Page 64 of Secret Betrayals
My name.
Someone’s crying my fucking name.
The machines go wild. Beeps turn to sirens. Lights start flashing, my body’s throwing a tantrum. Something cold snakes into my arm—ice down my veins—and everything tilts. Warps.
My vision blurs.
Then blacks out completely.
Lights out.
Shit.
One month later
I feel like I’ve been yanked out of a dark, dreamless sleep. My body doesn’t feel like it’s on fire anymore, which is a goddamn miracle. The pain’s still there, but it’s dulled—muted. Manageable. A far cry from the hell I woke up to before.
Something heavy is weighing down my arm. I try to move, careful this time, and realize I don’t feel like complete shit. My eyes open easier. A few blinks and the blinding fluorescentlights above stop stabbing at my brain. I shift my head, slow and cautious, eyes landing on the only window in the room. The blinds are closed, but thin beams of sunlight sneak through. Daylight.
Still breathing. Still in the hospital.
The smell confirms it—disinfectant and quiet death. Every fucking hospital smells the same. The fight between life and whatever comes after is being waged between the walls. Each blink clears my vision a little more. I finally glance down to figure out what’s weighing my arm down.
It’s her.
Heather.
My ol’ lady.
My chest tightens instantly. Her arm’s in a sling, and her face is turned toward me. Even in sleep, she looks exhausted—nose red, dark shadows carved under her eyes. She's wrecked.
What the fuck happened?
Was the clubhouse hit, too?
Where’s our daughter?
How long have I been out?
Where the fuck are my brothers?
My mind races like a freight train with no brakes. Movement catches my eye. I turn my head, slower this time, and see Axel. Slouched on the couch like he hadn’t slept in days. He stares at me blankly for a second before blinking hard, like he doesn’t believe I’m really awake. Then, just like that, he smiles.
A real one.
He elbows Nitro hard in the side, waking his ass up with a jolt. Nitro’s eyes dart around the room like he's ready to throw hands. One hand on his side, the other twitching near his waistband. Paranoia doesn’t sleep in this life. Despite the tightness in my throat, a short bark of laughter escapes me. Nitro’s eyes snap to mine.
“Thank fuck,” he mutters, rubbing a hand down his face. He swings at Axel with a tired growl, calling him a dick. Axel just laughs and flips him off. I chuckle. Some shit never changes.
I try to speak, but my throat feels like sandpaper dipped in acid. “How… long… have I… fuck.”
Every word is a chore. Feels like my throat is lined with barbed wire. Axel’s already moving to my bedside. He pours water into a cup, sticks a straw in, and brings it to my lips like I’m some old man. I want to fight it, but I need the damn water. I lift my free hand—it shakes like hell, but at least it moves. Thank fuck.
I take a few sips. Cool. Relief.
“You’ve been out for a month,” Axel says quietly. “After surgery, you came to, but then shit hit the fan. You've been under ever since.”
He glances at Nitro. Something passes between them—tight, unspoken. My eyes narrow, but before I can press them. The door swings open.
