Too Fast For Hope Read online

  TOO FAST FOR HOPE

  Steel Veins MC Romance

  Part Three

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Adair Rymer

  Special Thanks

  Chapter 1 | Star

  Chapter 2 | Remy

  Chapter 3 | Star

  Chapter 4 | Remy

  Chapter 5 | Star

  Chapter 6 | Remy

  Epilogue | Star

  END

  Adair Rymer

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  Copyright © 2014 Adair Rymer

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. They are not to be construed in any way. Resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Special Thanks

  To Amanda

  To Ed

  To Lynette

  To hurt, violence, liquor and rage.

  And, of course, to love.

  Chapter 1

  Star

  “The patient is stable. He will be sore for a few months and he will need several weeks of bed rest. Also, the patient seemed upset so I was forced to sedate him. Heavily.”

  “Yeah, well...” I almost chuckled at the thought. Who wouldn't be pissed off if they were nearly killed by bikers. Or by anyone for that matter. “He was shot four times... ”

  “Five! One glanced off the patient's face,” Doc, as he introduced himself, tapped rapidly at his cheek. He was an intense, gaunt man with a ghostly pale complexion. Balding with thick glasses, he was the type of man you'd expect to see working at a funeral parlor. “The patient should avoid extraneous activity for at least a month.”

  “I'll certainly have my work cut out for me.” I didn't care about the work as long as Remy made it. I'd probably regret it but I couldn't help but to ask. “Are you really a doctor?”

  To say this place was unorthodox would have been the equivalent of calling the Statue of Liberty a lawn ornament. We were in the basement of Hall's Taxidermy, the creepiest place I'd ever seen in my entire life. I forced Shawn, the EMT, to reassure me several times that we'd arrived at the correct place before I let him leave.

  “Does it matter?” Doc asked in unnerving earnest. His insomniac eyes were sunken and encased in loose, purple skin. Although I was sure his question was rhetorical, he regarded me expectantly as he took his glasses off and thumbed away a few errant droplets of Remy's blood from the lenses. A sharp chill tore up my spine. This man could've stepped out of a horror film.

  “I was able to remove all the bullets from the patient. They are in the jar on the shelf. You will be leaving with them,” he cleaned his hands and pointed to a dimly lit screw-top glass bottle between a box of various furs and what looked like a milk crate of animal jaws.

  Although the operating area was very well lit, he saw me struggling in the low periphery light of the rest of the room. He flicked the switch on another fluorescent bulb so that I might see it better. I wish he hadn't. My eyes hesitantly flitted around the room. It was large enough to be both a work space and a storage area. The animals down here were in various states of either disrepair or dismemberment and each was hideously contorted with anguish, fear or fury. This place couldn't be any creepier

  “I stemmed the internal bleeding as well,” Doc said, which jerked me back into reality. “The shooter managed to miss most of the patient’s major organs. Though not due to lack of trying. I will still need to clean and close the wounds. I will require him to stay here another day.”

  “Another day... ” I squeezed Remy's hand and looked him over. He was laid out, bare to the waist, on a crimson stained, steel table. His breathing and pulse rate were surprisingly strong despite all the wounds. For as beaten up as he looked right now, I knew it would somehow take far more than this to actually kill Remy Daniels. He would be back on his feet in no time.

  At least that's what I'd drilled into my head like a mantra on the way over here.

  Truth was, I had never been more scared. Even when I was on the verge of being raped or killed, I could emotionally handle it, at least, eventually. But this... It was like there was a howling pit in my stomach. Like my skin was trying to tear itself from my bones and run away without me. It was that not-knowing that was killing me. That middle-of-the-night phone call kind of fear.

  “My fee is ten thousand.”

  “What!” I knew it was going to be expensive but ten thousand dollars was insane! Where the hell were we going to come up with that?

  “Non negotiable. I will need it tomorrow by six in the evening. No loose ends.” Doc was completely unphased by my shock.

  “That's a lot of money to come up with in a day and a half! We need more time than that.” For some reason, I reached into the pocket of the swishy bright yellow jacket that I had taken off the ambulance like I thought the strip club money I'd put in there had magically multiplied somehow. Unfortunately it did not. There was nowhere near enough to even make a dent in the amount we needed.

  “If you value the patient's life, you will find a way. Six PM, no later. My table is reserved. One way or another, paid for or deceased, this patient will be removed from this table come tomorrow at six PM.” The threat was starkly matter-of-fact like he read it out of a dictionary.

  There was no fucking way that people actually bought these freaky stuffed animals so Doc must've made his real money by mending outlaws or... disposing of bodies. This place looked like it had been around for quite awhile which was probably a testament to the gaunt man's ruthless efficiency.

  “Fine! Fine. We'll figure it out.” I looked down at Remy. We'll? Remy was barely conscious. I'd have to figure it out this time. That's when it occurred to me that Remy's fate was completely in my hands.

  The buzzer from when a person walking into a small store rang over the speakers in the basement. Doc snapped his attention over to a black and white monitor tucked away in the corner. He removed his latex gloves, adjusted his clothing that had been rustled from his work on Remy and made his way to toward the stairs before turning to address me one last time.

  “You have five minutes before I resume work on the patient. The room is soundproof but it would still behoove you to remain quiet down here while I deal with customers. Do not not touch anything.” With that, the thin man resumed his walk up to the store.

  “What am I going to do, Remy?” I whispered my plea into his ear, kissed him then rested my forehead lightly on his. A million insane ideas stampeded through my head. Rob a bank, extort a rich guy, blackmail a politician, bring a car to a chop shop, sell drugs. They were all bad TV drama ideas that fell apart as fast as I thought of them. Without Remy I was completely out of my depth. I didn't even know where to start.

  “One-fifty-seven... Logan.” I whipped my head up. Remy was still fucked up on the drugs Doc gave him, even still I could tell he was in a lot of pain. His eyes were closed and his words were barely a whisper. “Boise... City. Grace.” The sound cut out but I was able to catch the rest of the address and the name off his lips.

  “Remy, What is at one-fifty-seven Logan in Boise City? Is it money? Remy, who is Grace?” How much of my conversation with Doc had he heard? Was this the address of a friend of his, that if I explained the situation to, I'd be able to borrow the money? Or maybe it was just the delirious ramblings of a man who'd been shot a lot and was on some heavy drugs.

  I tried to get anything else out of him but it was no use, he was out of it. I got crazy nervous all of a sudden. What if was he sending me back to a Steel Veins clubhouse by accident just because the address was etched into his brain and he remembered it
as a place of safety? I had absolutely no idea what or who might be waiting for me in Boise City but I didn't have any better ideas so I just had to trust in Remy.

  I kissed his forehead one last time and I released his hand. He squeezed my hand with all the strength he could muster. Remy attempted to tell me something else but the words were strained and I couldn't make them out. I leaned in closer but with all his strength used up, he passed out.

  It was obviously a location, which meant that he understood the conversation. At least I hoped that was what it meant. Either way it was a starting point!

  I heard the buzzer again. Whoever that person was that came in was now leaving. I left Remy and ran for the door. Hall's Taxidermy was out in the middle of nowhere. I'd need a ride into town and whoever that was might be my only chance.

  I brushed past a scowling Doc and burst out into the street. A soon-to-be confused late middle-aged man was just getting into a pickup truck when he saw me awkwardly running toward him. The black pleather heels I wore actively tried to kill with every step. Aside from the EMT jacket that was four sizes too large, and was bright enough to be seen from space, I was still wearing my stripper outfit. The green, plaid schoolgirl skirt and short sleeve top. I was the definition of hot mess.

  “Ma'am, are you all right? What happened to you?”

  “I'm— I just really need to get into town. Can you give me a ride?”

  “Yes, of course!” Concern was wallpapered across his face. There was no situation where a girl dressed like me comes running out of a taxidermy shop that isn't a fucking horror show. “Are you sure you're OK? Should I call the police? That man in there, he didn't—”

  “No! No, he didn't.” Oh, this would be fun. “I was just using his phone. I— this is really embarrassing. I'm... a PNM for a sorority at my college and last night was, like, a crazy hazing.”

  “I see.” No doubt, he now saw me as a wayward daughter. I prepared myself for a youth-nowadays conversation or some passed judgment comments but blessedly none came. He asked where I wanted to go, I told him and then he wished me well when he dropped me off.

  Fortunately the bus station was near a bunch of little shops. The bus didn't board for another five hours so after I bought my ticket to Boise City I went looking for some clothes that didn't scream “I woke up at a strip club.” After a little asking around, I was able to find a thrift store which was really all I could afford.

  I had to cut across a small patch of desert to get there and it turned out that the store, called Mi Casa, was actually part of someone's house. The owner and sole employee was a woman named Estefania. She was nice enough to offer me a cup of tea and a freshly made enchilada while I tried on some garments. When I picked out something and paid she granted mercy on me and let me take a quick shower.

  The least visually offensive clothing I could find was a pair of acid-washed jeans and a turquoise, “Is it Monday again?” goofy, cartoon cat T-shirt. There weren't any bras but I did find a pair of sneakers that were only one size too big. Anything to get me out of those damn heels. It felt so good to be clean and to wear pants again. I donated the nice EMT jacket and threw away all the other disgusting clothes I was wearing. Knowing where those clothes had been I'd have burned them if given the option.

  Surprisingly refreshed I headed back to the bus station and waited to board.

  * * * * *

  “Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.” Seriously Remy? I was standing at one-fifty-seven Logan Street, outside of Our Lady of Resurrection church. I couldn't remember the last time I had been to church. My family wasn't religious but my best friend was Baptist and I'd go with her every Sunday when I was little. The service was always a bit over my head but as a reward, my friend's parents would always take us to Taco Bell afterward. I loved Taco Bell.

  And now I've come back to church for Remy's salvation, of sorts.

  I walked around the two part building praying to find whatever the hell I was supposed to, without having to actually go inside. The church, a long, rounded metal shed that looked like a small airplane hangar, was attached to a one story blue building, probably the house of whoever ran the church.

  The whole mess squatted by a flat, lonely intersection with only distant brick homes and a smattering of telephone poles to keep it company. Aside from half a dozen resting or forgotten trailers in the parking lot and an ancient dumpster, the area around the church was barren.

  “Goddammit...” I sighed. I'd have to go in.

  I had spent almost everything I had to get here, there was no turning back now. I needed to somehow leave this church with ten thousand dollars. I didn't have much time left either. Between delays and having to switch buses and find a taxi for the last leg of the trip, that four hour journey turned into a sixteen hour expedition. In a way I needed the downtime. It allowed me to steal some sleep which, since meeting Remy, was more precious than gold.

  Hesitantly I opened the weary wooden door with the painted cross. What day was it? I had lost track. There were a few other vehicles in the parking lot as well and it would be my luck to barge in on a Sunday mass.

  The door's rusted springs sang my entrance like shabby trumpets. The few people that knelt in the pews prayed silently to themselves. Despite the sad exterior, inside, the chapel was beautiful! The expertly crafted, wooden statue of Jesus hung crucified above the velvet draped alter. The wood paneling on the walls and floor were newly installed and still held a polished shine. This place was a diamond in the rough.

  In the deathlike silence of that room, my every footfall was thunderous and my beating heart was the driving rain. I didn't know why I was so nervous. I felt guilty for just being here. This was a church and in essence I was planning on stealing something from it. It felt wrong on every level, even if I did recognize what was at stake if I left empty handed.

  What the hell was I even looking for! The new clock, just above a plain, old confessional booth, read “Noon”. I had six hours to be back at Doc's and pay for Remy's life, with money I didn't have! I felt that lingering hope start to dissolve. I was frustrated and angry. Angry at the situation, at the Lobos but mostly, I was angry at myself for not being able to figure this out. For not being able to save Remy. I sat in the front row, dropped my head into my hands and fought back tears. They came anyways. After all he'd done for me, I couldn't help him when he needed me most.

  “Are you alright, child?” I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I looked up at the soft features of a handsome elderly priest.

  “No, father. I am not.”

  “What ails you, my dear?” The priest sat beside me. I let my gaze lift to the statue of Jesus.

  “I have a—” What did I even call Remy? What was he to me? Was he my boyfriend? My lover? “—a friend who desperately needs my help and try as I might, I don't think I can help him.”

  “Matters of the heart are always the heaviest. Has this friend of yours lost their way?” The priest asked in hushed tones so as not to disturb the people praying.

  “I guess so? He's just... He's just really hurt and I need to—” The name Remy gave me, maybe I was supposed to find the woman and speak with her. “Father?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are there any women that work here or come here often by the name of 'Grace'?”

  “None to my knowledge but I've only recently joined this church. I'm covering for Father Jameson while he recovers from illness.”

  “Oh.” So much for that. Depending on how recent, Remy would have no idea about the change in management. A blanket of sorrow threatened to smother me.

  “I'm sorry, child. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The priest's thick eyebrows arched up in empathy.

  “Not unless you're good with miracles, Father.” I offered him an empty, defeated half-smile. Not on purpose, it was just all that I had left. I didn't know if I would be able to push through the failure I felt in my heart. I ached for Remy. Meekly, I changed the subject in fear of more condolences. “You have
a beautiful church.”

  “Thank you. The renovations were just completed. Father Jameson hasn't even seen the fruit of his labor yet. It was all thanks to the generous donations of an anonymous benefactor.”

  The renovations are complete? It struck me as extremely out of place that the confessional booth would remain when everything else had gotten overhauled. There must be a reason why.

  “Father, would you permit me access to the booth there? I'd like to pray for my friend and I get really anxious when I do it in front of people.”

  “Of course, my dear. Whatever you need.” The priest touched my shoulder again and left me.

  I pulled back the worn red curtain, stepped inside and closed it behind me. Why wouldn't this place be renovated like everything else? I searched every inch of the dull, chipped wood walls, screen and bench. And then there it was.

  A name. Grace.

  It was carved on the front side of the bench. The text was very small, you'd really have to be looking for it to find it. This was it, this was what Remy wanted me to find! The seat of the bench was a rectangular piece of plywood held together with only a few nails. They were loose enough that, with a little work, I was able to pop them out, remove the board and look inside.

  Empty.

  NO! I almost screamed! How could it be empty? Whatever it was, needed to be here! This was it! It had to be! Grace should've been Remy's salvation.

  Dejected, I left the church immediately. I made it as far as the middle of the intersection before I let gravity sink me to the cracked pavement. I couldn't even get back to Remy before Doc overdosed him and chopped him up or whatever that psychopath was going to do to him. I couldn't bear it. I wanted a truck to come barreling down the road and crush me like I had done to that biker.

  “Miss!” I faintly heard the priest's voice behind me. I couldn't face him. I didn't want to talk to anyone right now. “Miss,” he repeated.

  I heard something heavy hit the ground behind me.