Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(83)
His voice cracked, and he paused and collected himself. “Fuck, she might be dying right the hell now, so let’s get on this. All those in favor of taking Wyatt’s patch.”
The vote was unanimous. No one even hesitated.
“Carries. Next vote. Does he meet his maker? Betrayed the club, got a 24-year-old kid killed, got Lilli shot and tortured. All those in favor of sending Wyatt to his maker. Gotta be unanimous.”
It was, though CJ dropped his head as if in prayer before he looked up, steely-eyed, and said, “Aye.”
Despite the anxiety wrapped around his spine like iron bands, Isaac felt relief. He hadn’t known what he would do if the vote had gone the other way. “Carries. I want him. Hold him until I can get to him.”
“Boss, wait.” Show stood, and Isaac turned on him, ready to fight. Show put his hands up. “I know you want the kill. I understand. I’m gonna ask you to take a breath. We got girls and hangarounds in and out of the clubhouse. There’s only so long we can keep Wyatt on ice. Longer we go, bigger the risk. Do you want to deal with him and leave Lilli? Or do you want to stay with her and let us deal with him? Your call.”
Show’s job was to pull Isaac back. That’s why he wanted him as VP, to temper his temper. And he was right. But right now, Isaac just wanted to bloody his face. He turned and picked up a vase of flowers, hurling it across the chapel, where it hit the wall and exploded. Leaning on the small altar, Isaac strove for control. He needed to kill him. He needed to feel that f*cker’s life draining out of his traitorous body. He wanted that life force for Lilli.
He couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.
Isaac turned back to his men. His eyes on Len instead of Showdown, he said, “You and Victor—bleed him. I want him to die slow, and I want it to hurt. I want him to watch while his ink is sliced off. I don’t want him ending up anywhere near his brother. And burn his goddamn kutte.”
Len nodded, and Isaac walked out of the chapel and back to Lilli’s bedside. He would not leave her again.
oOo
The days clicked past, and Lilli didn’t wake. He didn’t go farther from her than the waiting room at the end of the hall. His brothers brought him food, but most of it he left untouched. The nurses—a formidable bunch—forced him to drink and occasionally coerced him to eat, but he tasted none of it.
Twice, the Horde held a brief meeting in the waiting room, and daily, Show came in to give him an update. Victor and Len had taken care of Wyatt. The guns from Tulsa had arrived. The Horde was elevating three hangarounds to Prospect status. They’d never had three Prospects at once before—they’d rarely had more than one—but a Prospect could be called upon to do things they couldn’t trust a hangaround to do, and, frankly, they needed the manpower. They weren’t a big club, and they were facing a powerful enemy.
Mac Evans, currently playing for the home team now, had gotten a pointed phone call from one of Ellis’s associates and had called Show immediately. The next day, Will Keller’s children had been followed home from the school bus stop by a blacked-out SUV no one recognized. Will was standing firm, but the Horde had paid to send his wife and kids to Florida to stay with her parents. Things were heating up.
And Isaac could barely find space in his head to care. Show updated him, and Isaac nodded. Show suggested next moves, and Isaac nodded. He watched Lilli breathe and he nodded. Then Show would squeeze his shoulder and leave him be.
They’d moved her out of the ICU as soon as she was stable. For almost three days, she’d been in a private room, and they’d brought in a sleeping chair for him. He didn’t bother with it. He sat as close as he could get to her and waited, willing her to wake. When he slept, he dozed at her bedside, holding her hand.
The first day or two, Dr. Ingleton would stop and talk to him after she’d checked Lilli. She’d explained what she was seeing, what it meant, what she thought Lilli’s prognosis was. The last couple of days, she’d only smiled grimly and left, as if there was nothing more to say.
And there wasn’t. No change. She just wasn’t waking up.
He kept his mind busy and his heart strong by imagining a future with her. He was going to marry her, mark her, bring her into his home. He imagined coming home to her, curling up on the sofa with her to read or watch movies, taking her into his bed, their bed, and filling her with his child. He thought of her sitting on the tall stool in his woodshop and watching him turn and carve. He thought of traveling with her in that shitty old camper that he loved so much more now, watching her glare at people wanting to dicker down the price of a burled wood vase. He thought of her holding their child in her arms.
That was the only life he wanted. He needed her to wake so he could make it happen.
Late on the fourth day, not long before Isaac would update the count in his head to five, Lilli’s hand twitched in his. He’d been drifting on the plane between waking and sleep, and he jerked to alertness when it happened. Then he doubted it had happened. He sat up and waited for her to do it again. For long, tense moments during which he tried to see every part of her body so that he wouldn’t miss any change, he waited fruitlessly.
And then she took a deep breath.
“Lilli?”
She was still.
Jesus Christ, Sport. Wake up. Wake up, wake up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE