Colt Book 2

Summer

3:12 a.m.

I’d been staring at the clock for eight minutes. Watching it tick. The light kept flickering outside my hospital room. The room was dead quiet, but I could hear the bzzzz of the light as it flickered. Made it seem like I was in a nightmare or something.

Why me?

I was used to thinking that when I was over there, but everything had seemed to be turning around.

Yet here I was.

Again.

Broken.

I felt like I was going crazy, the hospital’s silence making my brain that much louder.

The searing pain deep in my belly had subsided a while ago. The doctor had given me something for that.

He had also given me a look.

I was used to those now.

Walking through town with Scorp—

or, worse, Colt—

was a hell of a lot more eye-catching than walking with Elliot.

It was funny, the way leather turned people off, but a drunk who hit his wife was fine, as long as he was in a suit.

“Summer.”

I turned my head to the door, where Colt stood. He looked like he’d aged thirty years in thirty minutes. I’d never seen him so solemn.

“Tell me.”

“Still nothing. These docs with their turned-up noses. They’re all a bunch of useless jackasses—”

“Hi. Hey there,” Scarlett said, squeezing past Colt and coming to the bed. She was in her scrubs. She’d already been working the night shift when we pulled into the ER. Thank God for her, getting me out of my blood-soaked clothes right away. Colt and I were so shocked we never thought to take the bloody clothes off.

“How’re you holding up? How’s the pain? Still a five?”

“I’m okay. The tests…”

“I told you, the doctor’s on it. I’ll let you know as soon as I have something for you.”

“So, another month?” Colt snapped.

Scarlett didn’t seem phased. She just squeezed my hand.

“You’ll be okay, Summer. You’re strong.”

“Why me?” It was only after the words came out that I realized I’d spoken them aloud this time. Colt looked at me like I was a wounded lion in his bedroom, like he knew he had to do something but couldn’t figure out what.

After taking my temperature for the millionth time, Scarlett left the room. Just me and Colt again. And the clock. Tick. Tick.

“That’s it. I can’t just wait here. I’m going to find the fuckin’ doctor—”

“Colt.” I couldn’t help the tears that filled my eyes. “Can you just…can you come here?”

He looked at me, more terrified by the thought of comforting than confrontation. But he walked over to me anyway, right up to the side of the bed. He grabbed my hand, held it in both of his.

“You’re cold.”

“I’m fine,” I said, but his eyes were already darting around the room for a fix.

“Let me get you a blanket.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, and he dropped my hand.

“I’m sorry.” He backed away. Just then, the doctor in glasses, the one with the polka dot bow tie, knocked on the door. Even though it was open.

“How’re we doing?” he asked me, like I was a contestant on his game show. Colt looked like he was ready to smack him. I willed him to.

“Tell. Me.”

Scarlett walked back into the room, an iPad in her hand. The doctor motioned for her to hand it over.

“Alrighty. For pregnant women, high levels of the CRH hormone are dangerous. They can lead to babies coming prematurely, to babies being slower to develop or gain weight…and, in extreme cases, to miscarriage.”

I went numb at the word. I couldn’t look away from the doctor as his chubby fingers swiped the iPad to unlock it. He pulled up some electronic chart that was filled with foreign words.

“Fuck the iPad, man.” Colt pounded his fist behind him, into the wall. “Speak to us like fuckin’ people.”

The doctor lowered the iPad. “CRH is released when the body’s under physical or emotional stress. Now, I’ve been briefed”—he looked at Scarlett, who looked at the floor—“about the stress you’ve been under during your pregnancy. It was too much for the fetus.”

The sound caused everyone in the room to jump. Colt’s fist had met the wall again.

“Sir, there are people you can talk to, to help you deal with—”

“I don’t need to fuckin’ talk.” And then he stormed out of the room without giving me another glance.

Scarlett came to me. “There was nothing you could’ve done, Summer. It was out of your hands.” She moved the hair from my face, out of my eyes.

I couldn’t respond, couldn’t look at her.

Numb.

My muscles couldn’t work on their own.

“If you have any questions…” The doctor trailed off, but he didn’t move. He stood there, awkward, not doing anything for anyone. If it were up to me, I’d put him in quicksand. Watch him get stuck, try to squirm his jolly little face out of it.

“And I can show you…” He again trailed off, pointing to the report on the iPad.

“Get out,” I said, using all my strength to emphasize each word.

Scarlett, knowing I needed to be alone, squeezed my shoulder once more and followed the doctor out. The room was all mine. I was finally alone—really alone.

Nobody around me.

Nobody inside me.

I needed to get out of the hospital.

Now.

I couldn’t be reminded that I’d failed.

I’d failed the one job I thought I could do.

Scorp

Faster.

Faster.

I needed to feel the wind smack into my face.

The gas being slammed into the floor.

You ever get so angry you needed to feel death was a possibility?

Like, as long as you felt the end coming, you could deal with whatever happened ’til then?

I turned onto another street, and I swear two wheels lifted off the ground.

Bent over to grab my Henny off the seat and took a long gulp.

Anything to ease the fuckin’ rage.

Or make it stronger.

He’d left her alone.

When I got there, she was alone in that goddam hospital bed in that goddam hospital gown, all alone.

My whole life, I’d made sure she wasn’t alone. And he put a kid in her and said he’d got her, and…

Took another gulp. The Henny burned relief into me.

.22 on my hip, my mind screamin’ murder murder murder, the Devil better see me comin’.

***

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”

The room was spinnin’ around me, but I didn’t care. Colt and I had one agreement when it came to him and Summer, and that was this: Cause her no harm, and I’ll cause you no harm. But he broke his end, so I was damn sure gonna break mine.

The clubhouse was pretty empty, just Fly and that fuckin’ prospect sandwiching a club whore on the couch. Fly jumped up.

“Take that angel dust again, Scorp? You know that shit don’t do you good.”

“SHUT UP!” I slammed my empty bottle onto the floor and picked up one of the glass shards. I held it up real high.

“The Devil,” I said. “Where. Is. The Devil?”

The kid with the goddamn long hair mumbled something I couldn’t hear. So, I went over to him, held the shard up close to his neck, and watched the club whore slide across the couch.

“You say somethin’?”

“He went upstairs. To his room, I t-think.”

I let the shard push into his neck enough to strike blood, watched his teeth grind.

Then I let him go. He flew off the couch, his hand pressed to his neck.

What a fuckin’ baby.

I held tight to the glass and made my way up the stairs.

Every stair I climbed pissed me off more and more.

Step.

I saw Summer alone in that bed.

Step.

Her face pale as a fuckin’ line.

Step.

Her hands shakin’.

Step.

Someone has to pay.

The door to Colt’s room was closed.

“COLT,” I growled.

I tried the doorknob.

Locked.

I punched the door once.

Twice.

Three times.

Had my foot back to roundhouse kick that motherfucker open, when—

“What?”

There he was, behind the open door. Looked high outta his mind.

Eyes pink and glazed, dumbass smile on his lips.

Put the two of us together and we looked like a postcard from some inner-city rehab.

I heard a giggle.

Pushed the door open.

Some bitch in a leather skirt shorter than a napkin was inside, one foot up on the nightstand, tyin’ her shoe.

Could see everything she got from here.

Summer’s face in my mind.

He left her for this slut?

He’s partyin’ in here, and she’s mournin’ alone.

I dropped the glass shard to the floor.

This wouldn’t be a fight with weapons.

Threw my pistol down, too.

I wanted to feel the skin I punctured. I wanted to taste his fuckin’ blood.

The girl looked at me. Got real nervous.

I guess I was pantin’ or something, like a pitbull with rabies.

She was outta the room faster than she usually dropped to her knees.

Colt was still by the wall, with a goofy-ass, zoned-out smile.

Whatever he was smokin’, it was good.

I landed a punch to his cheek, started us off right. He had a couple inches on me, but I was angry, and when I was angry, I was fuckin’ crazy.

Another punch. I might not be the biggest guy in the fight, but I’m the one that won’t back away ’til I’m wheeled out in a coffin.

He pushed me across the room, and I slammed into the wall. Didn’t feel a fuckin’ thing.

I lunged at him again, this time throwing a fake-out punch and landing a kick to his gut.

He fell backward.

I jumped on him and got in a few more punches before he reversed on me, pushing me face-first into the floorboard and throwing an elbow around my neck.

He had me fuckin’ stuck.

“You…left…her…”

I choked the words out, hardly able to breathe.

He let go, both of us panting, both of us feelin’ more than we’d admit to.

With my right arm free again, I shot my elbow through his nose.

Blood poured onto me.

That’s what I’m talkin’ about.