It Ain't Me, Babe

Shrugging off Ky’s aid, Styx began limping toward me, blood drenching his clothes, cuts and slashes marring his face, and his dark hair was almost black with blood. He looked like he had been mauled by a pack of lions. Every inch of his body seemed to be bleeding, soiled or injured.

The brothers were silent as they watched their president weakened. Flame literally growled beside me, AK and Viking restraining him by his arms. From what, I was not sure.

I ran along the bars of the gate, heading for the small gap, but Styx aimed for where I had been standing and he slumped to the ground. With great difficulty, Styx tried to remain upright. He used the steel bars of the gate to bolster his waning strength and, kneeling on the tarmac opposite my man, I pressed my chest against the bars, grasping his face in my outstretched hands. Styx, my Styx, badly injured but still oh so beautiful: large hazel eyes, perfect nose, sharp stern features, and his rough, unshaven cheeks. He was so beautiful… so strong. And he desperately needed me.

“Styx,” I whispered as our foreheads touched. A sigh of relief slipped from his cut lips. Drawing back a little, his bloodied finger ran softly down my cheek. I did not care that the wet blood now staining my face probably did not belong to him. At this precious moment in time, I did not care what he had done to those men, even if he had killed them. I lost part of my soul to darkness as these thoughts strayed across my mind. Because if Styx was damned to hell, so was I. I would follow him into the fire.

Styx’s swollen lips parted. He was trying to speak. Suddenly, his eyes widened as if he had just realized there was crowd of brothers right behind me. Styx’s hazel eyes blinked and twitched furiously, and his Adam’s apple bounced up and down. He swallowed rapidly, desperately trying to loosen his throat and I saw his jaw stiffen, tension mounting in his lost expression.

Styx was lost… confused… he was hurting.

He was trying so very hard to speak, his eyes furiously twitching. But he could not, and I could see it was breaking him up inside.

“Shh,” I whispered for his ears only. “Do not try to speak. I have you… I have you.” His cheek turned in my hand, seeking comfort. I knew then his emotional walls had come crashing down.

Abruptly, the gate lurched into action and, Ky, who was stood behind us, signaled for Tank. The two of them lifted Styx and carried him into the yard; his hand immediately reached for me. Running to him, I grasped his outstretched hand. And at that moment, I made a vow to never again let go.

“Get him to his apartment!” Ky ordered. We raced to the clubhouse and Styx’s pained eyes strayed not once from my eyes.

I will be strong for my man. I will be the perfect old lady.

As we hurried past the bar, Rider jumped off the barstool and seemed to stand to attention. Ky jerked his chin at him. “You’re up, Doc.”

I stiffened a little, unsure how Rider would react, but he nodded his agreement and sprinted to get his medical bag.

Rider was going to help Styx and I could not have been more thankful.

When we entered the apartment I switched on the light. Tank and Ky carefully laid Styx down and running to the washroom, I grabbed the closest towel then raced back toward the bed.

“Tank. Out,” Ky ordered. Without hesitation, Tank left the room. I glanced up at Ky and he motioned for me to clean Styx. He knew Styx could not talk with Tank present.

Lifting my knees onto the black sheets, I hovered over Styx, his eyes squeezing shut, stoically fighting the pain.

Brushing a fallen piece of hair from Styx’s face, I leaned down. “Styx, speak to me. Are you okay?”

“B-babe… M-Mae…”

“Are you hurt?” I waved at Ky to help me remove Styx’s leather jacket.

“S-safe,” he whispered.

“What, Styx?” I asked. Ky rolled down one side of Styx’s jacket as I rolled down the other.

“Y-you’re s-safe… n-now…” he said and the lines of worry marring his face disappeared.

I stilled at his words and my stomach dropped.

He had killed them all.

“Fuckin’ cunts!” Ky spat out, seeing the extent of his injuries. Slashes. Large bleeding slashes up and down the arms. Blood seeped through his shirt and when I slowly pulled the blood-soaked shirt up and over his head, Styx clenched his teeth in pain.

I froze.

“What? What is that?” I pointed, then whispered to Ky.

Ky did not reply. When I looked up, I thought he would explode. Rolling up the towel, I pressed on the gaping wound covering Styx’s top right chest.

Styx squeezed his eyes tight together as I applied greater pressure, then I noticed Ky had still not moved. “Ky, what is this symbol? What have they engraved on him?”