“Was what?”
“I’m afraid she was pregnant. The trauma has induced a miscarriage.”
My tears betrayed me now as they did when he’d told me the first time. If it was that hard on me, how would it be on her?
A faint knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I wiped my face quickly. “Come in.”
“Hey, Prez.” Owl entered. “Just going to check on her real quick.”
I was so grateful for Owl. Not only for taking care of Cammie and bringing every medical equipment she needed here instead of having to take her to a fucking hospital, but also because he helped me charter a plane real fast, which took us back to Rosewood after the attack in no time.
That old man used to be a good ER doctor at County and only rode for fun. If he hadn’t been so fixed on painkillers, he would’ve done way better outside. But everybody was fixed on something, and he loved drugs and Harleys.
As far as I knew, after he finished his miles, earned his patch and went by Owl as his road name a couple of months ago, I’d never seen him happier.
“Is she getting any better?” I asked as he moved his flashlight pen thing over her eyes.
“The swelling is better. All these bruises will be gone in a week or so. The scars on her back will be nastier than the old ones, though.” He stood to replace the bag on her IV.
The old ones were caused by Roar. The new ones by Rush. My precious fathers.
Mama had told me the truth when we got back. That cunt had been more devastated about Rush’s death than what he’d done to my girl. And when I told her I’d lost my unborn baby because of him, I didn’t see empathy or sadness in her eyes. I saw panic. Real fear.
That got me suspicious she was behind this shit all along. When she took off that very same hour, I knew for sure.
She couldn’t run away forever. I would find her. I would make her pay.
She did everything in her power to make me President. I would show her what the Nigh Skull’s President did to back-stabbing cunts like her.
As soon as Cammie woke up.
If she ever did.
CHAPTER 14
Dusty
Blood splattered on my jeans and boots as I slammed my fist into the side of Pat’s head. The sniveling junkie piled into a heap on the cement floor of the Boiler—the Night Skulls’ torture room. Each chapter had one of those, even in Europe.
He climbed to his knees. “Please, Prez. I swear I don’t know where she is.” His shaking hands laced together like he was praying. Prayer couldn’t help him now.
With an unforgiving backhand, I laid him flat. “You were the only fucker Beth was spotted with before she disappeared. You know where she’s hiding, and you’re going to tell me all about it.”
Surrounded by cigarette butts, empty beer cans, and dead cockroaches such as himself if he didn’t come clean in the next minute, Pat lay, unmoving in the dark. They always thought if they could fake unconsciousness, the beating would stop.
They were wrong.
I glanced to my side at Big Gun, my Enforcer. He stood a foot taller than I was, his huge arms crossed over his chest, his bald head sweating under the one lit lamp hanging from the ceiling in this old utility room. Then I nodded at the tool bench across from me.
Big Gun scanned the instruments scattered atop it and picked up pliers with dried blood covering them. “Pulling some teeth will get him talking.”
The whimpering puddle got to his feet before Big Gun even stepped to pull him up. “No, no! Fuck this shit. I’m your man, Prez. I’d never—”
My fist connected with his jaws, sending a tooth flying out already. His head cracked to the side, and he groaned, spitting out blood.
I grabbed his neck and pressed him to the wall, and then punched him in the stomach. His knees gave, and he drooled blood on the floor. “Take over, Big Gun,” I ordered.
The fucking junkie trembled as my Enforcer approached with the pliers. Pat’s swollen eyes widened when Big Gun yanked the pliers open and shoved them in the fucker’s mouth. Pat mumbled his protest, choking. Then he said something in panic. A name.