Page 45 of Secrets Unveiled

“Where am I? Why the fuck am I burning?” I turn my head from side to side, but I’m only met with more fiery sensations.

“Listen, Saint. Someone rear-ended you on your bike. You lost control and crashed. We’re at Golden Heights Regional. You’ve got severe road rash man, like a lot of road rash, but no broken bones.” Owen always has to see the bright side of things. As much as I’m in pain from said road rash, at least I’m not broken, right? I have to give it to the kid, he’s a pretty optimistic son of a bitch. Then it hits me—Sage.

I jerk my body up, successfully sitting up this time, and I’m hit with a wave of pain that instantly makes me nauseous, but I don’t care. I need to find Sage. She was on the back of my bike. Was she as bad as me? Were her injuries worse? Was she alive? I ignored the sounds of Owen and Brooks trying to keep me calm, but nothing was going to stop me from getting to her. I promised Saxon I would protect her. I promised her.

I rip the cords from my chest, the insufferable beeping now a constant stream of noise. I rip my IV out when I notice I’m dragging a bag of fluids on a stand and yank the curtain open. Owen and Brooks are right on my heels. I’m in a gown, and thick white bandages cover both of my arms and the length of my right side. My right leg is burning. Looking down, I notice it, too, is wrapped up in bandages, but still, I continue moving.

“Where is she? Where is Sage Wilder?” I slam my hands on the nurse’s station. It looks to be the ER; several bays have their curtains drawn, hindering me from seeing inside.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to sit?—”

“Tell me where she is!” I yell, as Owen and Brooks come up on either side of me. The petrified nurse eyes both my friends, a silent plea for help that never comes.

“Just tell him. He won’t stop until he sees her,” Brooks says in a defeated tone, but I don’t miss the slight annoyance either. The nurse looks back at me, her breathing harsh. I’m probably scaring the shit out of her. Boo-fucking-hoo.

“She’s in room six, right there.” The moment she says six, I’m already moving. I hear the small apology Owen gives her, but I don’t stick around. I make it to room six, taking a deep breath before pulling the curtain back. However, if I thought I was in pain before, it was nothing compared to the pain that ignites in my chest at the sight of Sage.

SAINT

“Jesus, Saint. What are you doing? You should be resting!” Saxon says, but it’s like he’s at the end of a tunnel. I can’t interpret what he’s saying. I’m too focused on Sage. Her eyes are closed. Oxygen tubing is fastened beneath her nose, and bandages, so many bandages, covered her body, leaving me to believe she too had sustained severe road rash injuries. I feel like my ribs are cracking from the tightness in my chest. The pain I once felt with my wounds is now a second thought as I watch the slow and steady breathing of Sage as she lies in a hospital bed because I didn’t protect her.

“I’m so sorry, Sax. I don’t know wh—It all happened so fas—” Saxon cuts me off, his hand resting on my shoulder lightly so he doesn’t hurt me.

“Stop. This is not your fault.” I swallow the lump in my throat and welcome the familiar build of rage within my stomach towards whoever the fuck did this.

“Will she be, okay?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“She’ll be fine. She has a lot of road rash, as do you, but she hit her head pretty hard, causing her helmet to split in half. They want to keep her here overnight to monitor her concussion. And as for you—you should be in the next bed over, healing as well.” I turn my head so we are face to face.

“But knowing you, I doubt that’s going to happen.” Saxon shakes his head beside me, stepping back and making his way to Sage’s side once again. I take up the spot on her other side. Her hands are also wrapped in bandages, so I stop myself from wrapping my hand around hers.

“Has she woken up at all?” I whisper, not wanting to disturb her.

“She did, but they sedated her. She was in too much pain while they scrubbed her wounds. It was too much, so they put her under.”

“Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry,” I whisper to her. The thought of her being in such excruciating pain that they needed to sedate her. My rage is growing by the minute, my insides vibrating with so much fury that needs released. I look up to Saxon.

“Who the fuck was in the truck that ran us off the road?” The sleeping beast inside is now stretching and yawning, slowly coming to life within me.

“Finn was able to track him down. He’s currently in the basement.” He gives me a wicked grin before finishing his comment. Roughly four years ago, Saxon, Finn, Brooks, Owen, and I decided we needed a place that was separate from the club. A place where we could carry out our private meetings and such without entangling the others or putting them in danger. It was our place, a place where we did what needed to be done to protect our family. “He’s waiting for us to pay him a visit,” Saxon continues. As much as I don’t want to leave Sage’s side, I want—no, I need—to pay a visit to our guest in the basement. He's all mine.

Ophelia arrives at the hospital moments later, rushing to Sage’s side with tears and snot streaming down her face. The guys had brought me clothes, so I dress as quickly as possible, pain radiating with every move I make. I don’t give a fuck. Saxon, Brooks, and I leave the hospital, leaving Owen and Ophelia to watch over Sage and inform us as soon as she wakes up.

The drive to the basement is quiet. The three of us fuming in our own pits of rage. Sage could have died. The thought alone has my blood boiling, my skin instantly rising in temperature. I’m in no fit state either. Thick white bandages cover both my arms and a majority of my right side. Some white patches have turned a slight shade of red from my wounds oozing. As much as my body is screaming at me to let it heal and rest, nothing was going to stop me from doing what I was about to do.

We decided the basement would be best kept past the wood line on Saxons’ family’s property. We had an underground room, essentially, created beneath a secret door in the soil. A flight of stairs leads to another door that opens up into a ten-by-fourteen-foot concrete room. It was times like now that I appreciate having this space. Lucky for us, not so lucky for the guests we bring down there.

I exit the car first, slamming the door behind me before a shock of pain radiates through my body. Fuck, road rash sucks. I groan to myself, forcing my body to move towards the wood line and seek out the secret door. My body is buzzing with pent up aggression. The need to cause physical pain is overpowering my own pain, which continues to rise with every step I take. I reach the door first, but the sound of Brooks’s voice has me stopping before I kneel to the ground.

“Don’t, Saint. I got it. Jesus, even after crashing your bike and skidding across the pavement, you’re still going.” He kneels and grabs the handle, lifting the door with a grunt due to the weight and letting it fall to the ground.

“I didn’t crash my bike; I was run off the road. Big difference,” I say, descending the stairs first with Saxon following close behind.

“Well, excuse me. Just remember, you’re technically supposed to be in the hospital still. Don’t go getting an infection or some shit.” Once I open the second door, Brooks closes the first one, keeping our secret hideout hidden from the rest of the world. Stepping into the open room, the sound of Finn’s music hits me with a deafening force.

That’s one thing about Finn—whenever he’s torturing someone, he likes his music blaring to drown out the screams of his victims. Finn’s back is to us, a rag soaked in blood dangling from his back jeans pocket. He’s twirling a kitchen cleaver in front of our guest, who is tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His arms are secured behind his back, and his legs are tied to each chair leg; his eyes give away his fear as he eyes the three of us as we enter the small space.

Finn turns around, following the man’s gaze,

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