Notch: The Lost Boys MC #4 Read online

  Notch

  The Lost Boys MC #4

  Savannah Rylan

  Copyright © 2019 by Savannah Rylan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Notch

  2. Maya

  3. Notch

  4. Maya

  5. Notch

  6. Maya

  7. Notch

  8. Maya

  9. Notch

  10. Maya

  11. Notch

  12. Maya

  13. Notch

  14. Maya

  15. Notch

  16. Maya

  17. Notch

  18. Maya

  19. Notch

  20. Maya

  21. Notch

  22. Maya

  23. Notch

  24. Maya

  25. Notch

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  1

  Notch

  “Let me have a look at that, Tex,” I said.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Then get over here and let me clean up your wound. I should have done it an hour ago.”

  He sat down in the recliner in our second safehouse and slipped his jacket off. The shirt came over his head, with groans and soft curses latched onto it. I knew he was in pain. Taking a damn bullet through the arm wasn’t a fun experience. I’d taken more than my fair share of them, throwing myself in front of the flying lead for those at my sides. I was reckless, sure. It always pissed Stone off, too. But, with my medical background, he let it slide.

  Since no one else could do what I did on a regular basis.

  “I’m going to peel back the gauze and hit ya with some alcohol wipes. So, brace yourself,” I said.

  “I think you get off on torturing—oh, fuck,” Texas groaned.

  The sound of his groan ripped me back to that moment. Back to when I saw that bullet flying through the air, about to lodge itself in a turned-around Texas that was retreating back onto the porch.

  Gunfire roared around us as Asher charged outside. He shot his guns, taking down any man that came into his peripheral view. I crouched on the porch, using the thick railing as a guard while I popped up and shot at the feet of the men coming toward the lodge. They couldn't get inside. Not to the girls. And while Bronx had the inside of the place locked down with his own weaponry, he was also on his own if anyone breached the place.

  I maneuvered myself around the porch, trying to take out those that tried to work their way to the back.

  “There’s too many of them!” Texas yelled.

  “Keep at it! We have precious cargo inside,” Stone exclaimed.

  “I’ve got them out here, but they’re creeping around the porch. Notch!” Asher roared.

  “I’ve got it. I’m going,” I said.

  I kept shooting at their feet, knowing damn good and well that if any of my bullets lodged themselves into their bodies, it would kill them. I wouldn't stop until they were all dead, too. No one came up on my family like this. The crew was all I had. Hell, Stone was the one that taught me about family in the first fucking place

  I wasn’t letting someone take them down unless they took me first.

  Wood splintered. Bronx yelled from inside. Glass shattered as his bullets poured through the windows, aiming at the guys still out on the street. Bronx had always been good at that. Long range combat. But me? I did the Devil’s work up close to the human body.

  Because I knew how to keep a man alive long enough to watch him regret his decisions.

  “Anyone seen Texas!?” Stone yelled.

  “Who!?” Asher asked.

  “The one taller than you!”

  “I think he’s headed inside!”

  I surveyed the street and saw the guys turn their heads to the front door. And the second they leveled their guns, I knew what was happening. I ran down the porch, wrapping around it as I saw Texas turn his back. He threw the lodge door open for whatever fucking reason he had, and then?

  I heard it.

  “Fuck, Notch. Come on,” Texas groaned.

  “Sorry. Almost done,” I murmured.

  “Texas, you okay?”

  I cleaned up the sterile fishing line I was able to find in the rudimentary first aid kit I always kept on me. In my pocket, at all times. A miniature bottle of plain vodka, fishing line, and a thin needle. A few bandaids. Some alcohol wipes. I always kept it on my person in the pocket of my right thigh. Just for moments like this.

  Moments when I had to stitch on the go.

  “What’s wrong?” Keva asked.

  She climbed onto Texas’ lap and he sat up a bit.

  “Make it quick,” he murmured.

  “I’m trying,” I said.

  “Nothing’s wrong, honey. I just got a booboo,” Texas said.

  I tried not to laugh. I mean, really. A man his size saying “booboo” was very entertaining.

  “Can I kiss it and make it better?” Keva asked.

  “Your kisses already do wonders. You don’t have to kiss the booboo to make me feel better,” Texas said, grinning.

  Keva smiled brightly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She peppered his cheeks and forehead with kisses, causing the brute man to chuckle. I lost my place again, watching the two of them interact. I mean, I’d seen it a thousand times before. Parents and their children embracing after catastrophe. I was an EMT before I was ever recruited to the crew. Before Stone found me, pissed off with a chip a mile high on my fucking shoulder. Unlike in the television shows and movies, doctors never listened to paramedics. They always thought we were cheap, canned doctors who didn’t know what the fuck we were talking about. I’d lost more people I had saved in the hands of doctors who didn’t want to listen than anything else.

  Even at my own damn hands.

  I felt Texas relax and I cleaned the tops of his wounds. He flinched, but he kept himself poised for Keva. She curled into his chest, tucking herself underneath his chin. And the tighter he cradled her, the more he relaxed into me. I cleaned up his wounds and made sure there was no infection. I tested the strength of the stitching, making sure it would hold up to him moving around and generally playing with Keva.

  And while I’d never been big on family, women, or relationships, there was part of me that melted at their bond.

  That was jealous of the relationship Texas had with Keva and Ella.

  Then, Texas groaned again and it ripped me back.

  CRACK!

  It almost happened in slow motion. I rounded the corner and saw exactly which gun the bullet come from. I followed it in midair with my eyes, running to try and make it to Texas. I had to get in front of him. He had no idea what was coming his way. I abandoned my gun and ran for the massive man. I threw myself at him, hoping to make it in time.

  But I only made it in time to watch the bullet shoot through his arm.

  “Fuck!” Texas roared.

  “What the hell was that!?” Stone exclaimed.

  I barreled straight into the bleeding man and the two of us went to the ground. I dragged him into the lodge, pulling the gun out of his holster he still had on his hip. I aimed down the sights of it, lining it up with the coward trying to get behind his vehicle. That Chinese bastard was going down if I had to run out there and strangle him myself.

  I breathed in and out, leveled my gun, and pulled the trigger.

  Th
en, I watched that searing hot piece of lead flying through the air sink directly between the man’s fucking eyes.

  “Notch, are you listening?” Texas asked.

  I shook my head and quickly changed the gauze over his wound.

  “Are you dizzy? Got headaches? Nausea?” I asked.

  “No, no, and a bit,” he said.

  “Thrown up yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “The room tilt when you get nauseous?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  “Okay. If you vomit, come see me immediately. Otherwise, I’ll clean you up again in the morning. Oh, and I was able to snag you some pain medication on the ride out. I went to the pharmacy while the other guys took a second trip to the lodge to get some things,” I said.

  I pulled the orange bottle out of my pocket and slipped it over his shoulder.

  “How did you snag this?” he asked.

  “Everyone has their own connections. I have mine,” I said.

  The Celtic Riders hadn’t been in town for that shootout. And while I remembered Asher trying to call for backup, I also remember him cursing when he realized they weren’t in town yet. I hadn’t had the guts to ask him if they were supposed to be. If, somehow, we had been betrayed again. We were on our own for that shootout. Defending our fort from the hoards of Chinese that rained down on us that day. Thankfully, they scooped their own dead off the street and into their cars to drive away. And what they didn’t scoop up, the oceanside cliff would surely wash away.

  “Thanks, Notch,” Texas said.

  “Anytime, it’s what I do. You’re lucky, too. If they had shot you anywhere else besides your arm, you would be a whole hell of worse off,” I said.

  I was able to work on Texas in the lodge after I sank a bullet into that asshole’s face. I kicked the door closed and pulled him into a corner, shielding us with some of the furniture. It gave me just enough time to sterilize him and get him stitched up, but he’d have a rough scar because of it. Wasn’t my best work, but it would close up the two wounds and it would keep him from healing improperly during his recuperation time.

  “Texas!” Keva said, squealing. “You are tickling me.”

  “It’s because I am the tickle monster,” he said, laughing.

  He stood from the chair, grunting as he held the little girl close. A soft hand squeezed my shoulder and I turned, seeing Ella looking me straight in my eyes. She wrapped her arms around me, hugging me as she sniffled. I patted her back before rubbing it softly, trying to get her own trembling to calm down.

  “He’s fine. And he’ll be fine,” I said softly.

  “Thank you so much,” she whispered.

  She released me and I watched her walk over to Texas and her daughter. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed the man, stopping the giant in his tracks. I turned away from the display of affection. I didn’t know how the hell people could stand it. Stone constantly fondling Hayley in public. Ella and Texas with their kissing. And I knew it was only a matter of time before Bronx and Freya started that shit up, too.

  I mean, they practically smelled like one another at dinner.

  I drew in a deep breath as I stood up and made my way to my room. And as I did, one last flashback hit my mind. But it wasn’t about the carnage or the blood. It wasn’t about the gunfire or Texas’ wound. It wasn’t even about getting the hell out of dodge and coming here while I cleaned up the entire scene. Making it look as if no one had been killed because I knew exactly how to get blood out of concrete, hardwood, and carpet.

  It was the words of Cheng that rolled around in my head.

  “Who do you think gave the order, Stone!?”

  My blood boiled as I stalked into my room. Yung himself was cooperating with the police? We’d been had, and big time. I closed my eyes as Keva’s laughter filtered through the walls. Even down the hallway, I heard Ella and Keva and Texas doing their family thing. It made me grimace. I heard them kissing, and it made me wrinkle my nose. I had no idea what that kind of life was like or what it felt like to have loving parents and forehead kisses and shit like that. There was no wrestling around with my father on the floor like that. No bedtime stories with Mom like that. No family dinners or “I love you’s” or Christmas presents to open during the holidays.

  The only present my old man ever gave me was a slap across the face.

  And the only thing my mother ever did for me was leave me behind with that drunken bastard.

  Nope. I stuck to hook ups. Women that warmed my bed for a few hours before I sent them on their way. Not getting attached was easier. It came more fluid to me than most things. I wasn’t the kind of man anyone wanted to get attached to or the kind of man girls took home to their parents. I was the kind of man fathers warned their daughters about. The kind that had specific sexual tastes in the bedroom and stalked his prey at a bar like a wild animal.

  I was the man women dreamt about, and I was the man parents feared.

  And it was better for me if it stayed that way.

  2

  Maya

  I threw all of my focus into this project. A beautiful mural, perfectly shaded and outlined on the back of a man that was one of my many regular customers. I wanted to do it justice. I wanted to make sure this mural, in dedication to his dead daughter, turned out exactly how he wanted. I peeked back over at the painting I had tacked up on the wall. The smell of disinfectant and the buzzing of the needles overwhelmed my senses. I drew in a deep breath, finishing the last of the pink and red splotches dotted all over her name. Written in cursive for everyone to see across the man’s scarred and pimpled back.

  I ran over one and had to stop.

  “Shit,” the man hissed.

  “Another one, give me a sec,” I said.

  I reached for some wipes and cleaned up the mess. The man’s back was riddled with them. I knew every time I ran over one, it stung like hell. Especially on the man’s shoulder blade. But he never flinched. He never moved or cursed me. He simply gave into the reality of his world and pushed through it for a greater good.

  I admired the man’s devotion to his lost loved one.

  He’d been my client for the entire day. First, the outline. Then, the bolder colors. Then, the finer shadings. It was done in three steps that took up three entire days of my schedule. But I didn’t care. He shelled out the money and I enjoyed watching this human canvas come alive. The man was covered in head to toe with my drawings. My artistic designs. The colors I felt akin to and the style of tattoo work I’d trademarked as my own. A walking billboard that essentially helped get my business off the ground three years ago.

  When I immigrated from China to San Diego to make a life for myself.

  “There,” I said.

  I smoothed a wipe over his skin before I turned off the needles.

  “Done?” the man asked.

  My eyes danced over his back before I grinned.

  “Completely,” I said.

  The man drew in a few deep breaths before he heaved himself off my chair. He walked over to the mirror in my corner of the shop and looked at his back. He turned around, studying it from every angle. The redness of his skin and the sweat on his forehead boasted of the pain he’d gone through. The pain he had suffered, not just with this tattoo, but with the loss of his daughter.

  However, the tears that bubbled up into his stare weren’t tears of pain. Or sorrow.

  They were tears of gratitude.

  “You’re a fuckin’ miracle worker, Maya,” he said.

  “Let me get some cover on that. I’ll have to body wrap you for now. But you know the drill with taking care of this thing. Just make sure you’re extra careful until it heals. You’re gonna itch like hell until it’s done healing over.”

  I ran a thick, smooth layer of Vaseline over the man’s skin. Then, I wrapped him up in cling wrap. He held his arms out, tears running down his face as he stared at the wall. His entire back—the core of the strength of his arms that held his daughter once—a dedication
to the short life she lived. It damn near brought tears to my eyes, and it was easily the proudest I’d ever been of any tattoo I’d ever given a customer.

  “How much do I owe you?” the man asked.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment. Just enjoy this,” I said.

  I gave him a second to collect himself. I helped him get his shirt on and led him out into the front room. I cashed him out, watching thousands of dollars pour into my daily bottom line. I was a one-woman show, with both tattoos and piercings coming out of my shop at all hours of the day. I opened at eight, closed at seven, and worked Tuesday through Saturday. I’d made a small name for myself in the area. I made enough to live in the expensive city of San Diego as well as put money back for an early retirement. I lived frugally, shopped at second-hand stores, and kept my head down.

  I invested my money heavily. Mostly because I wanted to retire early, and partially because I wanted to step out of the public eye as quickly as I could.

  Before my past caught up with me.

  I helped the man out to his car before bidding him farewell. I waved him off, watching my most faithful customer leave with the last of his skin underneath his clothing covered in the one thing that meant more to him than this entire planet. I wasn’t sure I’d ever understand that type of love. Devotion. Dedication. Hell, I never got it from my own family, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to attach myself to someone long enough for my past to take them down, too.

  So, with a heavy sigh, I walked back inside to start closing down.

  I walked back into my tattoo cubby and cleaned everything down. I tossed used needles away in the sanitary receptacle and sprayed down the chair the man had sweat all over. I cleaned it down twice, making sure I got down on the floor and wiped it up, too. I cleaned down everything I had used that day. Every footprint on the floor and every wall someone had touched with their hands. I was able to charge top-dollar for my work not only because of my meticulous designs, but because of how sanitary things were in my business.