"Good work today." Dr. Endicott took a chance waltzing into our locker room. It also made me like him that much more. He was one of the few doctors I worked with who understood this floor was a team. I wiped the sweat from my brow and threw my scrub top into a plastic bag. Joleen and Misty were the only other people in here and all three of us looked like we had been the ones in a car wreck.
"You too," I said. He smiled, tapped his fist against one of the lockers and turned to leave.
"Not so fast," I called out. "Eddie's labs came back. They're up at the station. You want to check for yourself or do you trust me?"
Endicott shook his head and slumped his shoulders. "As long as you're not going to gloat."
I smiled and threw my backpack over my shoulder. As soon as I did, I felt my cell phone vibrate against my hip again. Like it or not, I was going to have to cowgirl up and answer it.
"No gloating. But between you and Officer Gleason, I'm going to be one well-caffeinated woman tomorrow."
Endicott put his hand over his heart as if he'd been shot. "Do I even want to look? How close were you?"
".323." Misty shouted it out then lifted her knuckles for me to knock.
"Price is Right rules: she who comes closest without going over. I win," I said as I walked past the doctor and patted him on the shoulder in consolation.
"Next time, Olander," Endicott shouted after me as I headed for the double doors to the parking lot and the first whiff of fresh air I'd taken in more than twelve hours.
My phone vibrated again and I had to contort myself sideways to reach it. I couldn't avoid it anymore. The screen was still flashing when I pulled it out. My heart fluttered when I saw the caller ID. I blew a breath out to steady myself. This wasn't Chris the pharmacist.
Sly.
I hesitated, hovering my thumb over the screen before I answered. Taking another breath, I finally swiped the screen and lifted the phone to my ear.
"Hey," I said. "Are you up super early or super late?"
Rich laughter filled my ear, loud enough I had to hold the phone out for a second. "Maybe I just like to start my day to the sound of your voice."
I leaned against the lamp post and let my backpack slide off my shoulder. "Lucky it's just my voice. I'm just getting off work. I smell like blood and three kinds of vomit."
"Words to melt a man's heart, gorgeous."
I shook my head but didn't answer. Sly paused a beat, letting the silence hang for a second.
"We need to talk," he finally said. I pressed the back of my head against the lamp post and shut my eyes tight. "I have to see you. Can you come to the Den this afternoon? Preferably after you shower."
I bumped my head against the lamp post twice and looked up toward the sky. It was already blazing bright. "Sure. Just let me get a few hours of sleep first, okay? I'm on sevens."
"Whatever you need, Ava. Why don't you let me send Colt or one of other guys to pick you up around three?"
"It's okay. I can drive myself. That way I can leave open the possibility of making a clean getaway."
Sly paused again before answering. "Suit yourself, honey. Just don't be late."
I couldn't help but smile. His tone was light but his intentions clear. Sly Cullinan, President of the Great Wolves M.C., was a man used to getting what he wanted. And right now, he wanted me. My heart tripped again knowing full well what that usually meant.
Chapter Three
Dex
Charlie Brogan had a voice as loud as a freight train. The sound of it slammed into my ears as he dragged the covers off me and snapped the window blinds, letting in stabbing rays of sunlight. It took me a few seconds to remember where the hell I was. Pine paneled walls, clean white sheets, and a twelve-point buck head mounted across the room. I was in one of the rooms above the Wolf Den. I had vague memories of staggering up here when my Welcome Home party died down last night. It was more like earlier this morning.
"Wakey, wakey; eggs and bakey! Goddamm, you look like hell, kid," Charlie bellowed.
I muttered something in the neighborhood of "Fuck off," but it choked in my sandpaper throat. Something thumped next to my ear. I got one eye opened and saw it was a water bottle. I managed to prop myself up on one elbow to unscrew the cap. The water felt clean and good going down and I chugged it.
"What time is it?" I said when my throat started working again. Blood pulsed between my ears as the full weight of my hangover settled in.
"Almost ten." Charlie sat down on the edge of the bed and patted my leg. Shit. Even that hurt. "Think you'll live?"
I sat full up. I was wearing my t-shirt from yesterday and a pair of boxers. My jeans and leather jacket were in a heap on the floor.
"Do I even want to ask how I made it up here and how those made it over there?"
Charlie wagged his gray caterpillar eyebrows at me and smiled. It made me glad. For so long, I'd seen nothing but grief and worry in his round face. It pained me to know that I caused it. It was good to see some of the old light in his eyes.
"Well," I said. "The bed's empty and I don't see panties on the lamp shade. Can I assume I made it up here unmolested?"
Charlie let out one of his great belly laughs and got up. "Nobody downstairs is talkin'. 'Course, they aren't walking or doing much of anything else either. I swear to God, I started my morning checking for pulses."
I heaved my legs over the side of the bed. Everything in me felt like rubber. My stomach roiled when I stood, but I made it across the room and grabbed my jeans. They reeked of whiskey and beer so I threw them back into a corner. I took another swig of water.
"Aggh," Charlie hollered. The sound of it stabbed through my head. "You're a lightweight, Declan."
He wasn't wrong. There was a time I'd have been the last wolf standing after a night like last night. I wasn't sure it was a title I had much interest in retaking. Still, for the first time since I'd gotten out of Marion, this felt like home. It wasn't. Not yet. I still had to figure out some kind of permanent living arrangement. But my brothers had welcomed me home with open arms and a flowing tap. I felt some of the hard years melt away, if only a little.
"Mo made enough flapjacks to feed an army down there."
Mo was Cora Mo McGillivray. A mouthful for as small a person as she was so Mo stuck before most of us were born. She was, Charlie's long-suffering girlfriend and self-appointed den mother to us all. They'd been together over twenty years and she wouldn't marry him. It was out of spite for her bastard of an ex-husband, a member of a rival M.C., the Devil's Hawks. He paid her a good chunk of alimony every month that would stop the minute she remarried. I don't think she'd ever spent a dime of it, but she relished the satisfaction of taking it from him. The arrangement seemed to suit Charlie fine.
When Charlie opened the door to the hallway, sure enough, the kitchen smells reached my nostrils. I swear to God, just the scent of Mo's cooking had to be the best hangover cure known to man.
"Lemme just scrape the fuzz off my teeth and tell her I'll be right down." My stomach punctuated my statement with a growl that Charlie could hear from the hallway. He laughed again and waddled toward the stairs.
I grabbed my duffel and pulled out fresh clothes. Ten minutes later, after a hot shower and toothpaste, I felt like a new man. I pulled a new white t-shirt over my head, savoring the clean smell of bleach. I threw my cut over my shoulders, shoving my arms through it, and headed toward the heavenly scent of Mo's pancakes.
"You up for a sort of field trip?" Sly leaned against the kitchen counter sipping coffee out of an oversized mug that said "GWG." I still didn't know what the hell that meant.
I finished the last dregs of my own cup and set it down. "I don't have any other big plans for the day. What'd you have in mind?"
Sly set his cup in the sink behind him. It had a deep, industrial-sized stainless steel basin. In fact, everything about this kitchen was industrial-sized. The Den had a commercial kitchen off the bar but Sly had built a second kitchen, just for the members. It was open, with a long, granite-topped bar right in the middle of it. Back in the day, before Sly rebuilt the place, the members would hang out in the basement or around the conference table. We had a bunch of mismatched tables, folding chairs and a cooler stocked with beer. This was a vast improvement. He had two walk-in coolers stocked with enough food and beer to satisfy about forty starved and thirsty bikers.
"You ready to go back to work?" Sly raised a blond eyebrow at me and I leaned forward on my stool, resting my weight on my elbows.
"Again, what'd you have in mind?" That question had weighed on me as much as thoughts of Ava did. Thirteen years ago, I knew where I fit into the club. Blackie Murphy had been a son of a bitch and took the club in directions that weren't good for us. Directions that had made me the perfect target for the set-up that landed me in prison. We were the muscle for some bad and powerful organizations. Blackie justified it, claiming we weren't the ones actually dealing drugs or guns. We were the peacekeepers. His own fucked-up version of the U.N. And when the feds zeroed in on Pagano, we should have seen it coming a mile away that he'd use one of us as his scapegoat. I never dreamed it would be me.
But even with all of that, I understood the path in front of me when Blackie was in charge. A path that was supposed to bring me to the head of the club when he stepped down. Now Sly wore Blackie's patch. I didn't begrudge it of him. Not for one damn second. But it left me unsettled. The shrink at Marion warned me to expect this. Of course I was glad to be out. But it was going to take me some time to figure out my next move. Freedom can be an overwhelming thing when you've been without for as long as I had.