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  “Shit, more on the way!” a voice from outside said over the fire.

  “We’ll get ‘em another day! Let’s go!”

  “But—”

  “We’ll get ‘em later!”

  With that, the revving of a dozen or so DMs came to life, roaring away from the shop as BK and I stood up, firing some parting shots to the enemy.

  “Fucking cowards!” I roared. “There’ll be more coming your way!”

  But then, with the adrenaline and threat gone, it felt like someone had taken a baseball bat and smashed it against my elbow. I yelled in pain as I suddenly felt very lightheaded, leaning on a nearby table.

  “Shit, boss, you all right?” BK said.

  “I’m fine,” I said, groaning. “Where’s Mafia and Krispy?”

  “I got more kills than that motherfucker,” Krispy said.

  “I had them and you took ‘em!” Mafia said.

  “Whatever, Mario.”

  “Mafia.”

  “I’m motherfuckin’ Krispy; you wanna argue with me?”

  “Mafia! Respect your elders!”

  “Guys!”

  Suddenly, the lightheaded feeling became much stronger.

  “I think… I need a… hospi…”

  The last thing I remember was falling into something that vaguely felt like arms before passing out.

  Chapter 4: Jane

  The second half of my shift didn’t see me bring in anyone new that actually qualified as an emergency. Someone walked in, claiming they had eaten too much sugar on their cheat day and needed their belly purged, but we dismissed them and told them to go for the gluten-free products next time. They begged for treatment, but as someone who had seen people get stabbed, shot, tortured, and bit, I had no sympathy for the sugar OD patient.

  All seemed normal right as the clock struck eleven. I just needed to get through one more hour and I could go home until the next day. One more hour and I’d be done. One more hour, and…

  And then, as if the very thing that Dr. Burns had warned me about this morning had to make a point, I heard the revving of a whole lot of bikes outside.

  “Goddamnit,” I said. “Guess it was gonna happen sooner or later.”

  I stood at attention, waiting for the Saints to drop someone off they should have called an ambulance for—but then again, when did they ever follow proper protocol on these kinds of things? When did I ever think that there would be a chance of them doing such a thing?

  Seconds later, I saw two Saints—both of whom looked familiar, one whom I think was BK, the other looking like a fat Italian man that I think was named Mafia—carrying…

  Tracy?

  Oh, God, no.

  Ah, shit!

  “What happened?” a nurse who had had the foresight to wield a gurney out asked.

  “Got shot in the elbow,” BK said. “Walking home and got mistaken for someone, I think.”

  Where have I heard that line before?

  Oh right, the ten thousand times my father or one of his associates got hit.

  Let me guess the real story. Went on a drug raid or a retaliation that would just go away if these boys could check their egos for give seconds, got in a shootout, killed some people, and then got hit. How right will I be?

  Why did it have to happen to Tracy though?

  “Looks like a puncture wound, but might’ve avoided most of the bone,” one of the nurses said as she came up to me.

  “OK, thanks,” I said, still trying to learn everyone’s name. “Let’s get him into the operating room. We’ll knock him out for surgery, get the bullet out, and stitch up the wound and repair anything else that needs to be done.”

  I turned around to see BK and Mafia following, along with a host of about five other Saints.

  “Uh, sorry, medical personnel only,” I said. “We have to put him under to take care of the bullet. You guys stay out of this.”

  “He’s one of ours; we stay with him,” BK said.

  Normally, I would just ignore someone like this, continuing to the operating room and letting security or a nurse calm them down. But I knew if I didn’t step up right now and stop their tactics before it went any further, I would never stop getting run over. I had to establish myself right now, even with what my last name meant to the club.

  I told the nurses to take them in and turned. BK might have had a foot and a hundred plus pounds on me, but I knew him too well ever to hit a woman or even intimidate one once he got stood up to.

  “Let me make one thing clear, especially because I imagine I’ll be seeing many of you here over the next couple of years,” I said, pointing a finger at him and Mafia. “When I tell you to stay back so I can take care of someone, it is not a suggestion. This is a medical procedure and I am trying to clean up one of your boys and do my fucking job. Check your ego at the door. Do I make myself clear?”

  BK looked angry at first, but then bowed his head. Mafia never even bothered to chime in.

  “And lest you think I am doing this to piss you off, remember who my father was.”

  “I remember what he told you,” BK said.

  It was the worst thing he could have said, and because of everything that had happened that day—the doubts I’d had in coming back, the talk with Dr. Burns, seeing the one Saint whom I was close to in age come in—I lost it. I slapped BK.

  “Don’t you ever talk about my father that way.”

  Before either one of them could say a word, I turned around, tried to calm myself, and then stepped inside the operating room.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s get this guy cleaned up so he can go back to his boys.”

  * * *

  The surgery and everything took less than half an hour. If ever there was a clean shot to the elbow, it was this—it had not actually hit Tracy’s elbow, though it had come awfully close. If it had, then the number of surgeries and rehab work he’d have to do would be seemingly endless. He wouldn’t be able to ride for some time, that was all but a certainty.

  The bullet, instead, had hit him on the tricep about half an inch above its attachment to the elbow. He wouldn’t be doing any bench presses any time soon, nor would I advise him to engage in any serious activity for a week or two, but the worst case scenario had been avoided.

  I was able to maintain intense focus when I was working on him, but when it was finished, I found myself taking a step back to take in what I saw. Tracy Cole, now the leader of the Saints… the closest thing I had to a friend in the club… my, how he’d grown so handsome.

  And, apparently, stupid enough to get shot.

  “All right,” I said, taking off my mask, trying to return to a sense of duty. “Break for ten. Let’s come back, make sure all vitals are fine, and wait for him to wake up.”

  I was the first to leave, opening the door and turning right.

  Only to see about a half dozen Savage Saints standing there, arms folded, looking determined but not angry.

  “Can we talk?” Sensei said. “We just want to understand some things.”

  I bit my lip.

  “You got two minutes,” I said, taking them to an unused hospital room.

  Fortunately, perhaps because they knew better, only Sensei and Sword, the second oldest, came in. This made me feel a bit more comfortable knowing I wasn’t walking into some sort of trap, although I still had nerves that this would begin some extortion that I couldn’t pull myself out of.

  “What’s going on?” I said, closing the door.

  “Jane, why are you back?”

  Sensei, despite being a biker and looking every bit the part, complete with arm sleeve tattoos, tats on his neck, a single earing, and a beard down to his chest, had such composure and calm to him that I always had to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if this was some elaborate ploy to… I don’t know, not have to pay the medical bills for Tracy, I knew that Sensei would handle it ethically.

  “I…”

  I sighed. This wasn’t a group I could bullshit like Dr.
Burns or just about anyone else in the town of Green Hills.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Sensei took a second, shared a look with Sword, and spoke.

  “I know what BK said to you was hurtful, and I’m sorry he said that. But there’s truth in what he said. Your father told you to get out. Why are you back?”

  I really didn’t want to admit this, even though I would have eventually had to have had this conversation with someone in the club, likely Sword.

  “I appreciate you guys paying for me to get through NYU and Johns Hopkins,” I said. “I know it took a lot out of you and I appreciate it. But… well, I’ve been wanting to completely detach myself from Green Hills as long as I can remember. Detach myself from the Peters name and the Savage Saints as much as I could. All respect to you guys, but it’s not a life I can understand nor ever be a part of.”

  “Nor would we want you to, sweetheart,” Sensei said. “You’re too smart to stay in this town. We’re just a bunch of fucking mechanics and idiots. Hell, Sword here only handles our finances because he’s the only one who didn’t fail high school math.”

  I had to smile at the joke, which at least Sensei had the courtesy to give back to me.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, brushing my hair back. “But as long as there’s money from you guys that paid for my education, I’ll always feel… well, I might as well say it. I feel a little dirty. Like I made my education on the back of all the things you guys do. I know the mechanic shop isn’t taking it all in. I know what my dad did in the background.”

  So here came the crux of it all, why I had come back.

  “So I’ve come back to pay off my debt to you.”

  “Ohhhh, Jane, it’s not a debt,” Sword said. “We gave it to you as a gift from the club.”

  “Trust me; we know how to hunt down outstanding debt,” Sensei said. “We’ve done our best never to speak to you in the past ten years, or at least as little as we can. We don’t want you back in this life any more than you do.”

  “I’m aware, and I’m grateful. But a gift from the club is still an association with the club.”

  I realized how cruel my words must have sounded, especially coming from the daughter of the founder. I felt like a female Judas, taking what the world had given me and betraying it. The only reason the analogy wasn’t perfect was because at least I was making reparations for my betrayal, or at least trying to.

  I realized then, too, how cruel my words through the years must have sounded. I had become so emotional at the death of my father that I could never really see the Saints as anything other than gangsters, thugs, and criminals, no matter how much my father had reminded me the Saints weren’t a gang but an honorable club. And to have said what I did at the funeral…

  But that didn’t mean I would change my mind.

  “I have to pay you guys back.”

  “Even if we let you,” Sword said. “Which we haven’t decided yet. Why did you come back here? You could have just mailed us—”

  “What, a check?” I said. “I know how you guys are and what your relationship is with Uncle Sam. I’m not trying to give you anything that could be tracked.”

  Sword and Sensei shared a smile at that before looking back at me.

  “You really are the daughter of Paul Peters,” Sensei said. “Look, if you really want to give us the cash, we’re not going to say no. Frankly, money’s a little tight these days, so any help we can get, we’ll take. But we aren’t about the money. We’re about what’s right. It was right to make sure you took the Peters name out of Green Hills.”

  “And you did that,” I said. “And now, it’s only right that since I’m in a position to pay you back, I do.”

  Sensei looked like he was about to speak before the door opened. It was BK.

  “Nurses are looking for you,” he said. “Trace is awake. And Jane. I’m sorry.”

  I smiled at him.

  “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

  “I deserved it. And I ain’t need surgery for it.”

  The four of us shared a short chuckle as I rose.

  “If you really feel bad about it,” I said. “Charge me ten times markup when I need to get my vehicle checked up. She’s an old piece of shit anyways, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing her a lot.”

  I didn’t give Sensei or Sword a chance to talk about it before I brushed by them and BK, heading into the operating room.

  I felt… oddly good. It felt nice to have finally come face to face with many of the men I’d grown up with, men who had provided me security when I went to school and out on dates, and not feel disgust. I had become such an emotional hurricane of rage after my father’s death that I had forever associated the black and gold colors with death, mayhem, and grief.

  I guess seeing some of the more rational members of the club went a long way to making things better. I’m not sure if I would have responded as well if BK and Splitter had sat me down but seeing Sensei and Sword in the room did wonders for making things better.

  Not that things were perfect. I knew some of the Saints were offended I’d returned. To them, disobeying an order from my father was akin to disobeying God, a crime punishable by at least excommunication from their club if not outright death.

  I guess some things would need to be figured out with time. Surely, they wouldn’t need a reason for me to give them money if they were that desperate for cash. I’m sure some of them would resent me, but aside from Tracy, I doubted that I would ever actually associate with any of them outside of a medical emergency.

  I stepped into Tracy’s room and shut the door. Tracy was awake, staring at some sports highlights on the TV before he saw me. I felt a heat in the middle of my stomach rising, something that I consciously had to quell—which only made it worse the longer those deep blue eyes stared at me.

  “You’re a lucky man,” I said, trying to keep a professional and curt tone. “I’m not sure who would have chosen to ‘drive-by shoot you’ but had they managed to aim about a half inch lower, you would not be using your arm for at least a year.”

  I sure hoped that my sarcasm and my disbelief in his cover story came through loud and clear, because, perhaps in a form of overcompensation, I was not having it. Just as I needed to set the tone with BK and the others, I needed to do so with Tracy, especially since he might have believed as the new president of the Saints he was on equal footing with my father.

  Which would be true for absolutely no one under any circumstances.

  “You’re going to stay here for another two nights as we evaluate you to make sure there are no complications. You got out of the most critical part of all of this, but there are still risks for infections and other sorts of problems. Please remain in your bed while we evaluate you. Any questions?”

  Tracy struggled for a few seconds as he fought with the pain before he collected himself.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Can I speak to you alone?”

  I looked to the other two nurses with us, gave the OK, and walked them out. I shut the door behind them and turned to Tracy. I had to admit, there was an odd mixture of excitement and anger rising at this, and the two mingled so closely together it was difficult to tell what was associated with what. I just knew that seeing Tracy this grown up was… well, I had to say it, it was arousing.

  But seeing Tracy this inquisitive, this embedded in the club, this damaged, was aggravating. I wasn’t sure, though, if the anger was directed at myself or him.

  “I just had the ‘why am I here’ conversation with Sword and Sensei,” I said. “And yes, I do remember all of you. Especially you.”

  “I hope you’re not saying that as a negative.”

  I had to catch myself, surprised that I was not getting the amount of grief I had expected from them. Yes, there was some pushback and annoyance that I was here, as expected, but it wasn’t nearly as annoyed or pissed off as I had expected.

  “Well, no, not entirely,” I said, suddenly caught off guard. “I was told
that some of you weren’t happy with me being back. And, I assumed, since you were the president, that that annoyance had something to do with you.”

  “When would I ever complain about a beautiful, smart woman coming back to a town like this?”

  Ah, shit. Stay professional, Jane.

  “You better watch it, buddy,” I said, though I couldn’t help the smile that came to my face. “My father would kick your ass if he was still alive.”

  “That’s true,” Tracy said, coughing and then wincing in pain when he tried to move his arm up to absorb the cough. “Why are you back, though? Just asking. Be honest. I’m not going to judge. You, of all people, know how much I wouldn’t judge you.”

  That was true, I knew. For as much as I’d looked up to Tracy in the school system, he was also the only one I felt I could relate to more as a sibling instead of a child. He was still older than me by about five years, but at least the age gap was much smaller, and it felt more personal instead of parental with him.

  So I relayed everything to him that I told Sword and Sensei. I told him about how I intended to pay the club back, how I meant to be back in Green Hills for only two years, and how while I appreciated everything the Saints had done for me, I didn’t want any attachments to them. I valued them as individuals, but as a club, it was hard for me to see them as anything other than harbingers of violence.

  “I suppose an incident like tonight isn’t helping matters,” Tracy said, nodding toward his elbow.

  “And I suppose you didn’t really get hit in a drive-by, did you?”

  Tracy just winked at me, causing me to roll my eyes, even as the gesture sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Top secret as usual, huh?”

  “What happens in the club, stays in the club,” Tracy said. “You’re a friend of the club, but you’re not anyone’s old lady yet. And—”