Chapter Five - The Devil You Don't See
833 Words
Rain hammered against the windows of Ashridge Regional Medical Center, turning the parking lot into a blur of shimmering lights.
Dr. Willow Hastings barely noticed.
She was halfway through reviewing a patient's CT scan when her office door opened without a knock.
"You've got visitors."
Willow looked up from the monitor to find Nurse Emily standing in the doorway, her expression caught somewhere between nervous and amused.
"I do?"
Emily nodded toward the emergency department.
"About a dozen of them."
Willow sighed.
"The bikers."
"They're hard to miss."
Setting the scan aside, Willow made her way through the corridor. The moment she stepped into the waiting area, every conversation stopped.
The Iron Reapers stood together in a loose circle, leather cuts still damp from the rain. Despite their intimidating appearance, they remained surprisingly respectful, keeping their voices low and out of the way of hospital staff.
Rocco sat in a wheelchair near the nurses' station, looking thoroughly irritated.
"I told them I can walk."
"You've got six broken ribs," Willow replied, crossing her arms. "You'll use the wheelchair."
"I hate doctors."
"No," she corrected with a smile. "You hate listening to doctors."
A few of the club members chuckled.
Even Ryder "Grim" Romano couldn't hide the corner of his smile.
"You enjoying this?" Rocco muttered.
"A little."
"You wound me, Doc."
"I already stitched you back together. You're welcome."
The room filled with quiet laughter.
For just a moment, the hospital didn't feel so heavy.
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Outside...
Ryder stood beneath the awning, staring at the rain.
His phone vibrated.
"Talk."
"We've got a problem," Hawk, the club's Sergeant-at-Arms, said without preamble.
"The dead driver?"
"He wasn't the one behind the wheel."
Ryder's eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"The autopsy came back."
"It doesn't match?"
"No."
"He'd been dead for nearly twelve hours before the SUV crashed."
Silence.
Ryder slowly turned toward the parking lot.
"Then who was driving?"
"That's exactly what we're trying to figure out."
Someone had used a dead man to erase their tracks.
Professional.
Calculated.
Expensive.
This wasn't the work of a desperate criminal.
Someone with serious resources was pulling the strings.
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Willow finished Rocco's discharge paperwork later that afternoon.
"You'll need at least eight weeks before riding again."
Rocco groaned dramatically.
"I'll be dead from boredom."
"You'll be alive."
"I preferred my answer."
She handed him a folder filled with instructions.
"No lifting."
"No riding."
"No alcohol while you're on pain medication."
"No fighting."
Rocco looked genuinely offended.
"Now you're asking too much."
Ryder stepped forward and took the paperwork from him.
"I'll make sure he behaves."
"You couldn't stop me if you tried," Rocco argued.
"I've got duct tape."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
Willow laughed.
It caught her off guard.
She hadn't laughed this much in over a year.
As the brothers prepared to leave, Ryder lingered behind.
"You free for dinner?"
The question surprised them both.
Willow blinked.
"Was that... an invitation?"
"It was."
She studied him carefully.
"I don't date patients."
"I'm not your patient."
"Close enough."
A faint grin spread across his face.
"So that's a maybe?"
"That's a no."
He nodded as though he'd expected the answer.
"Fair enough."
Then he leaned slightly closer.
"But I'll ask again."
Before Willow could respond, he turned and followed his brothers out of the hospital.
She watched through the window as motorcycles roared to life one by one.
The sound echoed through the valley until the last taillight disappeared into the rain.
For reasons she couldn't explain...
The hospital suddenly felt quieter.
Lonelier.
Two hours later...
Willow pulled into the driveway of the small cabin she was renting on the outskirts of town.
Nestled among towering pine trees, it offered exactly what she'd wanted.
Privacy.
Peace.
She unlocked the front door, stepped inside...
...and froze.
The living room lamp she'd left switched off was glowing.
Her heart pounded.
She knew she'd turned it off.
Slowly, she reached into her handbag and wrapped trembling fingers around the small canister of pepper spray she'd carried since leaving Chicago.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
Only silence.
She moved cautiously through the house.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Bathroom.
Empty.
Bedroom...
Everything looked untouched.
She exhaled.
Maybe she'd imagined it.
Then she noticed it.
Lying neatly in the center of her kitchen table was a single white envelope.
No stamp.
No address.
Just one word written across the front.
Willow.
Her pulse quickened.
She hadn't told anyone where she was living.
Hands shaking, she opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed her leaving the hospital earlier that morning.
On the back, written in black ink, were six chilling words.
You can't outrun the truth forever.
The color drained from her face.
Someone knew where she lived.
Someone had been watching her.
And whoever they were...
They wanted her to know it.
Outside, hidden among the trees, a lone figure lowered a pair of binoculars.
A slow smile crept across his face as the cabin lights flickered on.
"Phase two," he whispered.
"Has officially begun."
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