Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(87)

Maggie





My hands are still covered in blood as I sit on the cement curb behind the club, watching the blue and red lights of the ambulance as they speed away, headed toward the hospital. Beside me, Hank rubs my back with his jacket draped over my shoulders, trying to keep me warm—as if my shivering is because I’m cold.

No. I’m shivering because my body is in shock. Because I’m replaying the last horrifying fifteen minutes of watching that monster bash the man I love over the head before running away like a coward. Then holding Beau in my arms as I screamed for help, too shaken to call 9-1-1 myself.

They dragged me away from him, threw him on the stretcher and took off before I could do anything. It all happened so fast.

“Someone’s called the owner already,” Hank says while he rubs my back.

The owner. Emerson.

My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. Oh, God. Emerson.

“It’s okay, Maggie. They told him you’re okay. You don’t have to do anything. But maybe we should call your friend’s family or something?”

He doesn’t know that was Beau. No one knows.

I’m responsible for this. I brought him here. I put him in danger. I’m the reason he’s…

“Is…Emerson coming…here?” I stutter.

“I think so,” he replies.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I say in a rush as I rise from the curb. “Now.”

“You shouldn’t drive,” he argues, but I simply toss his jacket down as I grab my keys out of my purse.

“I have to.” As I storm off toward my car, my hands still shaking and covered in blood, Hank grabs me hard by the arms, putting his face in front of mine as he shakes me.

“Oh, I don’t think so. Go inside and wash up. When you get back, I’ll drive you to the hospital. Understand?”

My mind is in a fog, and the distance between me and Beau starts to ache. As much as I want to shove this two-hundred-pound linebacker out of the way and get to my man, he’s right. I can’t drive. I couldn’t even handle getting the key in the ignition in this state. With a passive nod, I quickly rush back to the club to do as he said.

The frigid water in the bathroom helps to shake away the shock. So I douse a little on my face once my hands are clean. Then reality sinks in like a penetrating wind. Two harsh, debilitating facts that make it hard to pull air into my lungs.

One: I don’t know if Beau is okay. I keep telling myself he is, but even that feels like a convenient lie. From the second he hit the ground, he was unconscious, and there was so much blood. My bones begin to shake with this realization. He has to be okay. He just has to. I can’t live—

The second thing I know to be true has bile rising in my throat. I have to call Emerson. He thinks his son is safe at home in his bed. Instead, he was with me and that’s why he’s hurt.

Shoving the cruel thoughts away, I spring into action and race out of the club. The bright lights of the police cars outside illuminate the dark parking lot, projecting blue and red on the buildings around us, so it feels like I’m walking into an actual nightmare. I see Hank behind the wheel of my car and I sprint toward him and jump into the passenger seat.

“Please drive fast,” I beg as I clip my seat belt into place.

And he does. He zips through the city and along the shore until he reaches St. Francis by the harbor.

“Just take my car back to the club,” I tell him, but he only shakes his head. Parking in a spot near the emergency room entrance, he quickly pulls my keys out and hands them to me.

“You keep your car. I’m grabbing a lift.”

When I look up at him, those kind, dark brown eyes gazing back at me, I want to hug him.

“Thank you,” I mumble, hoping it conveys just how much I appreciate this. Someone who stepped up when no one else I knew was around. If it had been any other night, I would have been swarmed by friends at the club to help me, but I had to bring Beau tonight.

Shame engulfs me as I realize just how wrongly I’ve treated him this whole time. Keeping him like a dirty secret, too ashamed to own up to my own actions. Too afraid of facing confrontation and proudly proclaiming Beau as mine, like I should have so many times. I smuggled him into the club and put him in danger.

“Go, go,” Hank urges me on after I climb out of my car and swiftly lock it. Maybe later, when I’m not so fucked up by shock and shame, I’ll express just how much I appreciate him. But for now, I need to go to Beau.

When I bolt into the emergency room, I practically slam into the reception desk. The nurse stares up at me in a panic as I start spouting off demands like I’m her boss.

“The ambulance brought my friend in. He was hit over the head. I need to know how he is. I need to go up there now.”

“Ma’am,” she replies in a voice a little too sweet for how harshly I’m speaking to her.

“Don’t ma’am me!” I shout.

“You’ll have to calm down. Give me your friend’s name.”

“Beau Grant,” I say loudly. My head turns toward the full waiting room as I realize everyone heard me. Of course, I don’t know anyone here, but still. It’s strange to say his name out loud like that without cowering in embarrassment.

The nurse types on her computer for a moment, and I’m trying to read her face like we’re in a poker game. When her eyes widen just slightly, I almost snatch the computer off the desk to see for myself.