Chapter 1

Rage

I stand in front of my bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped around my waist. The green eyes looking back at me carry a haunted edge from all the things I’ve seen and experienced in my lifetime.

My tatted-up body is still wet, and I can feel little trails of water trickling down my chest. It’s strange that when the dripping water hits one of my many scars, I can’t feel a thing. Scar tissue is numb to light touches like that. I continue with my shaving, remembering where I got each scar and tattoo. Of course, all my tatts have a special meaning, something I want to remember forever. There’s one of woman running away from a violent tornado, which represents my mother and father. The thing is, she ran out on me as well as him.

I kind of miss my full beard, for a while I had to be clean shaven so I could wear a respirator as part of my role as an EMT. If I wanted, I could grow it back, but right now I’m rocking a neatly trimmed goatee.

I rinse the razor, put it in its holder to drip dry and get on with brushing my teeth and combing my wavy, brown, shoulder-length hair, which I always wear tied back at the nape of my neck in a stubby ponytail.

Today is my day off, so I slide into my most comfortable pair of jeans and wear a white t-shirt under my cut. Taking a minute to stuff a clean uniform and work gear into a duffle bag—because a day off can easily turn into a day on for me—I head out to meet up with my club brothers. We’re hosting a summer festival to raise money for the local women’s shelter. One of my club brothers is married to the social worker in charge of the facility and we’re hoping this will be the first of many such events. My contribution is a keg, which I’ll need to pick up along the way. Unfortunately, that means I’ll be taking my pickup truck rather than my bike.

As I’m walking out the door, something niggles at the back of my mind, making me think that I might have had another nightmare last night. If I don’t wake up, I don’t remember them but always feel a little off the next day. The anxious feeling twisting in my gut must be from that. What else could it be?

I turn, carefully lock the door to my house and stop to pet Boots, my cat, before climbing into my fire engine red pickup truck and head for town. I’ve reserved my keg, so it should just be a matter of loading it up.

Ambling down the road, I listen to my favorite country station. My club brothers always laugh about my taste in music, but you can’t beat the greats. I even like Kenny Rogers, and I find myself singing along with him and the tale of Lucille. It’s a song I can relate to, I think wryly. Then again, a broken heart is just one of a long list of bad experiences. If I’m being honest, I don’t even know if it’s the worst. Shoving those hard times out of my mind, I concentrate on the music and keeping the good vibe that I have going.

I pull in at the store and it takes no time at all to load up the keg. By the time I get to the center of town, the whole festival is just getting geared up. I’m pretty jazzed when Ven and Amy come over the moment they see me pull in. I’m happy my friend found a good woman. Amy’s taken to the biker lifestyle like a fish to water. She’s not only in his property cut but she’s wearing tight fitting leather pants and a shirt that shows off her figure.

Ven teases me as he walks up, “Envy is one of the original seven deadly sins, so you’d best keep your eyes off my wife.”

I can tell he’s joking, so I flash him a feral grin. “You’re the fucking luckiest man alive when it comes to old ladies. The least you can do is let me look.”

He jumps into the back of my truck and begins maneuvering the keg out for me to grab. “Sneak a glance if you must, but no full-on staring, because that is all kinds of wrong.”

I give Amy a quick glance and wiggle my eyebrows. It was only a quick look I gave her, she’s married to my best friend and she’s having his baby—one of the reasons she’s looking a bit curvier than normal—and I absolutely wouldn’t perve on her. She busts out laughing and puts up some pretense at helping me with the keg. Ven jumps out of the truck, telling her, “No lifting.”

She takes a step back with her hands in the air. “I’m not some fragile little flower, I’m just having a baby, but if you want, I’ll leave it to the big strong men who are always dying to put their muscles to good use.” As we walk it awkwardly over to the drink station I ask, “Why do I get the feeling your woman was making fun of us just now.”

He grunts. “Because she was, apparently my displays of brute strength, are highly amusing,” he turns to me and grins, then spins around with his index finger resting on the side of the keg and shouts over to Amy, “Look, one finger!”

His old lady shakes her head, trying to keep the smile off her face. I love seeing how at ease they are with each other, but sometimes it reminds me too much of what I lost.

We heave the keg onto the stand, and I begin fitting the tap into place. Someone calls Ven’s name, and he wanders off with Amy at his side. Something’s wrong with the tap. I can’t get it to fit into the hole properly, I’m mumbling and cursing under my breath when I hear a sultry feminine voice come from behind me. “Do you need some help? I’ve never known Raymond Anderson to have a problem finding the right hole.”

I shoot Brittany a dirty look over my shoulder. I don’t think that woman is ever gonna give up in her hunt for an old man. “Don’t even try it on with me, Britt. I am not, nor have I ever been interested in you.”

She stalks to stand beside me and gives me an evil glare. “What in the hell makes you think I’m interested in you? She holds up a red party cup for me to see. “I’m just a thirsty girl looking for a drink.”

Frustrated, I slam the tap into the hole and give it a forceful turn to lock it into place. Turning to face the club girl I like the least, I gesture towards the tap. “Help yourself. But don’t let me catch you with your mouth under the spigot. Shit’s not cool.”

She makes an angry, indignant sound in the back of her throat. “I would never.”

“Liar. I’ve seen you try it at the clubhouse when you were three sheets to the wind.”

She opens her mouth to debate the allegation but apparently thinks better of it and snaps her mouth closed.

I feel a twinge of guilt speaking to her like this, but then I remember she got banned for trying to break into one of the brothers’ bikes, but she somehow begged her way back in. She’s a bad seed, and it’s just a matter of time before she pulls something that will result in a perma-ban. Until then, I just have to suffer her attempts at being social. I guess after Haze, her favorite brother, got married and now Venom is off the market, her gaze has swung to me. Maybe I should have been pissed at being third choice, but truthfully, I’d prefer to not be on her radar at all.

I hustle over to Siege, Rigs, Tank, and Dutch. The only club officer missing is Rider. Siege jerks his chin when he sees me coming. “Ven said that keg you brought was nice and cold. Good job, Rage.”

I give a shrug with one shoulder. “I made sure they kept it in their walk-in cooler. Ain’t nobody in this world likes warm beer. It tastes like piss if you ask me.”

Tank slaps me on the back good-naturedly, grabbing my shoulder. “I’m surprised you know what piss tastes like, brother.”

I shake him away angrily, I can’t help it but I’m not a touchy-feely kind of guy, “I don’t, but it tastes like piss smells to me. And don’t tell me you’ve never smelled piss before, because I know that ain’t true.”

Tank holds both of his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Calm the fuck down, Rage. I was only joking around, fuck man, you really need to get your dick wet and work off some of that anger.”

“My dick is doing just fine,” I snap back. Though truth be told, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex. It seemed that lately we went from one crisis to another, and I had a hard enough time dealing with my own issues than to get someone else involved in my shit.

Thankfully, Dutch cuts in, “You want to help me on the grill?”

“Absofuckinglutely. I’m training to become a grill master. It’s my backup plan for when I get sick and tired of stitching up your hairy asses and scraping people off the pavement all night.”

I follow Dutch over to a line of gas grills. He asks, “Was last night another rough one for you.”

“Yeah, we responded to a wreck involving a mommy van and a big rig.”

Dutch frowns. “I can guess which one won when they went head-to-head.”

“Yeah, the van was mangled pretty bad. The mother died instantly and the kids just kept crying for her until their dad arrived, there was nothing we could have done for her. It was fucking horrible.”

“I seriously don’t know how you cope with that shit without losing your fucking mind, Rage.”

“I don’t. It makes me angry to see good people die. I keep it all bottled up until it comes spilling out, usually at the worst moment imaginable. I didn’t mean to get pissed at Tank, it’s just it takes time to decompress from a bad shift.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Passing me a bottle of beer from the ice bucket beside the grill, he says, “Here’s the upside. You’re a smart, capable brother with good insight into his own problems. Not everyone has that advantage.”

When he holds out his bottle, I bring mine up and clank it against his. “Damn straight. I’m the only one who fully knows how fucked up I really am.”

We both drink and talk a few more minutes until Rider and Frannie arrive with boxes of frozen burgers and packs of hot dogs. Tank and I fire up the grills and get busy cooking up the meat. Our little festival is in full swing within the hour and is rocking pretty much all day.

The club girls were wearing Savage Legion MC t-shirts because they’re helping host the event. They look on it as a badge of honor and strut around like they’re fucking queens. Makes a change from all the shit-stirring they usually do. They start bringing plates, which we fill with buns and burgers and then walk off selling them to the general public. It’s better than having dozens of people crowding the grills. Being surrounded that way would spike my anxiety, I don’t like people invading my personal space and when crowds gather, that’s sure to happen. I try and keep a handle on it, but when I have a bad night it’s harder to keep control.

I watch the club girls selling plate after plate and stuffing the money into their apron pockets. Before long, their pockets are bulging, and they have to stop by and let the club officers put it in a lock box. Dutch is our club treasurer. He’d probably be in charge of the money if he hadn’t opted to run the grill today.

After about three hours, I get relieved by Talon, so I grab a plate and head over to the bake sale to see how Ven and Amy are doing. Leaning back against Ven’s car, I eat and watch them sell a metric fuck ton of sweets. I was going to ask about the cage, but then I remembered that Amy’s pregnant. Knowing how protective Ven is over her, he’s probably gonna be driving around in that box for the next few months.

Amy catches my eye. “See anything that looks good to you, Rage?”

“Are those chocolate chip cookies?” I ask. My mouth is watering at the thought of one of them, I might not be a big drinker, but chocolate is my one addiction.

“Yes, they are. It’s Meli’s recipe.” She holds one up for me to see. “Fair warning, my friend. If you take even one bite, you’re gonna be paying me to make these for the rest of your natural life.”

I reach for my wallet with one hand while throwing away my paper plate with the other. “I’ll take ‘em.”

Her face scrunches up into a delightfully confused expression. “How many do you want?”

“All of ‘em. Every single one you have left.”

Her face lights up but Ven doesn’t seem so happy about this turn of events. I see him reach out, snatch one off the table and shove it into his inside vest pocket. I laugh. Amy raises an eyebrow, “Seriously, you want them all?”

“I never joke about cookies. I’ll pay cold hard cash for every single one of them.”

She starts gathering them all up and putting them in a box.

“Yeah, I want to share them with my crew,” I say.

Her expression turns warm and adoring. “Aw, that the nicest thing I’ve heard for a while.”

Ven starts laughing.

Amy gives her old man a quizzical look, “You know something I don’t?”

“His paramedic buddies will be lucky if they get crumbs.”

“Fuck off,” I mutter, though my brother is not telling a lie.

“Well, it’s all for a good cause,” Amy says as she tapes down the lid of the box.

“What do I owe you?” I ask as I pull out my wallet.

She hands over the box and says, “There are seventy-two cookies in there at fifty cents each, so that’s thirty-six dollars.”

I pull out a hundred-dollar bill and hand it to her. “How much for the recipe?”

“It’s secret, Meli told me not to tell a soul,” she says, pretending to zip her lips.

“You’re talking about my surrogate mother there,” I say with a grin. Me and Ven made a pact to be blood brothers, which means his mom, Meli, is mine too… sort of. “Aw, c’mon, I’m sure Meli won’t mind, I’m not gonna sell them.”

“I guess as it’s you, then it’ll be okay.” She pulls her phone out and types out a text message to me before making a big production out of hitting send. “There you go. It’s good doing business with you.”

Before I can thank her, my phone begins ringing. It’s the ringtone I assigned to my unit commander. Looks like my day off is now officially over, it’s a good job I only had the one beer well over an hour ago. I mutter under my breath as I pull out my phone.

“This is Rage, what’s up?”

“We have a five-car pileup involving a tanker truck full of toxic chemicals about twenty miles out of town.”

Shifting the box in my arms, I ask, “Want me to head that way? I can be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“No, we’ve both ambulances there already and Rhone County is sending help as well. We just got a call from the Las Salinas PD of a hostage situation involving a family of three. The daughter called to report that her mother had been shot by her father. When the police arrived, he wouldn’t let them in. They’re organizing their SWAT team and when they swarm the place, we’re gonna need someone to see to the injured.”

“Fucking hell, text me the address and I’ll be there ASAP.”

“You got it. Just remember, Rage, park your ass and don’t move in until the police give you the go ahead.”

“Roger that, boss,” I reply stoically. I hate domestic violence situations, especially the ones involving kids.

I was already walking to my truck by the time the conversation was over. I stow the box behind my seat and head for the scene with my overhead lights flashing. People get the fuck out of my way because this is a small town where people actually care about one another. Most people know me and what I do for a living, so they give way.

Me? I worry all the way there that the police will drag their feet about swarming the place until it’s too late, or that her injuries will be too severe, and I won’t be able to stabilize her. I worry about the kid and what seeing all this will do to their mental health. I worry about what having another death on my conscience would do to me.

***

I arrive and park on the other side of the street since all the police cars have stopped in the middle of the road. They’re using their vehicles as cover so they can try to talk the dude down.

They must have been at it for more a few minutes because the man is yelling at them.

I jump out of the truck, pull off my cut and grab my EMS uniform top before racing out to speak to the officer in charge. My hand grips my medical bag as I kneel down behind the vehicle. “Sergeant Pike. What the hell is going on? He sounds drunk or high.”

He’s talking on his two-way radio and glances up at me. “Glad you’re here, Rage. He’s pretty amped up. My money is on both, drugs and alcohol. My officers went door-to-door when we first arrived. The neighbors report regular disturbances. The family used to keep themselves to themselves, but in the last year something must have happened. They’ve called the police after hearing screaming from the house three times this year. We’ve arrested him twice and he gets bailed out within hours.”

“So this ain’t his first rodeo,” I say grimly, taking a minute to pull on my uniform shirt so everyone knows not to fucking shoot me.

“Unfortunately, not. He won’t let the woman go or any of us in to perform first aid.”

“Maybe he’ll let me in. EMS workers aren’t law enforcement, so I’ve at least got a chance.”

The older man’s gaze was one of deep concern. “This man’s off his rocker. You’re gonna get yourself shot if you try to get in there. You do know that, right?”

I reach out and hold the button down on his two-way radio. “Just want to let everyone know that I’m going to try to get into the house to check on the wounded woman. I’m doing it of my own volition so don’t be trying to lay blame on anyone else if things go sideways for me in there.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Rage.” His voice was deadly serious, enough to almost make me second guess my decision. Then the thought of some kid watching her mom bleed out on the floor races through my mind.

“Most all paramedics have a wild streak. It’s what drives us to do what we do.”

“Well, be careful. If he escalates, get the hell outta there.”

“Will do,” I lie.

From the moment I step out on that lawn my fate will be irrevocably intertwined with those hostages. In my mind, my job is to keep the woman and child alive until the police can resolve the situation. Nothing else matters. I can do this, I tell myself.

Getting to my feet, I slowly walk out in front of the vehicle with my bag in one hand and my other raised in the air. “Don’t shoot. I’m not a cop. I’m a paramedic here to treat your wife’s injuries.”

“Step the fuck back. My wife is fine. She doesn’t need you or any damn body else. Just me,” he screams. “She just needs me.”

I take a step closer. “Sir, your wife has been shot, you don’t want to make this situation any worse than it is.”

“That was an accident. It wasn’t my fault and I’m not going to fucking jail over something that I didn’t mean to happen.”

“Look, I don’t care about any of that. Your wife is injured. My job is to patch her up. Let me do that and I’ll leave right away.”

“No. All you first responders have hero complexes. I don’t trust you to be inside my house, around my family.”

“Well, if your wife dies, it’s going to be ten times harder to prove it was an accident. And killing someone is much more serious than just shooting someone. I think it would be in your best interest to let me have a look at her. It could be like you said, nothing serious. But what if you’re wrong and she dies? I’m sure you wouldn’t want that on your conscience.”

The man steps out of the shadows just a bit and then immediately pulls back. “Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar.”

“I’m a paramedic. You’re living in a mini mansion. I don’t think we travel in the same circles.”

I hear him snort a laugh at my self-effacing comment. “Fine. Get your ass in here. If you try anything cute, I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

I swiftly move forward and remind him, “I thought you were trying to avoid committing murder today, especially with all those cops watching.”

He reaches out and gives me rough shove as I walk through the door. “She’s in the back of the living room. I told her to get up off the fucking floor, but she doesn’t listen.” Turning to his wife, he shouts, “She never fucking listens to a damn word I have to say. Not ever. No matter how many times I tell her to stay in the fucking house.”

I rush to her side and kneel down as he takes a break from ranting long enough to take another swig out of his whiskey bottle. Her hair is matted with blood, and I can’t see her face. She moves slightly and I see a girl of eight or nine hiding behind her. No, the woman is using her body to press the little girl back against the wall. My blood runs cold as I realize she’s protecting the child with her own body, even though she’s bleeding so bad, the carpet is soaked with her blood.

I reach out to take her pulse but the man behind me roars, “Don’t fucking touch her. She’s mine.”