Ruthless Banshees Book one: Chaos

ChapterTwo

Tonight was going damn near perfect.

The nomads had rolled in, along with our allied clubs, all to celebrate one of our own. Declan and Marie had been together for years, but he finally got smart enough to put a ring on her finger. Today, they made it official.

The clubhouse was packed. Music blasted through the speakers, beer flowed like water, and laughter echoed off the walls. It was the kind of night that reminded me why I loved this life.

Even our former president, Michael, had shown up for the celebration. He didn't come around much anymore, so having him here made the night that much better.

Unfortunately, Stone was still in his usual asshole mood.

Every bunny that tried to flirt with him got shut down before she could even finish her pickup line. I couldn't help but chuckle. Some things never changed.

Figuring my beer had somehow disappeared, I pushed away from the back of the bar and made my way to the front. A prospect saw me coming and slid a fresh bottle across the bar.

"Thanks."

I twisted the cap off, took a long pull, and turned around.

That's when I saw her.

A woman stood just inside the clubhouse.

She was covered in blood.

Her shirt was soaked crimson, and with every shaky step she took, more blood dripped onto the hardwood floor. She looked like she'd crawled straight out of hell and refused to die.

The music slowly faded.

Conversations died off one by one until the entire clubhouse fell silent.

Every set of eyes locked onto the woman.

She looked...

Familiar.

Not familiar enough that I could place her, but enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Had we met before?

She stumbled but somehow caught herself before she hit the floor. I watched her grit her teeth and force another step forward.

Stubborn.

I'll give her that.

There was something about the way she carried herself.

Even bleeding half to death, she refused to quit.

It tugged at a memory I couldn't quite reach.

Before I could make my way over to see if she needed help, I noticed Michael shove his barstool back.

Stone saw her at the exact same time.

Neither of them hesitated.

Without saying a word, they headed straight for her.

I frowned.

What the hell was going on?

Curiosity got the better of me, so I followed a few steps behind them.

The woman never took her eyes off Michael or Stone.

Even through the blood loss and whatever pain she had to be in, she looked...

Relieved.

Like she'd finally made it home.

She stopped a few feet in front of them.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Then a weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Hello... Dad."

Michael went completely still.

The color drained from his face.

The woman slowly shifted her gaze to Stone.

"Hello... big brother."

Stone looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"Sloane?"

A weak smile spread across her face.

"You know I hate that name."

Everything around me seemed to stop.

No.

No f*****g way.

The smile.

The eyes.

Holy shit...

Sloane Steele.

The little girl who used to follow Stone and me around the compound.

The girl we'd all mourned.

The girl everyone believed had died eighteen years ago.

Before I could wrap my head around any of it, her knees buckled.

Michael lunged forward, catching her before she slammed into the hardwood floor.

"Sloane!" Stone shouted, dropping beside them.

Blood poured from beneath her, soaking Michael's arms as he gathered her against his chest.

His hands were shaking.

I'd known Michael Steele my entire life.

I'd seen him angry.

I'd seen him bury brothers.

I'd seen him stare down men twice his size without blinking.

I'd never seen him look terrified.

Not until now.

"SOMEBODY GET SOME HELP!" Michael roared.

The clubhouse erupted into chaos.

Instinct took over.

One second Michael was holding her...

The next she was in my arms as I sprinted toward the medical wing.

She weighed almost nothing.

Her blood soaked through my shirt within seconds.

I looked down at her pale face.

Dead girls weren't supposed to come home.

So how the hell was I carrying Sloane Steele through the clubhouse?

The clubhouse erupted into chaos.

Instinct took over.

One second Michael was holding her, the next she was in my arms as I ran toward the medical room in the back of the clubhouse.

She weighed almost nothing.

Her blood soaked through my shirt in seconds.

Where the hell has she been all this time? What is with all this scar on her face?

I burst through the doors leading into the medical wing.

Doc looked up from his desk, and the second his eyes landed on the blood covering both me and the woman in my arms, his chair scraped across the floor.

"What the hell happened?" he barked as he met me at the exam table.

"I don't know," I admitted, laying her down as carefully as I could. "She walked into the clubhouse looking like this."

He didn't ask another question.

Surgical gloves snapped over his hands as he leaned over her, checking for a pulse before pressing two fingers against her neck.

"She's still with us," he muttered more to himself than anyone else.

His eyes traveled over the blood-soaked shirt clinging to her body.

"TRAUMA SHEARS!" he yelled.

One of the prospects took off like his ass was on fire. Within seconds he was back, slapping the trauma shears into Doc's waiting hand.

"Good. Stay. I need another set of hands."

The kid nodded so hard I thought his neck might snap.

Doc slid the shears beneath her shirt and began cutting the fabric away. The shredded material fell to the floor, revealing two angry gunshot wounds.

"Son of a bitch..." I whispered.

One bullet had torn through her lower abdomen.

The other had hit just below her ribs.

Doc didn't say a word, but I caught the slight tightening of his jaw as he continued cutting away the rest of her clothing around the wounds. His eyes lingered for only a second before he got back to work.

Whatever he'd seen...

He kept it to himself.

"Gauze."

The prospect had it in Doc's hand before he finished speaking.

"Pressure."

The kid pressed down exactly where Doc pointed while Doc reached for another tray.

By then Michael and Stone had rushed into the room.

Michael looked like he'd aged ten years in the few minutes since she'd collapsed.

His eyes never left the woman lying on the table.

Doc didn't even look up.

"I need everyone out," he said, his voice calm but firm.

Nobody moved.

"I said everybody out."

Michael stepped closer to the table.

"I'm not leaving," he said, his voice breaking. "That's my daughter."

For the first time since we walked in, Doc looked up.

"Michael."

Their eyes met.

"Trust me."

Michael swallowed hard but still didn't move.

"If you trust me to save the lives of every brother who walks through these doors, then trust me to save hers."

The room fell silent.

After what felt like forever, Michael gave a reluctant nod and took a step back.

Doc glanced around the room.

"Everyone leaves. The prospect stays."

No one argued.

One by one, we filed out into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind us.

The silence hit almost immediately.

No music.

No laughter.

No celebration.

Just a hallway full of bikers staring at a closed door, waiting to find out if the woman inside was going to live or die.

Stone wore a groove into the floor as he paced.

Michael leaned against the wall, his hands covered in her blood. He stared at them like he couldn't figure out how it got there.

No one dared say a word.

The only sounds were the muffled voices coming from inside the room and the occasional metallic clink of instruments.

Minutes dragged by.

Then more minutes.

Nobody checked a watch.

Nobody cared.

Finally, after what felt like forever—but was probably only two hours—the medical room door opened.

The prospect stepped out first.

He was covered in blood.

His face was as white as a sheet, and for a second he just stood there, staring at all of us lined up in the hallway.

His eyes landed on me before drifting to Michael and Stone.

He swallowed hard, then quietly walked away without saying a word.

Nobody stopped him.

A second later, Doc stepped out, pulling off his bloodied gloves one finger at a time.

He stopped in the doorway when he realized the entire damn club was still standing there.

Nobody had gone home.

Nobody had gone back to the party.

Every brother, every nomad, every old lady... they were all waiting.

Holding their breath.

Michael and Stone were the first to reach him.

"Doc..." Michael's voice cracked. "How is she?"

Doc looked at the two of them before letting out a long breath.

"She's alive."

I swear the whole hallway let out a breath at the same time.

"But she's been through hell."

The relief on Michael's face only lasted a second before worry settled right back in.

"Tell me."

Doc nodded.

"The two gunshot wounds were serious. One entered her lower abdomen, the other caught her just below the ribs. She lost a dangerous amount of blood, but I was able to stop the bleeding. Barring any complications, she should make a full recovery."

Michael closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thank God."

"But..." Doc continued.

That one word sucked every ounce of relief right back out of the hallway.

"As I was treating her, I found things that had nothing to do with those gunshot wounds."

Nobody said a word.

"She has an old scar that runs down the entire left side of her face."

Stone's jaw tightened.

"Her back..." Doc paused before continuing. "It's covered in burn scars. Old burns. Then, he pauses and blows out a breath. There is significant trauma elsewhere." He didn't elaborate on that, I noted it for later.

Michael looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

"And there were bruises."

"What kind of bruises?" Stone asked quietly.

"The kind that doesn't happen from one fight." Doc sighed. "Some are fresh. Some are healing. Others are almost gone. They've been there for a while."

Silence settled over the hallway.

"I don't know where she's been," Doc said, looking from Michael to Stone. "But I can tell you this much..."

He looked back toward the closed medical room door.

"That young woman has survived things most of us couldn't imagine."

Nobody spoke.

"There isn't anything more I can do for her tonight," Doc continued. "She's resting, and that's exactly what she needs. She'll need someone with her when she wakes up. We don't know what kind of state she'll be in."

"I'll stay."

The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I'd spoken.

Everyone turned to look at me.

I shrugged.

"Someone should be with her."Then I looked at Michael and Stone.

Just before I walked into the room where Lyla lay sleeping, I stopped and turned back to them.

"Michael..."

He looked up, his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Twenty-four years ago, Deana took Lyla to the grocery store."

The room fell silent.

"They never came home, this club searched every damn mile of this state. We searched neighboring states, worked with law enforcement, followed every lead we could find."

I shook my head, It was like they vanished into thin air."

I looked toward the closed infirmary door.

"So tell me how your daughter ends up in our medical ward with two bullet wounds."

Michael's eyes drifted toward the door.

For a long moment, he didn't say a word.

Finally, he spoke.

"I don't know."

Stone scoffed,"Bullshit."

Michael slowly looked at him.

"I don't know where she's been."

His voice was quiet but unwavering.

"I don't know why she left."

Ronan frowned.

Michael's gaze returned to the infirmary.

"The only person who can answer those questions is lying in that bed."

Silence settled over the room.

"When she wakes up..." Michael continued, "...if she wants to tell you what happened, she will."

His voice hardened.

"But I won't ask her."

Stone stared at him in disbelief.

"You're not going to ask where she's been?"

"No."

"You're not going to ask why she never came home?"

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Michael finally met his son's eyes.

"Because I don't care."

The words hung in the air.

"I don't care where she's been, nor do I care why she's back."

His voice cracked for the first time.

"She's my daughter."

No one spoke.

"And I'll never turn my back on her."

Stone let out a bitter laugh.

"So that's it?"

He shook his head, glaring at the closed infirmary door.

"Twenty-four years."

His voice was cold.

"She had twenty-four years."

He looked at Michael.

"If she wanted to come home, she would've."

Silence.

"If she wanted to see me..."

His jaw clenched.

"...she would've."

His gaze swept across the room.

"I don't care that she's back."

The words were sharp, but the hurt beneath them was impossible to miss.

"Deana made her choice twenty-four years ago."

Ronan stepped forward.

"Stone—"

"No."

Stone cut him off.

"I spent twenty-four years wondering why Deana and Lyla walked away without so much as a goodbye."

His fists clenched at his sides.

"I loved Deana."

His voice lowered.

"She was the only mother I ever knew."

He swallowed hard.

"And Lyla wasn't just my half sister."

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"She was my little sister."

For a heartbeat, the anger slipped, exposing the pain underneath.

"I cried for them."

His eyes glistened.

"I searched for them."

"I blamed myself."

He laughed once, the sound hollow.

"But not anymore."

His expression hardened.

"She's a stranger."

He looked at Michael one last time.

"If you want to play happy family, that's your choice."

His voice turned flat.

"But don't expect me to."

Without another word, Stone turned and stormed out of the clubhouse.

The front door slammed behind him, shaking the walls.

No one moved.

Michael stood silently, his eyes fixed on the infirmary door.

Then, without another word, he walked inside and quietly closed it behind him.

The answers we'd spent twenty-four years searching for were finally within reach.

Whether Lyla was willing to give them was another matter entirely.

She lay perfectly still beneath the white blanket, IVs running into both arms, machines quietly beeping beside her bed.

Her skin was almost as white as the pillow beneath her head.

Hell...She looked dead.

I pulled a chair over to the corner of the room and sat down. One way or another...

We deserve answers