Page 68 of Loving Smoke

A half hour later, the doc finished patching me up. Seems the same bullet that grazed Marisol took a chunk out of my shoulder, and now I was in a sling with my busted hand in a brace after getting it slammed in the van doors. Believe it or not the broken hand hurt worse than the bullet wound.

The others left, but I still had to report the night to Jameson. He should be happy with the news, but my national prez was a tough bastard to figure out.

“Ialready told you, I’m not leaving,” a harsh male voice growled.

I tried to open my eyes, but the simple move required too much effort, so I laid semi-awake listening to a one-sided conversation somewhere close to me.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that’s what I’ve been talking about for the last four months but I’ve changed my mind.”

I struggled to get my bearings or at least put a name to the voice.

“Look, you said you wanted a chapter down here.”

A familiar male voice—Smoke’s voice.

“I’ve made up my mind, and now we’ve got the money to pull it off, so I don’t see the big fuckin’ problem.”

Smoke’s angry, pissed off voice.

“Fine. You think about it, but I’m not leaving her and that’s my bottom line.”

Was I the her?

A string of curses and mumbled words followed, then silence.

Footsteps of someone coming into the room. I tried with all my might to open my eyes, and when I did everything was covered in a filmy haze.

The bed dipped and Smoke’s face came into view. “Hey, babe.” He brushed my hair off my shoulder and leaned in. “How you feeling?”

Like I’m floating above my body. Like I’m here, but I’m not. Like I’m dreaming, but I couldn’t formulate any of those thoughts because my mouth and throat felt like I swallowed a pail of sand.

“You’re gonna be all right.” He gently stroked my head. “We got you patched up.”

I forced my eyes to stay open long enough to focus on Smoke’s drawn expression and then lower to his left arm in a sling with his hand bandaged.

“You?” I croaked out the one word.

“It’s nothing.” He smiled and something shifted inside me.

“You’re hurt.” I coughed against my sandpaper throat, then winced.

“Take it easy.” He leaned in a gently kissed my forehead. “You rest, everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Manny?” I tried to clear my throat, but it only made it worse. “How’s Manny?”

“He’s fine, not a scratch on him.”

“You’re telling me the truth?”

“Always.”

Smoke squeezed my hand and I believed him. What choice did I have? He saved me and my brother, then made sure we made it to safety. I literally owed him our lives.

I stared up into his roughed up face wanting to tell him how I felt. Wanting to make sure he knew how grateful I was, but my foggy brain wouldn’t formulate the words. Then my eyes slid shut and I drifted into a peaceful place where all was right, and nothing bad could happen.

“Ican’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I think it’s gonna work.”

I closed the club for a few days to regroup and now I sat at the head of a table in the VIP section of The Tropics. I uncapped a bottle of Jack and lined up four glasses resting my eyes on Blood, Ricky, Bolt, and Marisol’s brother, Manny. “Consider this your first church meeting in Tijuana.”

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