Page 10 of Ruthless Son

“Of course he knows. He’s down as your emergency contact in your phone, they called him as soon as you were brought in unconscious and he called me.” I couldn’t sit still and watch her cower at the thought that Dad knew about her accident. Something was wrong, it wasn’t just a car accident, she looked too skinny and pale for it to be about this. I paced the small confines of the room, up and down, up and down, trying to make sense of my sister's choices. “Where’s Mickey?” Her boyfriend that she ditched us all for should have been here, but I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since I got here, neither was there any evidence of him in the room.

She cringed at his name, again avoiding eye contact like she knew something I didn’t. But she was always shit at keeping secrets.

“Millie,” I said, sterner this time. “Where is Mickey?”

Her tears were silent this time, trails of glistening sadness leaked from the corner of her eyes.

“He… he left.” She hiccupped between sobs, lines of grief spread across her face, making her appear older than her mere 22 years. “That night, that it happened, I couldn’t get out… couldn’t move…”

Her whole body shook as she remembered the crash, her gaze turning inwards.

“I was trapped, and… I was so scared, Mia. I thought I was gonna die.”

I edged closer, my steps careful as if I walked toward a wounded animal that may run at the slightest movement. “But you didn’t die, Mills. You’re here and you’re safe,” I whispered to her from across the room, praying she heard the love and gratitude in my voice.

“I called to him, to Mickey,” she continued with tears silently tracking down her pale cheeks. “But he didn’t stop, didn’t try and help me… he just… ran. Didn’t even look back as I screamed his name.”

Pain racked her body. She hugged herself tighter, wrapping her good arm around her body, hunching forward and groaning. “You need to try and relax, all this crying isn’t doing your body any good.” I wanted to throw question after question at her. Why was she so skinny? Why didn’t she answer our calls or texts? But seeing my little sister so banged up and mired in her grief, I figured giving her a reprieve from the bossy older sister was probably the wisest choice. She wasn’t going anywhere just yet, she had time—not much though—to get over what that dickhead did to her, before she was barraged with all of my thoughts and anger at her.

Her crying jag tapered off, her tears all dried up. She had nothing left to cry, and hopefully, nothing left to give to Mickey Piers… not even a thought.

Her body settled back into the pillows, exhaustion weighing her down. She could barely keep her eyes open, her deep blue eyes heavy lidded and struggling to stay fixed on me. “You’ll be here when I wake up?” she murmured with a thread of desperation.

I pressed my lips softly against her forehead. “Of course. Get some sleep.” By the time I’d raised my head, her eyes were closed in slumber, her dark eyelashes creating crescent moons against her pallid face. Her lashes flickered, and I hoped that if she did dream, they weren’t visions of her shitty ex-boyfriend.

The insurance papers burned a hole in my bag. Leaving Millie’s room, I shut the door softly behind me, determined to get this business done and back to my sister before she woke up, I would not be letting her down. I’d promised I’d be there when she woke up, and if there’s one thing that I definitely wasn’t, it was a liar!

Rex

I hated the truck. The walls caged me in, there was no freedom to move, no easy way to maneuver such a cumbersome vehicle. Now, if I was on two wheels, these motherfucking slow drivers would be eating my goddamn smoke.

The hospital appeared up ahead, a place I didn’t think I’d be going back to any time soon, but fate had other ideas.

Jenna hopped out the cab with a wave and a reminder to get one of the brothers to pick her up in a couple of hours. Burning rubber, I turned the heap of junk around and headed back to the diner to get my bike, because I wouldn’t stay cooped up in this thing for longer than necessary.

But Jenna was a good woman, and the moment princess had walked out, I’d asked her for a favor and that was that.

Dropping her at St John’s wasn’t just a way of helping Mia, Mia – the name rolled off my tongue, whispering it to myself in the solitude of the truck. Every time I’d been around her, my brain turned to other activities. It was as if the savage part of me that I kept locked away tried to break free the minute our stares locked, she opened her mouth and that sexy as fuck accent came out.

That woman could call me an ‘arsehole’ all day and I’d probably beg her to say it again tomorrow because, clearly I was a fucking pussy.

Tossing the truck keys to the prospect that was made to hang around and wait for me at the diner, I threw my leg over my Fat Boy, and with a flick of my wrist, my only love sprung to life beneath me with a roar.

The custom matte-black Harley was my pride and joy, it’d cost me a pretty penny to have it tailored to my specifications. The only color on it was the club’s insignia on the rear tank. The white logo was a stark contrast to the deep black and stood out from the darkness. The barbed wire encircled a crowned skull. There was no writing, just the image.

It was enough to tell people who this bike belonged to.

The fucking Street Kings ruled these roads, and I wore their badge with pride every minute of every day; there wasn’t a day I regretted ever getting that brand—and I never would.

I veered toward the center of town where our clubhouse resided, a large plot sitting center stage. No other shops or venues were directly attached to us, not that it mattered if there was. The prez owned all the shops either side of us and was fixing to buy more, but Mayor fucking Whitmore had his fingers in just as many pies as we did, and those purchases had been halted for the foreseeable future—prick.

I hated when someone fucked with our business. It made me… itchy.

I wasn’t the sergeant at arms for nothing. But this… I couldn’t do much… yet. When the prez gave the go-ahead, I would be ready.

The funeral home sat front and center, ‘Kings Funeral Home’ embossed across the front in bold silver font. But that wasn’t where I was heading. The alley to the side of the low building stretched far behind the business, a football field length stood between the funeral home and the clubhouse behind.

Shuffling bodies around was our legitimate business, we had cash coming in from the burials, the cleanup and selling our handmade bespoke coffins to order. Gauge was a master woodworker among other things.

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