Page 93 of Lick

Three.

“I need the crash cart. STAT!”

Taking the paddles in his hands, he presses them to Bubba’s chest. “Clear!”

His body arches and comes off the bed as the jolts of electricity flows through his body, before falling back to the mattress. A light beep of a heartbeat rings out before the blaring starts up again.

Flatline.

“Again. Clear!” he yells before placing the paddles back on his chest. “I need 10cc of epinephrine,” the doctor commands as he continues to work, trying to revive my brother.

“Oh my God!” The voice of the woman I love comes from behind me, but I’m unable to look away from Bubba’s room.

Pounding of footsteps hit the tiled floor. “What’s happening? What’s happening to my son?” There’s panic in Dykes voice, but I continue to stare inside the room.

I watch as the doctor continues to shout orders, pressing the paddles to Bubba’s chest. His body arches then falls, motionless, again and again.

Commands being shouted.

More drugs being pushed into his I.V.

The occasional beep of a heartbeat.

Then nothing.

Everyone stops. The click of the monitor turning off has the room fall in silence.

“Time of death: 2:49pm.”

The rain hasn’t stopped since Bubba died.

That was four days ago.

At night, the wind has howled, while the downpours rage on through the early morning hours. During the day, it’s been a constant drizzle. The atmosphere, like the morale of the MC, has been gloomy. Dyke tried to wait out the storm system, but it looks like Mother Nature won’t be having it. She’d been a bitch lately, but nothing was going to stop the MC in honoring the memory of Bubba in the proper way: in our cuts on the back of our bikes.

Neighboring Charters pull into the compound not long after sun-up, as well as the retired members who had left when Devin was killed. It seems that everyone who was anyone has turned out to pay their respects. It’s been seven years since our club has lost someone, and I can wait another seventy to have to experience this shit again.

The procession is long, and it’s loud as we rev our engines and make our way through town, heading towards the cemetery. We’re a united front. Brother upon brother, biker next to biker.

Fury bound, Fury proud.

We watch as the last bike rides away from the cemetery. As fast as they arrived this morning, they’re on their way back home. Dyke didn’t want a big celebration of Bubba after the ceremony. He said Bubba wouldn’t want a big crowd. He would only want his brothers of Devil’s Fury there.

The women have long since left, making the excuse that they wanted to get the food ready, but I know it’s because they wanted to give us this time. Making our way down the path to our bikes, a woman steps out from behind one of the cars. She’s young with dark brown hair that flows down her back. There’s a little boy by her side.

“Who the fuck?” Sin questions as she makes her way towards us.

Hawk doesn’t hesitate before heading over to greet her. He wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, and she grips onto him for dear life. The little boy stands motionless by her side.

“That can’t be,” Sin continues. “I think that’s fucking Tessa Reese.”

Tessa’s been gone a long time from these parts. After what she and Sienna went through, she took off. The memories of Sienna’s attack were too much for her to handle. It was like she was a ghost. Never to be seen again.

The vibration in my pocket has me falling behind the other guys. The name of the prison my dad is in flashes across my screen, making my stomach drop.

“Yeah?” I answer.

“Mr. Tylan McCoy? Next of kin to one Roger McCoy, current resident of the New Mexico Correctional Facility?”