Dirty Desires (Devil Kings MC #3) - Nicole James Page 0,35
on. Every vase, ashtray, decorative plate… she smashes everything.
Then she starts in on all of Growler’s prized beer steins. I can see her shameless intoxication with wrecking something so important to him in a fit of spite.
All I can do is stay clear of the projectiles and hope this is somehow therapeutic for her. It breaks my heart to see the torment on her face.
“Mom, please. He’s not worth it.”
Suddenly she shakes a finger at me from across the room. “Don’t you pity me! Don’t you dare pity me!”
She begins in on the liquor bottles, breaking every last one except the Vodka. That one she grabs and stalks upstairs. I hear her stomp down the hall and then her door slams.
My shoulders slump. I’m sure she’ll stay up there until the bottle is empty. Then I’ll have to pick up the pieces and try to put our lives back together. I stare at the devastation that is my mother and father’s life, smashed all around me.
I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.
I collapse on the sofa, put my face in my hands, and have a good cry.
I stay that way until the ticking clock on the wall pulls me from my sorrow, and I glance at it, realizing the house is way too quiet. I stare at the ceiling. She’s stopped her pacing back and forth, and there hasn’t been a sound for some time.
I push to my feet, knowing I’ve got to check on her. I trudge upstairs and try her door, but it’s locked.
I tap on the wood. “Mom. Let me in.”
There’s no response.
I try again. “Mom. Are you okay?” Still not a sound. I rattle the door and pound on it. “Mom, please let me in.”
And then for the first time the thought seeps into my head that she’s got all kinds of pills in there. Uppers, downers, you name it, and I start to panic. “Mom!”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit! I slam my shoulder into the door, but it won’t give. I try until I can’t take the pain anymore.
A hammer. I need a hammer. Or an axe. Do we even have one?
I race to the garage, but can only find a hammer. I rush back up and start hitting the door. It makes a bunch of dents, but it’s not busting through. This home is old, and the door is oak.
I rest, breathing heavy, knowing I have to get help, but if I call the cops or the fire department, she’ll be busted for the drugs. I yank my cell phone out and dial the only person I can think to call.
Gypsy roars up on his bike in less than five minutes. I dash outside to meet him on the lawn. He yanks a big sledgehammer free from where it’s strapped to his handlebar.
“Show me where,” he grunts, and I lead him in.
“I tried to check on her but can’t get in.”
We dash inside and take the stairs two at a time. With four swings he’s busted through a panel and reaches an arm inside to flip the bolt. He opens it, and we both rush inside. She’s on the floor, an empty pill container and the bottle of Vodka next to her.
“I’ll call 911,” I say, reaching for the phone.
“No time for that. The MC’s doctor is right behind me.”
We hear a shout from below.
“Gypsy?”
“Up here, Doc. Hurry.”
A middle-aged man rushes in, huffing with exertion, a young woman right behind him.
He bends down and puts two fingers to my mother’s neck. “She’s got a pulse.”
The woman starts digging through a bag and pulling equipment out.
“Give us some room, please,” the doctor says. “Gypsy, lift her up on the bed for me, will you?”
Gypsy scoops my mother up and lays her out.
The man begins doing chest compressions while the woman prepares a shot.
“Be better if you two wait outside,” the doctor says, and Gypsy grabs my arm and pulls me from the room.
I try to resist, tears spilling down my cheeks. She may not have been the greatest mother, but she’s the only one I have, and I don’t want her to die.
“Babe, come on. Doc’s got this. Don’t worry.”
I collapse against his chest. I don’t know if what he says is true, but right now I want to believe him. I have to believe him.
“Breathe, Tess.”
I drag in a long, shuddering breath and try to pull it together.
“You okay?” He tips my head up with a finger under my chin. I nod, and then