Born Wild

Shh, he wanted to tell her when her hot tears fell on his face, when her cries rang in his ears. It’s okay, now. I love you, and you’re going to be okay. But he’d lost the ability to speak. The Reaper was close now. He could feel the bastard. Could feel him pulling and tugging. And when the distant sound of sirens reached his ears, accompanied by the gentle mutter of an overhead helicopter, he knew she was safe.

So…he let go…

Chapter Twenty-six

Northwestern Memorial Hospital

Friday, 3:03 p.m.

He wasn’t dead…

There were times since he first regained consciousness yesterday when the pain was so intense he wished he was dead. But then he’d look over at Eve in the armchair beside his bed—he’d been told by the night nurse that she hadn’t left his side since the moment he came out of surgery—and he’d remember just how much he had to live for.

Eve…Beautiful, courageous, wonderful Eve…

She loved him, and he loved her, and as soon as he got out of this goddamned hospital bed, he was going to show her just how much he loved her. Show her again and again. In very inventive and enthusiastic ways. A smiled curved his lips just thinking of it. Because if that wasn’t enough to have him happily suffering through the pain—if thoughts of getting Eve naked and sweaty wasn’t reason enough to fight to heal—then he didn’t know what was.

He glanced over now, expecting to find her curled up sleeping or reading. But she wasn’t there. Instead his sister Becky was sitting cross-legged in the chair, frowning at the screen of her cell phone, her fingers fiddling with the end of the blonde ponytail draped over her shoulder. His eyes darted to the couch at the far end of the room. But Eve wasn’t there either. It was his brother-in-law, the esteemed leader of BKI. Frank “Boss” Knight had stretched his significant bulk out on the sofa, his big biker boots were dangling over the arm, and he was flipping through the latest issue of American Rider.

Bill moved his hand, trying to get Becky’s attention. Then he remembered, vaguely, through the hazy cloud of delicious, delicious pain meds, that he’d been taken off the ventilator earlier. So, he could actually talk. Licking his lips, he opened his mouth and asked, “Where’s Eve?”

Or at least that’s what he tried to say. In all reality, it sounded more like, “Wheh Eh?” followed by a series of painful, wheezing coughs.

And damn his throat hurt like he’d been swallowing glass, not to mention his mouth was so dry he wondered if they’d been packing the sucker with gauze for some inexplicable reason. Becky’s head jerked up, and she jumped to her feet. Boss catapulted himself from the sofa with a grace that was shocking for such a big man.

“Billy!” Becky squealed, grabbing his hand. “My God! You’re talking!”

Yeah, if two incomprehensible syllables counted as “talking.” Naturally, he’d probably be able to do a little better if his mouth wasn’t so goddamned dry. Licking his lips, he tried again. Only this time, he said, “Wah-tah.”

He frowned, wondering if that was at all understandable. Then, he smiled in victory when Becky reached for a clear pitcher. She poured some water into a cup, inserted a straw, and held it to his lips. He sucked greedily. It was heaven. The water was cool and delicious, and it soothed his burning throat. When he’d downed the last of it, the straw made a slurping sound against the bottom of the cup, and he said, “More.”

And this time—yippee!—the word actually came out sounding completely comprehensible.

“No,” Becky told him, shaking her head, setting the cup aside. He looked at it with longing. “The doctor says you’re not supposed to drink too fast or too much. I’ll give you another cup in ten minutes. “

He shifted his gaze to her, scowling.

She scowled right back, planting her hands on her jean-clad hips, and sticking her tongue in her cheek. “And you can wipe that look right off your face, mister,” she harrumphed. “You scared the shit out of me, out of all of us. So, my patience with you is at an all-time low.”

He grinned, shaking his head against the pillow. “Love you,” he croaked, and her expression softened. She brushed her fingers through his hair and bent to kiss his forehead. She smelled like she always smelled, a strange combination of woman and mechanic, all flowery with just a hint of motor oil. When she straightened away, he cleared his throat and glanced down at the foot of the bed.

Boss was standing there with a big ol’ smile splitting his face. It caused the scar cutting up from the corner of his lips to pull tight. “Save your breath,” Boss said. “I know you love me, too.”

Bill chuckled, but it turned into a series of coughs that had Becky squeezing his fingers and going back on what she’d just said. She held the straw on a fresh cup of water to his lips. As he sucked the cool, soothing liquid down into his burning throat, he grinned up at her triumphantly.

“Don’t go thinking you’ve found my weak spot. That trick will only work once,” she told him, pursing her lips.

When the water was gone, he asked, “Where’s Eve?”

“She needed to stretch her legs, so we sent her on a coffee run,” Boss informed him. “She should be back soon.”

And knowing she was going to come through that door at any minute sent warmth fizzing through his veins. Or maybe that was just the drugs. The delicious, delicious drugs. For a moment, he thought he drifted, then the memory of those last few seconds out in the parking lot at Harbor View Marina dragged him back to reality.

“Jeremy Buchanan?” he asked, glancing first at his sister, then at Boss.

Boss shook his head. “Dead on the scene. Two shots. Center mass.”

Bill swallowed. “Is she…Is Eve okay?”

Neither Boss nor Becky answered him, and a hard lump of apprehension settled in the center of his chest. Then, Becky finally admitted, “She’s handling it pretty well. But it’s tough. Buchanan was like a brother to her.”

He nodded against the pillow, still having trouble believing what’d happened, why it’d happened. Frowning, he posed the question aloud.

“It’s a convoluted story from what the police have been able to piece together after scouring his condo from top to bottom,” his sister grimaced. Boss mirrored her expression, his big, craggy face filled with disgust. “But the short version of the story goes something like this…His mother, Eve’s aunt, was a bit of a party girl. She liked to spend money as opposed to investing it. Apparently, she blew through her inheritance and the portion of a trust fund her parents left her. So, when she died, Jeremy discovered he was a trust-fund baby minus one trust fund. Then,” Becky sucked in a breath and continued, “when Eve’s father started up his business with Blake, he invited Jeremy to come in as a junior partner. But Jeremy didn’t have the capital to put down. So he borrowed the money from some big time gang lord he allegedly met while working vice. He promised the gangster a big payoff. But as you know, the business failed, and he was left owing a lot of money to one very nasty individual.”

Becky reached into her hip pocket, pulled out an orange Dum-Dum lollipop, and peeled back the wrapper. Shoving the sucker in her cheek, she opened her mouth to continue, and Bill didn’t know if it was drugs talking but all he could think was…this is the short version of the story?

“So unless Jeremy wanted to find his knee caps busted, or take a bullet to the brain, or get himself fitted for cement galoshes, or whatever it is gangsters do to their enemies,” Becky talked around the head of the sucker, “he needed to find a way to pay the guy back. In comes Eve’s portion of the family trust fund. The document apparently stipulates that if Eve dies without an heir…” She frowned. “Heir. I swear, every time I say that word or even think it, I feel like I should be twirling a parasol and having