better not die on me,” I mumble, as I secure a large bandage over my work and remove the gloves.
“I’ll try my best,” he whispers back.
My eyes fly up, meeting his dark gaze. Whether he wants me to or not, I don’t give a shit right now. I lean up and for the briefest of seconds, press my lips against his.
As chaste as it is, my heartbeat shoots into overdrive, and I’m pleased to feel Joe’s pulse pick up under my palm at the same time.
“Have you done that before?” he asks me in a low voice.
It takes me a moment to figure out he’s not talking about the kiss. I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face when I shake my head.
“No, but since it just creased you, I figured I could handle it,” I tell him, pretty darn pleased with myself. “Now, do you think you can make it to bed? Because there’s no way I can lift you.”
“The couch will do for now,” he responds, looking down at his torso. “Can you look in the closets to see if there are any shirts that were left behind? I’ll get my bags later, but I need to check in with Flint. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting any heat to be on you clear across the country.”
Now it’s my turn, I think, as I start to stand but suddenly feeling faint at the memory of Parks’ crumbled body back at the airstrip. I’ve known him since I was a kid, but haven’t had a chance to think about his death.
“You don’t have your phone with you, do you?” he asks, looking at me thoughtfully as he braces himself to slowly stand up to offer me a hand. “Or any other device?”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice as I suddenly wish Dad was closer to us.
“Sorry, I’m alright,” I say after a second and turn to the closest closet, quickly finding a button-down, flannel shirt that will be easier for him to put on than a T-shirt.
“Can you rummage through the kitchen a bit? I don’t know if we’ll have reinforcements before the morning, so look for any unexpired food and beverages that were left behind.”
I simply nod, silently pulling myself back together, but go to seek out the bathroom before starting in on that task. Just as I pull my jeans down, I feel a pinch in my side and realize that I have a furrow an inch or so above the top of my waistband. It’s not nearly as bad as Joe’s so I just dab at it with a cloth.
Inspecting my clothes, I can only guess that my jacket had gotten caught up in my backpack and the bullet slid along the exposed flesh under my crop top. I quickly rinse the blood away, but shrug off the minor wound, walking back out to hear Joe talking to someone in low tones.
Looking through the kitchen, I start pulling out various cans and smile to myself, thinking of the cooking show where contestants have to shop for items in a grocery store and make amazing meals, sometimes only using canned goods.
Thankfully, I’ve had a great teacher.
“Leslee,” Joe says my name as I’m struggling with an old can opener. Looking over my shoulder, I see him wave his cell at me. “It’s Gunner, make it quick.”
I snort at him, Dad’s not exactly known for long, rambling phone conversations. Crossing the room, I’m glad Joe’s playing it safe because the last thing I need is him tearing his wound open.
“Angel?” The worry in Dad’s voice is palpable and I hit the speaker button so they can both hear me.
“I’m here, Daddio,” I answer, trying to put him at ease.
“We gotta keep this short. How bad is his wound?” Dad asks me and my eyes meet the haunted ones of the man I’ve loved my whole life.
“I’ve had deeper paper cuts,” I answer, getting a chuckle from both of them. “How’d they know where I’d be, Dad?”
“Prez and I are gonna turn over every stone, until we answer that question. Right now, the Virginia Chapter is sending reinforcements to the cabin. I need you to stay strong and alive. Your Mom and I love you, sweet angel.” Dad’s voice has dropped to a whisper.
“Tell Bree not to worry about Hyde, I’ll keep him alive until the others get here,” I answer, trying to keep my panic from rising. “I love you both. Even Xanderdoodle on occasion.”
Chapter 5
Hyde
From the moment I came to, I’ve been studying Leslee. There are occasionally glimpses of the child she was, but the woman before me is fascinating.
She’s probably a little taller than the last time I saw her. Her blonde hair has more reddish highlights than I remember, her amber eyes are just as bright and full of life as they always were. But now, it’s the way that she holds herself that screams she’s no longer a child.
Waking up, I didn’t want to startle her, what with her gluing my flesh together at that moment. Seeing her completely focused on the task, it was hard not to smile as she silently talked herself through what seemed like an itemized list of dealing with a gun wound.
I could only guess how I ended up on the floor, but I have no doubt that I’m in the best possible hands.
At least until we’re in the same state as Riley.
Because that woman’s gonna take one look at my face and enlist every one of her friends to dismember me and hide my body.
Granted, I can probably get Mom on my side to possibly turn the tide—and save my hide, one more time. While it was a no brainer to walk away from a child all those years ago, the woman before me is going to be hard to resist. Maybe I’m delusional from blood loss, thinking she’s even still interested in my ancient ass. Then I remember the kiss she laid on me.
When Gunner called, he kept our conversation short, never mentioning names or places. I almost cringed when Leslee said my road name, but am relieved she called her brother by that ridiculous nickname she did when she was six and wanted a puppy more than a baby brother; once she realized he wasn’t a dress up doll.
Vector’s been notified that we’re here and need some help, so I can only hope that whoever he sends will distract her attention over the coming days.
Leslee tosses the phone to me when she’s done talking and turns back to whatever she had started whipping up in the kitchen. I let her be, just content to watch her.
“Hungry?” she asks me a good ten minutes later, without looking at me.
“That depends,” I answer her, not shifting my eyes from the sway of her hips. “Was it Gunner or Riley who taught you how to cook?”
“Daddy taught me how to hunt, Momma taught me how to cook,” she says with a laugh, giving me a wink over her shoulder.
Despite the teasing tone of her voice, those words send a chill through my body. “Can we eat over here?”
“Of course,” she replies, dishing up two bowls and carrying them over before doubling back with two water bottles. “Tell me what you think.”
I take a couple of bites before vigorously nodding my head. “Fuck. What am I even eating?”
“I used ramen noodles as the base, then I had to get creative,” she snorts with a shrug as she shovels food into her own mouth.
That’s when I realize that she hadn’t eaten since before getting on the plane from Idaho. I finish off my plate, then gulp the water, and turn down a second helping to ensure she’ll have enough to eat tonight.
“Want to tell me what happened back home?” I ask her next, not having gotten more than the barest facts.
“What did Flint and Dad tell you?”
“They said that a cartel has a marker on you. Seems your nose for trouble hasn’t changed and you stumbled upon some stolen shit,” I say to egg her on, ensuring I’ll get her versions of events.
“This story gets more interesting every time I hear it,” she practically snarls at me, getting up and tossing her bowl into the sink before turning to face me again. Not that I’m any expert in body language, but she looks a little angry, what with her hands fisted on her hips and her eyes narrowed into slits. “You want to know what happened? Your skanky ex made off with a bag of nasty ass shit and when she tossed it out a window to keep Dad from seeing it, I hid it, not knowing what was in it. Now everyone thinks she went blabbing to some cartel that I stole it in the first place.”
“My ex?” I swallow, praying that she doesn’t say…
“Fucking Trinity!” Leslee growls, throwing her arms up as she invokes the one name that I wish I could scrub from my past.
“Would you mind starting at the beginning?” I debated asking Leslee, not wanted to rile her up any further, but I’d be a fool not to find out what we’re dealing with.
She lets out a humph sound, stalking toward me and yanking the bowl out of my hand. The next thing I know she’s produced a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses of ice.
“You’re eighteen,” I half-heartedly remind her.
“And part of your head was shaved when you got passed-out drunk at the clubhouse at sixteen. I can survive a couple of shots,” she sasses back, and I hold my hands up in surrender even though she had started pouring it already.
I smile at the first part of her re-telling, knowing that Gunner always stops for soft-serve at the same spot and from her words, it’s obvious that their bond has only grown over the years I’ve been away.
To say that her rage at seeing Trinity was visceral is an understatement, and it’s not my ego talking when I know that Leslee’s dislike of Trinity has more to do with me dating that bitch—and the explosive end to that relationship—than the fact that she’s now on the run because of Trinity.
Apparently, there was some debate about sending Leslee away, and how far was wise. Once Mungo was found and lived long enough to tell Jasper that Trinity had pointed the Navaja cartel in Leslee’s direction, there were no further arguments.
Distance, speed, and silence became the guiding factors.
“Dad said that the Flagstaff Chapter has contacts that might negotiate on our behalf, but he didn’t want to take any chances in the meantime. Besides Flagstaff, he’s closest with the Virginia Chapter, so that’s why I was sent east,” she says, concluding the story. “And now, they have to figure out who told the Navaja where I’d be.”
“Being young and dumb is no excuse for how blind I was about Trinity,” I say more to myself than as an explanation to the girl sitting across from me.
Pleased that she settles for glaring at me rather than pointing out the fact that I was well into my twenties, and old enough to know better. I finally reach out for the glass and toss back the whiskey that she had poured for me at the beginning of her tale.
I wisely hold onto it, shaking my head when Leslee offers to refill it, knowing I need to keep my wits about me while she’s in my care.
My phone pings and I hate that I have to force myself to look at it, somehow knowing that I’m not going to like the message.
“What’s wrong?” Leslee asks after I’ve read it twice.
“No backup for the time being,” I tell her. “The Virginia Northern Grizzlies that were coming to watch our backs, picked up a tail immediately. Your fan club doesn’t seem to know where you are, so no one’s in a hurry to point them in the right direction.”
