Page 59 of Ryder

My next attempt to get up was successful, albeit strained and half-assed. At least I’d managed to swing my good leg over the table and grip the sides of the metal slab I’d been lying on, essentially anchoring myself in place.

“Whoa,” a new voice said that time. When I looked up, my vision swiftly crystal clear, I saw Tripp walking toward me. He looked larger than life, his big form striding with ease until he stood by my side. His shirt was covered in blood, but it didn’t appear as if any of it was his.

As I continued to stare at the blood on him, scattered images flashed through my brain, pictures forming to piece together a forgotten story. One of Tripp standing near me after a bullet ripped through my leg. Then one of our nomad hovering over Marek. He’d gone to save him after our prez had been shot. Twice. Then my memory flipped to one of watching Stone. Witnessing the way his head jerked forward right before he fell to the ground.

“Fuck!” My eyes found Tripp’s before my vision blurred once more, that time filled with unbelievable grief. “Are they dead?”

“Yeah, they are.” Tripp’s eyes were red-rimmed, indicating he’d already begun to deal with the catastrophe that had landed at our feet, ripping apart all who’d known them.

“I can’t believe it. I just can’t. . . .” Shaking my head, a tear fell down my cheek for the loss of my friends.

My brothers.

My family.

Ryder

“I can’t believe they’re dead.” I threw my hands over my face, shielding my anguish from Tripp as best I could, although I knew he shared in my grief. Still, there was something about hiding my emotions that allowed me a private moment of sorts to deal with the news.

“I’m upset too, but I didn’t know you’d take itthishard,” Tripp grumbled. “Didn’t even think you liked them all that much.”

Drawing my hands back, I stared at him in confusion. “What the hell does that mean?” I tried to move, but the pain radiating through my leg stopped me. “Marek and Stone were like my family. I know I was an asshole sometimes, but they saw past my fuckups and accepted me for who I was.” My tears built, but I needed to man up and accept what had happened. I had to learn to move on; otherwise, I’d allow the sadness to fester and rot me from the inside out.

“What areyoutalking about?” Before I could respond, Tripp blurted, “Marek and Stone aren’t dead. Yeah, it was a close call, for both of them, but they’re alive. They’re gonna have some scars, for sure, but they’re still breathin’.”

After my astonishment finally subsided, Tripp filled me in on what happened after I’d passed out from my own gunshot wound. Apparently, when Marek tackled the Reaper who’d shot Stone, he’d managed to change the trajectory of the bullet intended for our VP. Stone had been shot but the bullet had pierced his ear, tearing off the tip of it. I’d seen him fall forward and it’d appeared as if he was dead, but Tripp explained that the force of the bullet had pushed him forward and when Stone hit the ground, he’d been knocked unconscious. Although Stone hadn’t experienced any pain when he awoke, he was pissed he was missing a piece of his ear.

I smiled at the thought of Stone’s reaction, but then my thoughts went right to Marek. Whereas Stone’s injury ended up not to be life-threatening, our leader’s wounds were just that. Not necessarily the one to his shoulder, but the bullet that’d pierced his chest had caused a part of his breastbone to slice a section of his lung before exiting his body.

It was touch and go for a while, but thankfully Marek had pulled through, although he definitely had to take it easy and allow his body to heal properly. I had no doubt Sully would chain him to their bed if he caused too much trouble.

I’d been so lost in the news of my brothers that I’d completely forgotten Jagger had mentioned Rabid.

Psych’s right-hand bastard.

As if sensing my impending barrage of questions, Jagger appeared behind Tripp. And when they both moved to the side, Rabid walked up next to me, staring down at me with a look of worry.

What the fuck is goin’ on?

Anticipating my struggle, Jagger and Tripp moved to stand on either side of me, holding me down so I didn’t further injure myself.

“Calm down,” Jagger instructed, putting more pressure on my shoulder until he felt some of the fight leave my overly tired body. Seconds ticked by before anyone spoke, and that time it was the enemy.

Or so I thought.

“I’m not who you think I am,” Rabid confessed, running his hands over his bald head in what appeared to be uncertainty. The last time I saw him, other than a couple nights prior, he’d showed up with Kortiz at our club, threatening to rain down holy hell on our club if we didn’t tell him where Psych was.

I parted my lips to speak but fell silent when I couldn’t decide what to ask first. Rabid saw my hesitancy and took the lead instead. “I won’t tell you my real name, but I’m sure at some point you’ll find out. I have no doubt you men are resourceful. But until then, I can tell you that I’ve been undercover, investigating the Savage Reapers. Sam Koritz ended up being icing on the cake.”

As he talked about ties with not only the Los Zappas cartel, but links to terrorist groups, sex trafficking and gun running, my mind tried to comprehend everything, pinging back and forth between memories and trying to understand what he was telling us.

“ . . . he up and vanished.”

“What?” I asked, doing my best to focus.

Rabid, or whatever his name was, stepped closer to repeat himself, my mind temporarily blanking on what he’d just said.

“Just as I was about to take down Psych, he up and disappeared.”

---