Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“You remember the MC?”
I nod.
“But you don’t remember being in Vegas?”
I shake my head no. I try hard to remember, but it seems thinking literally hurts my head. Every attempt to recall the missing pieces of time makes the constant throb in my head turn into more of a blast of pain. I wince and drag my heavy hand to the front of my head.
I see Kincaid’s eyes dart to the doctor standing on the other side of my bed.
“Memory loss isn’t uncommon for people with your type of head injury, Mr. Hertz.”
“That’s not my…” A throat clearing loudly on the other side of the room draws my attention. I see Shadow shake his head.
Ten-four. Fake name. Clearly I suck at this whole undercover mission thing. We’ve been on several missions since I got out of the Marines and joined the Cerberus MC, but nothing domestic. We’d always been overseas for the type of things we’d get called in to do.
I know they won’t give me full details until we’re away from the hospital.
“When do you think he’ll get his memory back?” Shadow asks from the doorway.
“Hard to know. Sometimes it comes back suddenly within hours. Sometimes the memories trickle in.” I see him frown. “Sometimes full memory is never recovered.”
“Is there anything we can do to help the process,” Kincaid asks raising his eyes from his cell phone.
“Immersion is best. He needs to be home, around people he knows. Doing things he’s always done. Don’t try to force it, but let it come naturally.” Kincaid nods. “The nurse should be by in an hour or so with his discharge paperwork. The staples will need to come out in eight days.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I hear Shadow say. I close my eyes to try to fight off the headache I can already feel inching inside my brain.
I hear the door close softly, and I know it’s only MC members in the room now.
Without even opening my eyes I ask, “So when are you fuckers going to tell what the hell is going on?”
“An old friend of mine, Bryan McKinley,” Shadow begins, “needed some help with a situation here in Vegas.”
“What kind of situation?”
“It’s not important, Kid.” Kincaid cuts in. “I sent you here to help him. You got hurt, and we’re heading back to the MC this afternoon. Bryan has managed to get inside of the SINdicate, so we’re coming back out to help him once we get you settled in at the house.”
I groan in frustration. I have no recollection of a huge chunk of the last year. The guys look the same but different. Kincaid even has a couple of new tattoos on his forearms that I don’t recognize. I believe them that my memory is not complete, but at the same time it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve done, said, and experienced things in the last year that I don’t remember.
“Damn it,” Kincaid says standing from his chair. I see him look down at a phone but then pull a different phone out of his pocket. “Hey. You have to tell her to stop.” Silence. “No, he doesn’t have it yet. He’s not ready for it.” Silence. He sighs loudly and makes his way to the door. “There’s no sense in her texting so much,” I hear him say before the door closes behind him.
“What the hell is that about?” I look at Shadow.
“No clue, man.” Those are his words, but the look in his eyes says he fully aware of what the hell is going on. Like I said, this has to be the worst episode of the Twilight Zone.
“When do we head out?” I look down at the hospital gown I’m forced to wear. Thankfully the catheter and IV have been removed, but lying in the bed makes me feel helpless. I can’t wait to get back to the clubhouse and out of this damn place.
“As soon as they discharge you, we’re heading out. Jet is on the tarmac waiting for us,” Shadow says raising his eyes to the silent TV hanging on the wall.
Chapter 29
Khloe
Kincaid said that they’d be back with Kid the next day. The day came and went, each hour spent watching out the window waiting for them to arrive. The sun rose and fell without that happening. Emmalyn doesn’t seem as affected, but I also feel like she’s hiding something from me. She’s not very good at it, and her eyes dart away each time I question her, but she’s not caving either.
I call his phone. Straight to voicemail. I’ve left several messages. I text. They go unanswered. I’m thinking the worst here, and no one seems to be willing to give me answers. I’ve found myself creeping around the clubhouse, hoping to catch bits and pieces of information I know the others are keeping from me.