Chapter Five.
Chance watched, horrified, as the juggernaut slammed into the car containing Chey and her bodyguard. At the last moment, Chey’s driver tried to steer out of the truck’s way, but he’d no chance to avoid the head-on impact. Chance was moving before Chey’s vehicle even flipped the first time. In front of his eyes, the car rolled twice more before landing up against the wall at an angle.
“Calling 911!” Shee yelled as Chance raced towards the crushed vehicle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a guy jump out of the lorry and run. Chance shoved that to one side as Chey’s car’s engine caught fire. The driver was closest as Chance slammed to his knees and crawled in through the broken window. He checked for a pulse and found nothing. A quick glance showed the man’s neck had snapped, the poor bastard had died on impact. Chance tried to climb into the back of the car, seeing Chey pinned and pulled away in frustration as the flames grew in heat and size.
Chey’s eyes briefly opened and met his before closing again. Chance didn’t hesitate. He flung himself out of the vehicle and leapt to his feet, racing to the rear. Without a second thought, he punched his fist straight through the window and yanked at the glass. Shee shoved him to one side as he slammed a crowbar into it. Within moments, Shee cleared a space, and Chance was hauling ass to climb inside to reach Chey. The car rocked as Chance entered, and Chance called for brothers to brace it.
A quick glance informed Chance how dire the situation was. The angle at which the vehicle sat meant that Chey’s neck could be broken if it fell. Her seat belt had tightened around her, but she’d slid half out of it, and her body rested in an awkward pose. Carefully reaching out a hand, Chance checked for life, and his heart leapt as he felt Chey’s pulse beating unsteadily.
“Need a backboard,” Shotgun called. “Way Chey’s spine is bent up; she might have spinal injuries.”
“Ain’t got time,” Chance replied as heat burst into the car.
“Need that fuckin’ extinguisher!” Diesel bellowed.
“Here!” Levi shouted, and Chance heard the hiss of the fire extinguisher. But the flames had caught, and one stupid bottle would not put them out. Chance gritted his teeth and wedged his body under Chey’s. He drew his knife from his ankle and cut the belt supporting her body as it flopped towards him. A pained cry left Chey’s mouth, but her eyes remained closed.
“Keep Chey as stable as you can, but this car’s moving to blow, fuckin’ move!” Chance hollered as Celt leaned in and grabbed her shoulders. Bone held Chey’s neck steady as they lifted her out of the window. Diesel gripped her waist, doing his best to keep her still. Wraith took her legs, and the four of them moved Chey away, doing everything possible to hold Chey motionless. Chance scrabbled to climb out as the heat hit his back, and he smelt burning hair. With a mighty heave, Chance yanked himself out of the car and rolled as the fuckin’ thing exploded. Chance covered his face from flying metal and glass and screamed for Hellfire to call out to him.
Eyes streaming with tears from the blast, Chance shook his head to clear it of confusion and roared again for his brothers. A hand tapped his shoulder, and Chance raised his gaze to find Bear. Bear gave him the okay sign as Chance frowned. Bear touched his own ears, and Chance realised he couldn’t hear anything except a muted roar. Oh shit! Chance leaned back on his elbows as the emergency services raced onto his forecourt. What a fuckin’ mess!
???
Sounds came and went. I overheard someone demanding for me to open my eyes. I could have sworn that was Celt. But I didn’t know a Celt, well, I didn’t think I did. He faded away, and I heard sirens, which struck me as unusual. Why did I hear an ambulance, and why did it sound like I was inside it? I sensed myself being jostled and grouched that they wouldn’t let me sleep. Why were people so damn rude? Everything was so confusing.
Shouting echoed, and security was called, ah, I must be at a gig and had fallen. The following thought pushed that aside. Why should I be attending a concert? How odd that my mind jumped to a show; why not a baseball game or something similar?
Someone flashed a light into my eyes, and I tried to move away but found myself strapped down. A name floated through my thoughts, and I was sure I spoke it, Mick. Who was Mick, and why was he so important? The darkness took me under, and I awoke to crying, a woman I believed. She sounded heartbroken, I don’t know why, but I was upset for her.
A man tapped my hands, and I opened my eyes and glanced at him before the black reclaimed me. I swam through the blackness, seeking light, but actually, I was floating and weightless, not swimming, and it felt good. I didn’t want to find the light, although I realised I had to. The darkness was warm and soothing, and I wouldn’t have to face the harsh lights. A young man’s voice begged me to wake up, and while I couldn’t put a name to him, I yearned to soothe him, tell him everything was okay. But the dark dragged me back into the sanctuary it had become.
A hand shook my shoulder, piercing my slumber, but it felt strange like it was padded. I wondered if I was being attacked by a bear. It struck me as funny because I didn’t think Bear would hurt me. But a whisper warned I had to be careful of the Celts. They would harm me. I obeyed them and sunk deep into oblivion; I was protected there.
Someone sang to me. I recognised that voice but couldn’t put a name to it. There were unshed tears as the man crooned to me and, at the end, begged me to wake the fuck up now. A small part of me laughed. That was so rude! Swearing at me when I couldn’t defend myself, but I knew it came from a place of love. A second joined the first, and wow… he was fantastic. Seriously good. His tone was a mix of country and strong, rich baritone. A huskiness and pitchiness made the sound really appealing. I opened my eyes.
“You’re great,” I croaked. That little effort was too much, and I sank back into my haven as a teenager cried, “Mom!”
A well thought out scolding brought me awake the next time. An older man was sitting on my bed, black hair streaked with grey and worry lines across his eyes. He was making demands and running his fingers through his longish mane. I recognised his face but couldn’t put a name to it. I knew to be afraid of him, although at the moment, he sounded despondent, and there was deep anguish in his gaze that worried me. He was apologising, and I didn’t understand why. His voice contained guilt, and I wondered what this angel had done that was so terrible.
My eyes opened to a brightly lit room, and I gazed around. At my right sat a woman, older than me and her hand gripping mine tightly. She was asleep, and I was loath to wake her. To my left, a man I vaguely recognised but couldn’t give him a name. He slept with his head on my bed, and his face turned towards me. He was bald and very pale and looked very sick, and I was confused. Surely he belonged in this bed and not me.
A movement at the end of the bed made me look up, and I stared into a beautiful pair of blue eyes. They were so pale they could be called silver or grey. He had several days’ worth of growth on his face, and his hair was yanked into a messy ponytail. His skin was tanned, and he owned high cheekbones and thin lips. Again, I was hit by the notion I should recognise him, but I’d no name for him. I gawked at him as he gazed back, and I noted both his arms were wrapped in bandages.
“Chey?” the man rumbled as I watched him, speechless. Puzzled, I looked at the other woman. Was she Chey? The door opened, and a guy stuck his head in.
“Celt, Clio’s gone into labour. We’re heading to maternity,” the stranger announced and glanced at me. I held his stare, confused, as relief swept over him.
“Hey Cheyenne,” he said, and I frowned. Cheyenne? Was that who I was? My eyes rolled up as I gave into the soothing darkness. I far preferred swimming in that. It was easier than trying to resolve questions I didn’t have the answer to.
???
“My name is Cheyenne Markham,” I sighed at the Spanish inquisitor in front of me. I’d woken this morning and wondered what was happening.
“Can you tell me your date of birth, Cheyenne, please?” the doctor asked.
“Doc Paul?” the man with him muttered.
“Not now, Celt,” Paul said as I rattled off my birthday.