A Long Night
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© Cordelia Monroe 2020
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Belladonna’s evening had gone from bad to worse and didn’t seem to be letting up.
It’d started with an interrupted orgasm and had culminated in her sitting in a hard, plastic chair with a fairly deep knife wound to her right bicep. She wasn’t sure which was worse actually. The wound had bled onto her leather, but the orgasm had been so close and courtesy of the sexiest bartenders the club had hired in her ten years of membership.
Fuck, their tongues were magic.
As she sat in the waiting room of the local ER with her left hand clutching her wounded arm, she felt her impatience growing. She had been waiting at least forty-five minutes and the loss of blood was starting to make her feel lightheaded.
What the fuck is up with this place?
Her head snapped up, causing her vision to swim but she could make out a smiling nurse looking around the waiting room.
“Me,” Bella grunted and stood up, swaying slightly.
“I understand you have a little cut for us to look at?”
Little? Is this bitch for real?
“Yeah, sure.” Bella followed the nurse through to a small curtained area with a bed. She sank down on to it.
“If you could remove your jacket,” the nurse said, pulling latex gloves over her fingers.
Bella shrugged it off with a groan causing pain to radiate from her right arm. She carefully peeled away the scrap of torn shirt that she had stuffed in and over the wound, wincing as it pulled since it was seeped in blood.
“Right let’s have a - oh!” the nurse squeaked, her hand flying to her chest. “That’s a knife wound!”
“Yep. Any chance I could get stitched up before I bleed out lady?”
The nurse swallowed, “Um, well, I won’t be able to do that, you’ll need a doctor.”
“Nah it’s all good, I give you permission.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head firmly. “I really can’t. I’ll get a doctor.”
She was gone before Bella could argue.
In any other hospital, a person of Bella’s…reputation, might be concerned about police involvement. But not here. Thanks to investment from some dubious parties, Trinity General had a ‘silence for victims’ policy - unless you asked for the police or were a minor, they weren’t called as a matter of course. It was the one and only reason Bella was there. It certainly wasn’t their fucking speed she thought grimly as she shoved the soaked rag bag against her shoulder.
She felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket and fished it out, wincing at the name flashing on the screen.
“What the fuck happened tonight?” Karma’s voice was like ice, cold and chilling at the best of times, but especially bad when you had fucked up. As President of Satan’s Sirens, she had no room for coddling her riders and though Bella was Vice President, she wouldn’t get any sympathy. Not that what had gone down was her fault in the slightest but ultimately it was on her head.
“Your boy got squirrelly and they knew something was up,” Bella said, shifting back to lie down on the bed, her head swimming.
“He’s a piece of shit that junkie. You good?”
“I’m gonna need you to do some work on my arm once it heals but we got out, I got him to that shitty motel outside of town. I’m getting patched up and I’ll be in.”
“We need to sort this shit out; no fucker is doing business on Siren turf without our say so, it ends fucking badly. I’m not having someone pushing that shit on kids again.”
Karma had specific rules when it came to hard drugs. If you wanted to deal in Siren territory, it came with clear guidelines about what you could deal, who to and where. The Sirens weren’t trying to fix the world. Drugs were a part of it and people were always going to push their luck. What the club cared about was making sure those making the decisions were adults who understood the consequences of their actions and the stuff they were being dealt was up front and honest.
Well, that and lining their pockets, they weren’t a fucking charity and keeping the peace wasn’t cheap.
It had been drug dealing morons that had fucked the club up back when Karma had been nothing but an old lady with a sharp mind and Bella had been shaking her ass in nothing but a g-string at the MC’s strip joint.
Back then, the club, then Satan’s Riders, had turned a blind eye to anything as long as they got a cut and it had led them down a sticky path. They’d started a war with a Kent based gang that had culminated with the majority of the Riders, including all of the officers, banged up when they retaliated after the death of one of the club member’s kids. After an overdose of Molly cut with bath salts that had sent the poor kid into a violent rage, he’d ended up dead in a dumpster after slicing himself up trying to fight a barbed wire fence he was convinced was a wild animal. The very next day the club decimated the gang who cut and supplied the drugs, but they got caught and the rest was history.
“This can’t get to the point it did before. Get patched up and get your ass home,” Karma ordered before the line went dead.
Bella shoved her phone back in her jacket which she tossed on the chair to the side of the bed before closing her eyes. Her head was pounding. Though the knife wound was the only visible one, she had taken a few punches to the head and she could feel the tenderness on her stomach and legs that indicated she was going to be covered in bruises. The fight had been nasty, and she was grateful to have left it alive.
Following a number of overdoses in the local area, the club had decided to look into things and that night Bella had been with one of their informants, an allegedly ‘former’ user called Darren. He had interrupted her little menage-a-bartender with news that he’d arranged a buy so Bella could get in with the new dealers. The plan had been to follow the drugs back to the source once she was in with them.
Even though Bella had left her cut behind, a move that fucking killed but was necessary, with Darren acting like a goddamn snitch they’d sussed something was up with the situation and reacted. Badly.
Lucky for me they weren’t carrying a fucking piece.
Not for the first time she was glad that she made a habit of carrying a small blade and half of her trusty pool cue which had allowed her to pay back a little of the beating and chase the assholes off before too much damage was done. Though losing their only lead could be deemed worse than the flesh wound which would heal. The bodies that dropped as a result of the new dealer wouldn’t.
How do we get to the head of the snake now?
She puzzled over it until her head began to swim again. It hurt to think too hard and she sighed deeply. She’d get herself patched up and back to the clubhouse to help plan their next move. It was going to be a long fucking night.