Pinching the first hole between her forefinger and thumb, she lowers the needle to my flesh and says, “I…I don’t feel…rrriiight.” Before I can react, she falls against my crotch.
She fucking fainted.
Perfect.
Chapter Seven
Ruby
Screaming fills my head, vibrating everything around us. Standing in my mother’s overgrown yard, the weeds shoot from the ground, wrapping around my limbs, embedding into my skin, holding me hostage.
“Ruby,” Mom calls.
Blood pours from stab wounds on her stomach. She runs toward me but isn’t getting closer. The roots of the weeds riddle my body, piercing skin, spreading everywhere inside me.
“Mom…” I yell out, holding my hands out toward her.
“Look what you’ve done,” she sobs. Her legs move but I can’t reach her. The weeds become vines, covering me entirely.
Startling awake, my limbs take time to catch up with my brain. I’m pretzeled between Ezekiel’s long, hard legs, his weight leaving my leg dead. The blood takes time circulating, giving me movement back.
Crap.
I was attempting to stitch his wounds and felt light-headed. Carefully shifting my legs from his, I lean over and check his wounds. They’re all stitched in ugly, messy zigzags. He did it himself. Who hell is this man?
His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat but he feels cold to touch. Stepping over him to get off the couch, I get a pan of water and a washcloth and clean his body and face. Light bruising colors the side of his cheek, a darker shade expanding under his right eye. His skin is tanned. Ink makes up pictures over his chest. He has the same tattoo as Jameson, the brotherhood emblem, showing his commitment and loyalty. Toweling him off, I place a blanket over him. The sun creeps over the horizon, a stream of light settling over his sleeping form. He looks like a fallen angel after a battle.
Speaking of battle, I need to find my mother, not stand here admiring a man who has me in a whole lot of shit. Slipping into a pair of my sister’s trainers, my gut bottoms out at the thought of leaving. If Fisher’s men are waiting for me, I’ll be fucked. I should call Jameson, but the idea of him or any of his brothers getting hurt because of me is unbearable. Lily and I have always been a burden on him. What if I brought war to the club? I can’t do that.
“What are you doing?” Ezekiel asks, his voice hoarse, startling me. His eyes are still closed but I feel his attention on me all the same.
“I need to go get my mom.” My pulse races. Fear.
“She’s probably dead by now.”
His words are blunt. I stiffen, waiting for the sorrow, the guilt, but I don’t have anything but denial. She gets out of everything. She’d offer me up to save her own ass. “I don’t believe that. I’m going to her house.”
“Then you’ll die too.” His eyes peel open, the startling green watching me, waiting for a reaction.
“I have to try.” I cross my arms, worrying my lip with my teeth. She’s my mother. A shit one, but the only one I have. If they want to get to me, they won’t kill her.
Groaning, he pulls himself into a sitting position. His wounds look angry and red. Another layer of sweat is already building on his skin.
“Are there any weapons here?” he asks, looking around, wincing.
“It’s my sister’s grandparents. What do you want? A knitting needle?” I scoff.
“I don’t want sarcasm when I’m putting my life on the line for a fucking bitch who lets her kid pay off her debts.” His anger is calm and terrifying. His muscles flex, his jaw rigid.
“I’m sorry.” I tend to act out when I’m frightened. I’d been a brat for Jameson most of my life. I regret that now. A weight lifts from my shoulders at the thought of not having to face this alone. “You’re going to come with me?” I ask, already knowing he is.
“You saved my life. I owe you.” He grunts, checking his wounds. They’re inflamed. He needs antibiotics. “I did an okay job, right?” he asks, admiring his work.
A smile creeps over my face at the sheer strength of the man in front of me. Who stitches up their own stab wounds? I’m not sure what help he’ll be in his condition but I’d rather have him with me. It dawns on me he hasn’t mentioned his brothers or club.
“Why were they after you?” I ask.
His gaze lifts to mine, holding me there, tightening my stomach. It’s unfortunate, but damn, I’m drawn to him. “I was set up.” He fists his hand, rolling his neck over his shoulders.
“By who?” Who would set him up? Why?
“One of my brothers. When I find out who, I’m going to gut them.”
My chest cracks at his words, a pit opening up, threatening to devour me. “A brother? How do you know for sure?”