He has his own customized setup going on the far side of the room, completely isolated away from the main monitors.
“Caught him on a few of them,” Cypher says, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. “He didn’t put the mask on until right before he hit her in the alley. It would have drawn too much attention on the main strip otherwise. I wasn’t able to see where he came from initially, but I sure as hell caught where he headed after the attack. I’ve got the street cams continuously feeding into the server now. Keres is booting up.”
I’ve always thought it was fucking neat that he named his program after the women death spirits who haunted the battlefields to drag the doomed away. It seemed fitting for the club.
“Once Keres is awake, I’ll feed the attacker’s unmasked profile into her system and let her do her thing,” Cypher grunts, his eyes reflecting the harsh blue glare of the monitors. “Keres can dig further and faster into the dark web and municipal grids than any human could.”
“Let me know the second she spits out a name,” I order, my jaw tight.
Leaving the security room, I find the common room of the clubhouse bustling with restless energy. Members lounge around shooting the shit with each other, trying to burn off the residual adrenaline. Some play pool or cards, while others sit at the bar, casting bewildered glances at the massive, hot-pink dildo sitting proudly on the shelf behind it.
“Yo, Tomcat. That hellcat of yours is waking up and asking for you,” Patch says, stepping out of the infirmary with his medical bag tossed over his shoulder.
“Thanks, brother. How is she?”
“She’s stable. I’ve got her hydrated and stitched. Any deeper and it might not have turned out so well. She tried to swing on me twice while I was irrigating and debriding the wound, so her reflexes are still sharp as hell.” He holds out a brown plastic prescription bottle to me. “She refused the painkillers, but I’mgiving them to you. Her leg is numb right now, but it’ll wear off soon. Then she’ll be sore as hell and pissed the fuck off even more.” Patch shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “You’ve got your hands full with her, man.”
I laugh, taking the bottle and shaking his hand, a heavy grip of mutual respect. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Patch.”
“Better you than me. Gotta head back to my shift at the hospital. If you need anything else for her, let me know.”
“Will do. Ride safe, brother.”
I head for the infirmary, spotting the heavy wooden door cracked just wide enough for me to catch the conversation inside between her and Pope. Should I walk away? Maybe. Do I give a single fuck? Not even a little. My brothers wounded her when they brushed her off in the chapel instead of listening. I need to make damn sure the President isn’t about to pull that alpha bullshit on her again.
“Look. When I’m wrong, I’ll admit it,” Pope’s deep voice starts.
“Doubtful,” Marigold mutters, her voice raspy.
“Would you stop being so damn stubborn and let me fucking apologize?”
"No. It makes you get this frustrated look, and I think that's actually good for you. Character building and all that. Not like you don't already have wrinkles, anyways. What's a few more?"
Pope lets out a low, frustrated growl, and I can’t help the real smile that tugs at my mouth.
Goddamn, I love this woman.
“I’m sorry I was a dick,” Pope grumbles.
“And?”
“Wait. That’s not it?” he replies, sounding genuinely confused.
“Nope. You’re always a dick, Pope. That’s nothing new. What exactly are you apologizing for?”
She’s fucking incredible.
Inside, his heavy wallet chains jingle against his kutte as he begins to pace the small room. I don’t need to see him to know he’s either running his fingers through his long hair or aggressively fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist.
“I apologize for not giving you a chance to speak,” Pope says, his tone shifting into something raw and entirely serious. “We doubted you when we shouldn’t have. We know you. We’ve always trusted you. When you needed us to show you that trust the most, we let you down the quickest.”
“Why did you?”
My fingers clench into a tight, white-knuckled fist around the pill bottle at how small and fragile her voice sounds. It shows exactly how deeply their doubt cut her. Mostly Pope. The others just sort of sat back and didn’t speak up when they should have, but sometimes, that silence says a hell of a lot more than words ever will.
I hear Pope let out a heavy sigh, and then one of the old leather chairs creaks under his massive weight as he finally sits down.
“Truth? I felt like you betrayed us.”