Page 80 of The Chase

Carmelo burst back into the room at that moment, tucking his phone into his pocket. It was a fucking circus in here, Colt thought.

“Is he doing it or not?” Carmelo asked bluntly. “If he doesn’t, the power vacuum could upset the balance-”

Maxime interjected. “If he doesn’t, he’ll find himself facing charges for what he’s done, smashing into a building, reckless driving, injuring others-”

“Stop,” Colt said quietly, but they all heard him. They all paused. “Just stop. Save yourself the embarrassment of making any ultimatums or any attempts at blackmail or entrapment. For fuck’s sake,” Colt burst out, letting his anger show through a little. Keeping his fear far from their nosy peers. “Look, I’m not deciding anything without first speaking to April. I don’t like the idea of answering to you, any of you. Nothing personal, I’m just not liking the idea that you could tell me how to run my MC. I’m not liking the idea that my brothers would be rats and roaches. Slick FBI agents would be strolling about, undermining trust.”

Carmelo piped up. “The agents are not good boys, they’re the dirtiest, meanest guys...”

“Rosetti, you aren’t selling it.” Blue sighed.

Colt shook his head. “No one’s selling me anything. If you’re all here for an answer today, you won’t get it. I’m going to see my fiancée -” he caught Blue’s eye. “And I’m going to do whatever it is she tells me to do. ‘Cause she owns my ass, and I’m happy to admit that. My dick, my balls, my heart-”

“How romantic,” Carmelo muttered sarcastically.

Colt continued, “So you can all just fuck off for now and I’ll get back to you.”

Carmelo pursed his lips, pissed off. Blue frowned, frustrated. The mayor looked on with stony-faced disappointment.

He shrugged. Fuck ‘em. It was his decision, and he’d decide based on his little kitten lioness in the next room, not because of politics, or for the sake of reducing crime rates, or to assist in other investigations.

A loaded pause followed.

“Fine,” Blue said after staring Colt down to no avail. Colt returned the stare with as much ice as Blue sent his way. Blue pushed himself up, he’d had his ass perched on a table in the room. He held his hands wide, in a gesture designed to herd the others out. Carmelo smirked, shrugged and sauntered out. Mayor Maxime fixed Colt with a ‘do what I say or I’ll have my people kill you’ kind of glare. Colt returned a bored blink her way. Even if they ended up working together, he wouldn’t be threatened, he needed to set that precedent right fucking now.

The door closed with a soft click. Finally, Colt could process it all. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, or fucking pinch himself that he was really alive and it was all real. Fuck, because it felt like some sort of bittersweet parallel world. Where he had everything he’d ever wanted within his grasp, and yet everything he’d ever feared hanging over his head. April, Prez of the MC, freedom from prison... yet answering to others, trapped in an arrangement that involved traitors.

Fuck Blue and his talk of chess pieces and pawns. It all felt like a game of snakes and ladders to him. A roll of the dice and he could be up at the top of the board, set to win big. Or sliding right back to lose it all.

April felt a warm hand skim her head. It was a rough hand, but it stroked her so gently. A caress across her forehead, a gentle swipe down her cheek. She awoke slowly. She leaned into the stroke, reveling in it. But then the hospital sounds intruded. The roughness of the sheets against her skin. The smell, a whiff of floor cleaner and antiseptic. The aching in her body. The numbness. She kept her eyes closed for as long as she could, prolonging the momentary simplicity of the sensations around her. She knew, when she opened her eyes, things were going to get a lot more complicated.

“I’m sorry, Kitten,” she heard. That voice, deep and rough. Colt’s voice. She opened her eyes, and was met with his, peering over her. He was sitting by her bed. His eyes were so brown, such a rich chocolate coffee. His beautiful face was covered in little scrapes, scabs, a bruise, a bigger cut stitched on his forehead. His long, brown hair hung forwards, tenting them. She smiled up at him. He was wearing his clothes again, he’d changed out of his hospital gown. She was still wearing hers. He dipped his head and let out a breath of air. She saw his pain, his indecision, but also his patience. He just sat, stroked her head, and waited calmly.

“What are you sorry for?” she asked, her voice quiet.

He grinned wryly. “For waking you just now. For crashing the car with you in it... for... driving you halfway across America in a van, for pulling you away from everything that was comfortable and safe-”

“Colt, you can apologize for waking me up, but the rest is nonsense. And you know it,” April said with a gentle sleepy smile. She was happy he was here. He tutted above her, but a slow smile caught on his lips, too. She gazed at them. She loved those lips. She loved him. “You saved me. And we did it all together. We agreed on the road trip, on the idea to come back, we did that. I heard they are all dead.”

Colt nodded. “All but one, the drunk guy. He was, ironically, too drunk to make it into the clubhouse, passed out outside across the road.”

“Wow, lucky him.”

“Yeah, well, he’s being treated for alcohol poisoning but otherwise, he’ll live. The police Sergeant said Skunk was the one who tracked us down. Apparently he has some link to someone who could trace us, or something like that...”

April could see Colt’s mind ticking over. “What are you going to do to him?” she asked.

Colt looked lost in thought for a second. “What am I going to do? Something his brothers should have done a long time ago, check him into rehab,” Colt said with a wry smile.

April started to smile but it slipped, despite her best efforts. She licked her lips, unsure how to say what she had to say. So she took a page out of Colt’s book and all that she had learned from being with him over the last few weeks. She just plunged right in. “Colt, you know I was bleeding… a lot?”

He nodded and stroked her forehead, the same, calm, unfaltering strokes that had woken her. “Well… they think it wasn’t because of the car crash… they think it was a miscarriage.”

Now Colt’s hand paused on her head. “A…” he choked.

“They think it was early, maybe like five weeks, and it could have just miscarried naturally, it might not have been related to the crash…”

“The crash...” Colt stammered, she dared to look at his face. He was white.

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