The Aces MC Complete Collection

  “You’ve—your underwear—the blood—” he took another deep breath then began again. “The blood has dried. I’m not sure how badly you’re hurt, but your panties are stuck to your skin with blood, and I don’t want to rip them away in case things are even worse than I think they are.”

  My stomach turned and I was afraid for a second that I was going to be sick. I swallowed it down and nodded at him to keep going.

  “I’m going to put you in the shower like this so the water can wash away some of the blood,” he looked at me for acceptance. “Keep your hand out of the spray if you can. I wrapped those fingers good, but fuck if I know if I made them worse or not. You probably need fuckin’ surgery, but we can’t take you to a goddamn hospital in this hellhole. If you get those bandages wet, I’ll have to change them and it’ll hurt like hell, okay?”

  “I won’t get them wet,” I assured him as he grabbed my elbow to steady me while I stepped into the tub.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he said after silently keeping an eye on me for a few minutes as I let the hot water roll over my body. “I should have been more prepared. I knew somethin’ felt off, but I thought you’d be safe at work.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said flatly.

  “I should have—”

  “It’s not your fault. Can you help me get these off now?”

  He nodded and reached for my underwear, pulling them slowly away. Thankfully the water had done its job, and all I could feel was a stinging sensation as he moved them down my thighs.

  “I know you don’t want to do this. Fuck!” He threw the underwear out of the spray before continuing, “I need to check you, alright? I need to make sure you’re okay down there.”

  I didn’t think that anything was significantly wrong down there, but I had no way to know. I hated the thought of Doc seeing me—of anyone seeing me. It made my skin crawl with revulsion. He was being so kind, far more gentle and apologetic than I knew he was comfortable with, but that didn’t stop the churning of my stomach as I agreed.

  I stood there, one foot on the side of the tub, holding onto his shoulder to keep from falling, and burned with mortification.

  It had been only hours since the only man who’d ever seen me without clothes had been my husband. It was demoralizing and degrading to let Doc look at me, but I knew I had to just let him do it. I’d been bleeding. Bleeding. And his eyes showed nothing but respect and sadness as he quickly looked me over.

  When he was finished, I climbed quickly out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel.

  At some point after wanting to die of shame, I’d become angry. So very, very angry.

  “I’m sor—”

  “Stop saying that!” I snapped before dropping my head. Doc was an innocent party, he didn’t deserve my wrath.

  “Go eat and then get some sleep,” he said calmly, opening the door to the bathroom so I could walk out. “We have to be ready to go by ten.”

  I stopped abruptly at the edge of the living room as Peg caught my eyes from her place in the kitchen.

  “I’m not going to North Carolina,” I informed them both. “I have some money stashed. It’s enough to buy us some plane tickets to the US if either of you wants to go with me.”

  I looked back to Doc. “Thank you so much for your help today. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here, and none of this is your fault.”

  I turned back to where Peg was walking slowly toward me. “It’s Patrick’s fault,” I said, and watched her face fall. “I don’t ever want to see him again.”

  ***

  I walked gingerly to my room and proceeded to get dressed and packed quickly, anxious to be gone from there. We left for the airport an hour later, and I carried nothing with me but the backpack I’d used for school, filled with clothes and the wad of cash I’d fished out of my hiding spot.

  Peg decided that she would go with me, but Doc said he needed to take the steamer so he could meet Ham and the rest of the guys in North Carolina. I didn’t care.

  I was content to go by myself, but a part of me was glad I’d have Peg there. She took care of all the arrangements, buying the tickets to New York City with the cash I’d had hidden for a rainy day in my sock drawer. It was a good thing that she and Doc were so willing to step in for me. A really good thing.

  Because the moment I’d announced that Patrick was at fault for all that had happened to me, I came to the awful realization that it was true. It was absolutely true. And it was too much for me to handle on top of every other thing I’d endured over the past week.

  I didn’t speak at all for the rest of the day.

  Not on the plane to New York, or when Peg tried to discuss where we’d go from there.

  I still hadn’t spoken when we climbed onto a bus in Port Authority on our way to Texas, or when Peg rented us a small house on the outskirts of Austin with the money Robbie had given her just days before he died.

  I didn’t speak for months.

  Not one word.

  My voice was frozen in my throat. I had nothing left in me to say.

  Chapter 38

  Patrick

  I was practically vibrating with excitement when we pulled our bikes into the parking lot of the pub where we were meeting Doc and the women. The last week and a half had been hell, and I was anxious to get it over with.

  Moira had been sick as shit the entire trip, and I’d been uncomfortable as hell trying to comfort her while maintaining an appropriate distance. It was an odd situation we found ourselves in, and I couldn’t help but feel very, very sorry for this woman who was carrying my child. She didn’t deserve to be alone with a group of people she barely knew, especially when the only woman who could have helped had refused to say one word in her direction.

  I was glad Vera was so loyal to my wife. I was. But I could have fucking killed her for refusing to even acknowledge Moira when she was so sick. I’d been helpless to do anything but talk quietly to the poor woman and occasionally rub her back until she fell into an exhausted sleep. Even that had made my skin crawl like I was doing something wrong.

  It didn’t help matters that I’d barely slept. I couldn’t—not without nightmares plaguing me. Every scenario—from the things I’d done to things that I prayed would never happen—had flashed through my dreams. It had been easier to stay awake, but after a week with only a few hours of sleep I was feeling a bit fuzzy about the edges.

  We’d left Moira and Vera back at our hotel while we met up with my women, and I hoped that their forced interaction would help them find some common ground. Unfortunately for all of us, Moira was going to be around for a long time and I knew as soon as Amy showed up things would become even more uncomfortable. I hoped that maybe things could settle down between the two women before Vera saw my wife again and her loyalty was brought to the forefront.

  My wife. God, I missed her.

  I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Amy again. It felt like I’d been waiting an eternity for her to arrive. I didn’t even care that she’d had time to stew and probably become even more angry with me. As long as she was with me, I was willing to wait a lifetime for her forgiveness.

  When we walked into the pub, the first thing I noticed was the grim look on Doc’s face. My stomach clenched in apprehension when I realized he was alone.

  “Where are dey?” I yelled frantically, searching the mostly empty bar.

  “Patrick—” Doc said.

  “Where is me wife?”

  “Calm down, son,” Ham warned, gripping my shoulder. “Let the man talk.”

  My teeth came together with a crack as I waited anxiously for Doc to begin speaking again, and it seemed like hours before he opened his mouth.

  “They’re not here.”

  “What de fuck are ye goin’ on about?” I yelled again, grimacing as Ham’s hand dug into my shoulder.

  “Amy wouldn’t come,” Doc said flatly. “Your ma wasn’t about to let her go off on her own, so she
went with her.”

  “Ye left dem in Ireland alone?” I roared, and before I could take a single step forward, a huge pair of arms wrapped around me, holding me in place.

  “No, you did. I put them on a flight to New York before I left.”

  My body relaxed in relief before tensing once again. “I have to go,” I said frantically, trying to pull away from Ham’s arms. “I have to go.”

  “They’re not there,” Doc informed me, causing me to freeze. “I’m not sure where they were headed from there, but your ma said New York was too expensive. She said to let you know that she’d write you at the club as soon as they got settled.”

  My vision filled with red as Doc calmly told me that my wife and mother were traveling by themselves across a country they didn’t know. It didn’t even occur to me that America was where Amy felt most at home. The only thing I could imagine were the two most important people in my life stranded and afraid—alone somewhere with no one to help them or protect them. I was so unbelievably scared that it immediately turned to overwhelming anger at the man in front of me.

  The sound that came out of my throat was inhuman, and I lunged, taking Ham with me as I went for Doc’s throat.

  I was out cold before I even made contact.

  ***

  “Ye didn’t have to knock me out,” I told Charlie, as I nursed a beer at the bar. “I wouldn’t have killed him.”

  Charlie snorted beside me. “He would have killed you, you moron.”

  “Fuck off! Yer a right prick, ye know dat?”

  “I don’t understand half of what you say, you realize that, right?” he answered with a laugh. “I’m not kidding. The man knows human anatomy better than I know my wife’s pussy. He could kill you with a fuckin’ toothpick.”

  “What de hell do I do?” I asked in defeat, drinking the watered down beer in front of me. American beer was fucking disgusting.

  “It’s time to go home, man,” Charlie informed me with a slap on the back as he got to his feet. “Nothin’ you can do in this shit hole, and your mom’s gonna write to the clubhouse, yeah? Could be she’s already sent the letter. No way to know until we get there.”

  I nodded, following him out of the bar on unsteady legs that I tried to disguise.

  No one could know how fucking terrified I was that I’d never get that letter.

  ***

  “Where de fuck are ye, Mum?” I said into the phone, trying to turn my back on the crowded room behind me.

  It had been three agonizing weeks since that day in the pub, and I’d finally received a letter that morning in the mail with a telephone number where I could reach Mum. She hadn’t said anything about Amy, and I prayed that wherever they were, at least they were still together.

  I was livid and frightened. Everything was different in Oregon, the fucking roads, the money, even the language. Christ, we all spoke English, but there was quite a difference between how I spoke it and how they did. The slang was fucked, the beer tasted like shite, and I’d been going out of my mind with worry.

  “Don’t use that tone with me,” Mum warned, before sighing. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”

  “Where are ye?”

  “I’d love to tell ye, but we both know the minute I did, ye’d be on yer way here and I don’t think now is the best time.”

  I sputtered, completely caught off guard by her words. Not the best time? What the fuck did that mean?

  “Explain yerself,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to the way I was losing it.

  “Amy is not ready to see ye.”

  “She’s me wife, goddammit!” My voice rose and I could feel my temples throbbing as I tried to calm myself.

  “Yer wife willna speak to ye. She doesn’t want to see ye,” she replied apologetically.

  “And yer just goin’ to play her game den, is it? Whose Mum are ye?”

  “Don’t ye dare, Patrick Gallagher!” Mum’s voice went from calm to furious in a moment. “Ye’ve made yer bed, and ye know it. I’ve got a heartbroken girl here who refuses to speak, I don’t have time fer yer male posturin!’ ”

  “Refuses to speak?” I asked, confused as fuck. “What are ye goin’ on about?”

  “She’s not said a word since we left Ireland,” she replied, her voice going quiet again. “I’m not sure why, but—”

  “Tell me where ye are, Mum. Tell me where ye are and I’ll come take care of it.” I was pleading now, the fear in Mum’s voice causing my heart to race as I remembered Amy when I’d found her at her parents’ house, unwashed and afraid. Even then, she’d matched me word for word. I couldn’t imagine anything that could make her stop speaking for any length of time.

  “I’m sorry, son. I’m afraid ye’d make it worse.”

  “Mum—”

  “Call again in a few days—”

  “Mum!”

  “I love ye.”

  “Mum!”

  She hung up and I pulled the phone away from my face in disbelief before throwing it against the wall.

  “FUCK!”

  I scrubbed my hands over my face, then glanced at the phone that was hanging by its curly cord over the top of the bar. I couldn’t even call back if I’d wanted to; I’d smashed the thing to pieces in my rage.

  What the fuck was happening? I’d make her worse? I was her bloody husband! I loved her more than anyone on the entire fucking earth. I’d do anything for her.

  “Is everyt’in’ okay, Trick?” Moira asked quietly, coming up behind me to set a hand on my back.

  “Not now, Moira,” I mumbled, shrugging her off.

  I had to get away from this place. I glanced up to see half of the room watching me curiously, and began tapping my fingers in a familiar rhythm against my thigh. I realized all of them were watching as I lost my mind, and my face fell into an expressionless mask.

  “Let’s take a ride, brother. Yeah?” Charlie called as he passed me, thumping me on the back.

  Yes. That was exactly what I needed.

  I followed him outside and climbed on the bike Ham had loaned me until I could work off a trade.

  My wife was hurting and silent somewhere and wanted nothing to do with me.

  It was the lowest point in my life.

  Chapter 39

  Amy

  I had nightmares.

  To be completely honest, they didn’t happen every night. They only happened on the nights that I actually slept.

  I was a mess. Peg and I had rented a small house, not unlike the one we’d had in Ireland, and I’d barely left it since the day we moved in. I just… couldn’t. Peg had found a job pretty quickly in the produce department of the local grocery store, which meant we had money to live, but me? I barely contributed at all.

  I cooked and cleaned like a stay at home housewife, but I could barely walk outside to grab the mail at the end of the driveway. Anytime I stepped outside, it felt like I was being watched. Logically, I knew the chances of Malcolm finding me in the small Texas town were nearly impossible. We’d changed busses so many times that the FBI would have a hard time pinpointing our location.

  However, fear wasn’t logical—it wasn’t easily overlooked or pushed past. Instead, every day I had to push myself a little farther. I’d go to the store with Peg for groceries, or to the library for books. I’d step out onto the porch while Peg was at work and count to sixty, then one hundred, then I’d set the timer on the stove for five minutes, rushing back inside with a racing heart and sweaty palms as soon as the designated count was over.

  I didn’t even look the same. The weight I’d lost in my misery had sharpened my cheekbones, my hand was still taped because I couldn’t bear to look at it, and… my hair. It had begun to grow back in, which made me look a little less like a freak, but it was silver. Every single strand had grown back in gray. The premature graying must have been genetic, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was a mutation caused by trauma. I could barely look at myself in the mirr
or. It was an outward physical sign that I’d never be the same again. I hated the way I looked, hated the way I couldn’t seem to get past my fears and memories. I hated the way my fingers throbbed in some sort of phantom pain, pain that I didn’t even recall having when I’d lost two of them as a child.

  Peg had no idea how to help me. I think she may have felt just as lost as I was. She didn’t coddle me, that wasn’t her style, but she never pushed me, either. She was just there, ready for anything I needed and willing to do whatever she could to help. She continued to talk to me like I was normal, like I had any opinion on which bed to buy at the local thrift store—which we’d gone to before the agoraphobia had kicked in—or what I’d like for dinner, even though I never answered her.

  She tried. God knows she tried.

  It had been two and a half months since we’d left Ireland and I hadn’t spoken a single word since that day.

  My body was healing, but my mind seemed to be stuck in those first few days after the attack. Certain things would set me off, like the trip to the hardware store a couple of blocks away, or the floral print couch Peg found at a yard sale for free.

  Then, out of the blue, Peg decided to try something different to get my attention. She’d heard some co-workers discussing a lady that did acupuncture to treat everything from eczema to high blood pressure. I’m not sure if she thought I’d balk enough at the thought of some stranger sticking dozens of little needles in my body to speak up, or if she’d thought it would actually work—but two days later, she told me that I had an appointment.

  The fear of leaving the house was getting better. I wasn’t ready to take a cross-country trip, but I was able to leave the house for short periods as long as I was with Peg. I called it progress, though I’m sure Peg would have just called it annoying.

  The acupuncture place was calming. There was some low nature sounds coming from the boom box in the corner, some incense burning on two different shelves, and the acupuncturist seemed high. Okay, maybe she wasn’t high, but the woman was seriously calm, far more calm than I’d ever seen anyone. It was like she’d taken both happy pills and some sort of downer… life was good, but she wasn’t going to get all riled up about it.