Chapter Thirty Three
Ciara
Men rushed at us, grabbing at Demon’s arms, pulling him back. But his hand didn’t leave the man’s throat. He squeezed harder. The bald man clawed at his flesh, desperately trying to prize his fingers away.
“Demon!” I shouted, a high-pitched wail over the music.
More men piled in, an arm slipping around Demon’s neck. Fury. He pulled hard, then paused, slipping another arm behind Demon’s head, and squeezed his elbows together. Demon pushed his chin down, but Fury had attached to him like a limpet, and slowly Demon’s lids fluttered, his fingers losing grip, his eyes rolling back into his head. When his hand dropped away, Fury pulled at him, backing out of what was now a scrum of writhing bodies. From my left, a whole load of others had joined in, pushing and shoving, fists flying over my head.
Fury dragged Demon free and suddenly he was lost behind the bodies that had closed in on us. And I was here alone. Stuck in the middle of a giant biker punch-up. My heart bounded against my ribs frantically, terror flooding my system like the wrong fuel. And I couldn’t move, only fall to my haunches, my hands jammed over my ears, my legs turning to jelly. I’d just stay here. Till it finished. Till the fighting around me, over the top of me, stopped. Till the heavy booted men stopped knocking me, stopped treading on my feet and standing on my legs.
Something scooped under my arm, pulling me to my feet, yanking me backwards. I screamed, thrashing my arms at him frantically. The hand wrapped around my bicep squeezed harder, another looping around my waist, pulling me from the fight, wrenching me backwards out of the scrum, away from the flailing punches and the striking legs.
“I’ve got her!” It was Magnet’s voice. “Suzy, get her out of here!”
“Ciara! Come on!” Her voice was soft, but urgent, pushing me away. I could see her face, but not clearly. I couldn’t see anything or anyone clearly.
Panic still bounded round my body, squeezing my throat, making it hard to breathe. I was push-pulled up a hill, away from the frantic flashing of neon lights and the war cries of drunken men. The blurriness was fading. My heart had stopped beating in my ears. Then suddenly I could breathe; cool air rushing at my lungs, making me gasp again.
“Suzy. Wait,” I gargled, barely able to get the words to form over my tongue.
No part of me felt like me. It was like I’d been thrown into someone else’s body, detached, numb. My feet stumbled over a tuft of thick grass, the incessant pulling from Suzy and the heaviness of oxygen deprived limbs making regaining balance impossible, and I fell to my knees. The pressure in my chest expanded again, a blackness closing in.
“Ciara? Are you ok?”
I shook my head. Even my tongue felt numb. Suzy pulled at my arm, relentless.
“I…I… just need a minute.”
Behind me the sounds of shouting men had faded, but there was still a drone in the air, a static in the atmosphere. If I turned around, I expected they were still fighting. My heart thundered again. Demon. Was he safe?
“He’ll be ok, Ciara.” I stared at Suzy blankly. “You asked about Demon.”
Maybe I had. I hadn’t felt my lips move. I’d only thought the words.
“Fury looked like he was going to break his neck.” Some part of my speech was coming back again. My heart was slowing. As long as Suzy didn’t try to move me just yet, I might avoid the embarrassment of passing out.
“Fury was just choking him out.”
“Choking him? That’s not any fucking better!” Anger now. My body was calming, the panic subsiding, anger dashing in to replace it.
“It’s the only way they could have stopped him. He’d switched to crazy. And if he’d killed one of the Notorious, World War Three would have started right then and there. We aren’t ready for that, even if they’re rubbing shoulders with the Bloody Hand. There’s an army to be built first.”
She tugged at my arm again, and this time I let her pull me to my feet and up the hill until we were safe among the tents. The Kings’ flag flapped in the breeze, it’s emblem barely visible in the darkness, but occasionally a stray light from the stages below us would light up a laughing crowned skull.
“Is that what will happen? A biker war?” My voice sounded suddenly loud, away from the obnoxious level of the music at the main stage.
“Probably. And almost certainly if Demon keeps knocking out key officers of other MCs.”
“What?” The voice behind us was gruff. When I glanced at Suzy, she’d squeezed her eyes shut, as if to pretend the voice hadn’t spoken. “What the fuck has Demon done now?”
I stared toward the familiar tone, a shadow among shadows moving in front of a tent. Moving slowly, like every step was taking up immense effort.
“Nothing, Ste. Just a bit of a barney down by the tents.”
“What sort of barney? And why is Demon’s lass up here by herself?”
“I…I’m just tired,” I added, following Suzy’s lead.
“Cut the crap.”
Beside me, Suzy let out a slow long breath.
“He…err…well he…em…he just knocked out Thrash.”
The name meant nothing to me but the brutish red-head that had landed with a thud at my feet, I had seen earlier today. Alongside this Bloody Hand geezer that they were all so dramatic about.
“Fuck’s sake!” Ste coughed suddenly, a hacking, disgusting noise, the motion gripping him as Suzy and I stood silently for the next few seconds.
The dark-haired woman from inside the tent moved out behind him, wrapping her arm across his shoulders and talking to him in a low voice. Then she raised her head, and although I couldn’t make her out much in the darkness, I was pretty sure she was shooting me a look.
“Fucking Demon,” she said to the Kings’ President, his cough settling down and then I was sure she was looking straight at me. “There’ll be some right fucking consequences now he’s knocked out the Vice President of the Notorious. They’ll not let this rest, Ste.”
“You think?” he spat and then the coughing started again until it sounded like he was violently throwing up.
*****
Water cascaded down my back and over my shoulders, warm and soft, massaging and cleaning. Three days without a shower had made me feel disgusting. Three days walking through grass, looking over my shoulder, wondering whether a war would erupt around us at any second. But the war that was currently brewing was in the Kings’ own ranks. Some of them had wanted Demon punished for what he had done. Others had merely shrugged as if it made no difference, anyway. And Ste, he’d been quiet. Much too quiet, as Demon had muttered for the rest of the weekend.
I was pleased to be home, or back to Demon’s home, anyway. The dog had bounded around us in excitement when we had returned, and the young lad who’d been dog and house sitting had cleared off just as quickly.
“God, I needed that,” I said into the steam that had collected in the bathroom.
“Do you know what I need, darl’?” an answer came from the thick, humid mist.
I jumped, slipping in the shower tray, my feet skidding out from almost under me as I braced my hands on the wall in front.
“Shit! Demon!”
He chuckled, a low easy noise, one I’d not heard over the last few days. He was relaxed now, and different when it was just us. The glass door of the shower squeaked against the frame. I glanced over his almost naked body. At the ripple of muscle over his stomach, at the wisps of hair that led down to the monstrosity of a cock bulging against his underpants.
“My face is up here, darlin’” he spoke, tipping my chin up with his forefinger, our eyes meeting, that same throb of hunger in his as I could feel between my legs.
Somewhere in the house, a doorbell shrieked, loud and persistent.
“Fuck’s sake,” Demon grunted, before dropping his hand, looking at me apologetically and then walking away.
It wasn’t the voices I heard that had caught my attention when I padded out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped firmly in place. It was the dog lying on the floor at the door, a strange high-pitched whining coming from her throat. Kinobi looked at me, then up at the door, and then back at me again. And it was as if she had planted that thick, heavy feeling of dread in my stomach. But maybe it had always been there, built up over the last few days, gradually building, almost unnoticeable, until suddenly there it was.
I held my breath, listening, willing the thumping of my heart to slow down so that the sound didn’t swamp my ears. Behind the door was the rumble of voices. Demon’s and a voice I couldn’t place. Not at first. But familiar. It was hoarse, husky, every word laboured. And then I knew the voice. The Kings President. Demon’s father. I shuffled closer, careful not to connect with the dog at my feet as I didn’t trust her not to put a hole in my leg just for fun.
The voices weren’t raised. But I doubted Ste could with the condition he was in. He’d deteriorated before my eyes over the three days of the rally, and at times I’d questioned whether I was the only one that had noticed. The drink and cigarettes still flowed, Ste taking part in it all like he was a young man, not one seriously ill with cancer. Yet, as I pressed closer to the door, concentrated harder on making sense of the voices in the other room, I could feel the tension.
And then it overflowed. Exploding.
“How long have you fucking known?” Demon bellowed, and I jumped backwards, Kinobi jumping to her feet, and we stared at each other, probably asking each other the same question.
Ste’s answer wasn’t audible, only a few seconds of almost silence, and beneath me, on the floor, I was sure Kinobi was holding her breath as well. Feet moved across the other side of that door. Not heavy, or clunky, but determined, angry. Demon. All he had on was a pair of boxers. I doubt he bothered to put anymore clothes on before welcoming his visitor.
“So why fucking tell me now? Why tell me at all? Why not just leave me to think it was you? Is this some last bit of fucking torture before you go?”
Quiet again, a mumble of words.
“Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth, Dad. Fuck. I can’t even call you that, now, can I?”
Another groan of words too quiet to hear.
“No. Just go. Go on, Fuck off!”
Footsteps moved towards us, towards the door. Kinobi whimpered and scooted out from under my feet, and I joined her, retreating from the doorway where I’d been snooping on a conversation I probably shouldn’t have heard.
The door creaked open, the grey, grim face of the Northern King’s President. He looked more tired than I had seen him this morning. In the room behind him I glimpsed Demon, pacing the room, his eyes focussed on his feet.
Ste shuffled away down the corridor, saying nothing to me as he left, the stairs creaking slowly. I looked at the dog again. She stood against my right leg, looking into the lounge where Demon’s movements were growing quicker, fists balled at his sides. She whimpered slightly, a tiny noise, but she didn’t move. Only watched.
“Demon?” I called, tentatively, after he had walked up and down the length of the open plan room another five times. “Demon,” I said louder when he hadn’t even looked at me.
He stopped, his head turning, but not really seeing, a glazed look in his eyes. Then he walked at us. Big long strides, with no intention of stopping and together, me and Kinobi backed away, letting him pass like a surging black cloud.
His pace quickened, throwing open the door at the top of the stairs, thundering down after his father, his feet echoing menacingly despite no shoes. I followed, the door swinging closed into its frame, just before I got there. Edging it open, I stepped onto the first step, my weight shifting downwards just as the first smash of metal crashed through the space. The sound hit me from all four walls, jolting my heart, and instinctively I dropped to my haunches, my hands wedged against my ears. Behind the door to Demon’s flat, Kinobi barked loudly.
And the crashing and smashing of metal kept coming, echoing around the cavernous space of Demon’s garage. Each step I took down the bare, creaky stairs was drowned by the noise of chaos from below.
In the garage he raged, smashing a black metal bar against the bike I’d seen him spend an age polishing and buffing. The pride for the machine now betrayed by wild anger. He was destroying it. Every piece. His bike, his ride.
“Demon!” My voice was barely audible over the sound of crashing metal. “Demon! Stop!”
I was running towards him, my hands grabbing at the arm with the weapon, pulling on it. Yanking. His face was a twisted grimace. A mask of anger. Like something out of the belly of Hell itself. And now, I was frightened of him. Of the rage that consumed him.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Ciara.” Even his voice didn’t sound like his.
“Demon,” I tried to steady mine, force a calmness into it, to control his, to bring him down from this crazy crescendo he’d reached. “It’s ok. Whatever this is, we can sort this out. Together. We can do this together,” I cooed, pulling at his arm.
Demon whipped round to face me, the arm holding the black iron crow-bar over his head, the darkness in his eyes so deep that I could drown just by looking into them.
“There is no we. Remember? You don’t want me. You keep telling everyone you’re not an ol’ lady. Seems no fucker does. I don’t need anyone. So do us both a favour and fuck off!”
The words hit me harder than I could have imagined. Not like a dull, heavy, blunt force trauma to the stomach. More of a sharp, piercing, dragging hook, slicing through my stomach and swirling around in my intestines.
For a moment I stood there waiting, waiting for the apology, or the realisation in his eyes of what he had just said. But there was nothing. Only an oblivion darkness.