Saving Della Ray

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll live, but he may never walk again. The bullet blasted right through his spinal cord.”

“You were shot too, weren’t you?” I asked, my voice small with fear. This was exactly the reason I didn’t want to get involved with someone like him.

“Yeah,” he replied. “But I was lucky. It went cleanly through my flesh, and only lightly grazed the bone. I’ll be fine in no time.”

I chose my next words very carefully, “Will you tell me what happened? How did both of you get shot?”

“We had church,” he explained.

“Church?” I interjected in surprise. “Why are people getting shot at church?”

He smiled at me.

Oh, my God! Was that an indulgent smile? The kind a father would give his beloved daughter, or a man might give his … his sweetheart.

“We call our weekly chapter meetings church,” he clarified. “A rival club drove by in a van and released fire.”

“Why?”

“I have no clue,” he replied, his brow creasing into frown lines. “A few days ago they seized a patched vest from one of our members so if anything, we’re the ones who are meant to bury them all, but they came at us first and none of us know why.”

“Maybe they didn’t want to wait for a war,” I reasoned. “Maybe they wanted to start it … on their own terms.”

“Perhaps,” he said, turning around to look at me again. “Do you know much about the clubs?”

“I looked yours up,” I admitted. “After you mentioned it.”

“And …”

“And nothing,” I replied, but we both knew it wasn’t the truth. There was a lot I wanted to say and ask, but I didn’t have the guts.

“Michael,” he began and a frown instantly dug into my forehead. “Why were you with him? What did you see in him? He’s damn well repugnant.”

“I really don’t want to talk about Michael,” I said. “It was a mistake, but it’s over now and one of those episodes of my past that I wish had never happened.”

“But he did happen,” he countered. “And I want to know about it.”

I sighed. If I didn’t want our current mood of comradery not to turn sour, then I needed to talk about it. “Okay, I went out with him, because he pretended to like Jess, so I blinded myself to all the little warning clues that he was big trouble and convinced myself to go along with it. Funny thing is Jess never liked him. She wouldn’t even look him in the eye.”

“And me?” he asked. “Why are you going along with me?”

I turned to him then. “You’re not downright repugnant.”

He slightly lifted his blood stained and bandaged arm. “But I am trouble, aren’t I?”

I held his gaze then and for once allowed the words to come out … so that not only he could hear them but so could I, “I’m not trying to fall in love with you, or trying to have a long-term relationship,” I said. “I think I just—I think I just …”

“You just what?” he prompted.

“Forget it.”

“Let me know and I’ll make it happen for you,” he said. “As a thank you for today.”

I almost succumbed, but then I thought of something better. “Why don’t you answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t get offended,” I began, “but why are you in an MC? You seem like an intelligent, good guy. Why would you be in something so dangerous?” I pointed to his bandage. “What kind of life is this?”

He looked away.

Had I gone too far? I quickly moved to salvage the tense silence. “You don’t have to respond. I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t very polite.”

“Will you tell me the answer to yours if I don’t respond?” he asked.

“No.” I smiled. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, then I’ll tell you.” He stared at me with empty eyes. “I went in because of my best friend. He was in a rival club, the Mongols. Then two years ago, he stopped at a traffic light, and someone tapped on his window. When he rolled the glass down, he was blasted with seven bullets in his head. When I saw him, I couldn’t even make out his face. I’ve been haunted by that sight ever since.”

I tried my best not to show it, but my bones felt as if they were rattling with trepidation. “So you weren’t a member of a club then?”

“No,” he answered in a chilling voice. “I joined the Order of Blood because that is the only way I’m going to take care of the bastard that took him down.”

The implications of his words made me go silent with sadness.

“Your turn … why are you going along with me?”

“Before I respond, please pardon one more question.” I said, and quickly went on before he could refuse me, “If you take care of this guy, you could end up going to jail, couldn’t you? It is, after all, murder.”