Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 130(@300wpm)
The panic hits like a sledgehammer as the heart monitor betrays me, beeping faster, louder.
I try to sit up, and pain shoots through my chest like I've been stabbed.
Fuck this.
I yank the IV from my arm, blood spattering across white sheets as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The room tilts dangerously, the floor seeming to rise up to meet me before falling away again.
Alarms start blaring. High-pitched, insistent.
Two nurses rush in, their faces showing professional concern but not surprise. One presses me back against the pillows while the other checks the monitors, silencing the alarm.
"Mr. Kane, you need to stay in bed," the first nurse says, her voice steady. "You've had major surgery to remove infected tissue. Your body needs time to recover."
"Where's Savannah?" I demand, my voice rougher than I expected, throat raw from what must have been a breathing tube. "Where's my sister?"
The nurses exchange a glance I don't like. The kind of look people give when they're deciding how much truth you can handle.
"I'll get the doctor to come speak with you," the second nurse says, already backing toward the door. "He can explain everything about your condition."
"I don't give a shit about my condition," I say, trying again to sit up despite the first nurse's restraining hand. "Where's my family?"
"Please try to remain calm, Mr. Kane. The doctor will be here shortly to answer your questions."
They both exit quickly, the door clicking shut behind them. I'm alone again with the beeping machines and questions burning holes in my skull.
A little while later the door opens again, but it's not the doctor who walks in.
It's Brick.
He's wearing civilian clothes—jeans, a plain black t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. No cut or patches. Nothing identifying him as Badlands.
He looks smaller somehow, outside the clubhouse.
Less mythic.
He pulls a chair close to the bed, sits, holds a cup of coffee in his hand as I struggle with reality.
"Where's Savannah? Where's Mercy?"
Brick's face remains impassive, weathered like the side of a cliff that's seen too many storms. He takes a sip of coffee before answering. "That brand got infected. Fever spiked to 104. You started convulsing in your room. Dusty drove you to Glendive Medical Center, but you got worse. Savannah called in Ashby resources—private medical transport to Mayo Clinic. That's where you are now. Minnesota."
"Minnesota?" What the fuck.
"You’ve been out six days," Brick continues. "Three surgeries to clean the infection. Sepsis hit your bloodstream. They told us you were dying. Actually," he amends. "You did die. Once. For about twenty seconds. But they brought you back. Cash Ashby's involved now," Brick says. Irritation, not sympathy leaking through in his voice. "Called social services on us. You were convulsing pretty much at the same moment they showed up at the Badlands' gate. It was a fucking shit show. Mercy screaming, Savannah screaming. Sheriff fucking yelling at us with a bullhorn. Cash Ashby smirking like the asshole he is as we were carrying you down to Dusty's car. He's the one who reported Mercy living at the clubhouse. Temporary custody hearing happened five days ago."
I try to push myself up again, ignoring the tearing sensation in my chest. "What?"
"Judge granted Cash temporary guardianship of Mercy," Brick says. "Savannah tried to intervene, offered herself as guardian. Court rejected it. She still shares residence with Cash at the Ashby place so there was really no point."
Brick sighs hard and narrows his eyes at me. The only sign of emotion he's shown. "I told you before. I fucking told you, Legion. No goddamn kids at the clubhouse. Now we got social workers, and family court fucking judges, and Cash fucking Ashby eyes all over us."
The rage builds inside me, hot and desperate. I throw back the covers and attempt to stand, but my legs buckle immediately. Weakness overwhelms anger, and I fall back onto the bed, breathing hard.
"I need a phone," I say through gritted teeth. "I need clothes. I need to get the fuck outta here!"
Brick stands, then picks up the hospital phone from the bedside table and tosses it into my lap. "I'm heading back to Montana," he says. "Two days of waiting to see if you live or die is enough. I've got major shit to deal with, thanks to you."
"Where's Savannah now?" I ask. Desperate for answers before he leaves.
Brick heads toward the door, not looking back at me. "She went back to the ranch with Mercy last night after they said you were gonna pull through," he says. "There's a court date comin' up for Mercy and this one is for keeps."
"Why are you pissed at me? I didn't plan on fuckin' dying over a damn brand."
Brick turns to face me. His expression one of pure rage. "What did you just say?"
I realize my mistake too late. Because… that's literally what the brand means.