Chapter 7 #2
“Lord Luke,” she hissed, shoving him with such force that he stumbled away from her, almost falling over the kerb. “Having meals in the mansion with his lordship and lady. They feel sorry for you, Luke. They all do.”
“I know, Mum. Believe me, I know.”
“So don’t you think you can—”
Her words were cut off with a scream, her body falling as she rolled her ankle, landing on the floor with a painful sounding slap.
Luke rushed to her side, fussing over her with a gentleness I wouldn’t have shown her had she been screaming at me like that. Placing his hands under her armpits, he tried to pull her to her feet.
“Leave me!” she wailed, her voice echoing. “Leave me in the gutter like everyone else. You can’t wait for the day you can be rid of me. Can’t wait…” her words trailed off into a whisper, sobs causing her chest to heave.
Luke continued to pull at her, trying to get her to her feet, but without any assistance from her whatsoever, he was failing miserably.
A noise behind me had my head snapping around, seeing that members were beginning to leave the clubhouse.
And in that moment, I knew I had a decision to make. I could run straight to my father and tell him what I had witnessed. Luke and his mother would be caught, and punishments doled out. Probably with us Riders as witnesses.
Or…
Or I took my own punishment when my dad came out, and he found I wasn’t standing where he had left me.
The last punishment had been lying on the cold floor, with twelve copies of the Rider’s rulebook strapped to my stomach—one for every year. I had to lie there for twelve hours, not moving an inch.
My stomach sometimes still burned.
But that punishment had been private, and Luke’s would be…
That seemed too cruel.
With my mind made up, I pushed out of the darkness and hurried towards the pathetic figure on the floor. Ultimately, this was a man’s world. The club belonged to the men, we all knew it. This had nothing to do with helping Luke, and everything to do with helping a fellow female in her hour of need.
At least, that’s what I was telling myself.
Without a word, I pushed my shoulder under one of her armpits, dragging her arm around my neck. Luke silently did the same on the other side, and together we hauled his mum up off the floor and onto her feet.
Her body sagged between us, uncooperative and stumbling. The sharp scent of cheap perfume and stale alcohol hit my nose instantly, mixed with something chemical that burned the back of my throat.
Luke shifted his grip on the other side, his arm tightening around her waist. For a moment the only sound between us was our breathing—short, strained bursts as we hauled her down the path.
“Gabby?” he whispered, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
“Which house?” I asked, forcing a ‘no-nonsense’ tone to my voice. I didn’t want him embarrassed. He owed me no explanation. I understood fucked up families.
“The second on the left over there. The one with the sagging fence and overgrown grass.”
“You paint quite the picture,” I breathed, struggling with the weight of his mother, who was now practically asleep on her feet. His eyes shot to mine, and I grinned, trying to show him I was teasing him.
With considerable effort, we managed to haul his mother up the path to their house.
It looked worse up close. The wooden fence leaned sideways as though it had given up years ago, and the grass in the garden had grown wild and uneven, creeping over the broken path.
Luke adjusted his grip carefully, making sure her head didn’t hit the fence post as we passed.
I watched his movements silently, seeing how he handled her without hesitation or embarrassment. It was clear he had done this so many times before that he was able to predict her actions—shielding her from the fence, adjusting her weight in areas where the ground was uneven, so she didn’t stumble.
I was beginning to realise there was more to this funny little boy than I had first thought.
Luke shoved her through the door, and when she stumbled and began to wail some nonsense, he scooped her up into his arms and purposefully strode down the corridor, his lips set in a tight line.
I followed them, watching him settle her on the sofa, making sure her head was tipped to the side so she couldn’t choke on her own vomit.
Whilst he was occupied, I took my opportunity to look around. It was the smell that hit me first, and I forced down a gag and schooled my features into something neutral lest he think I was judging him.
Stale smoke, cheap alcohol, and something sour clung to the air.
The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp in the corner.
But it was enough to see the empty bottles littering the coffee table.
The pile of unopened letters sitting near their door.
The ones at the bottom of the pile were turning yellow, their corners curled and crisp.
I’d seen worse in the Rider’s territory. But somehow this seemed sadder. Especially when the sofa sagged in the middle as Luke lowered his mum onto it.
In small, gentle movements so as to not disturb her rest, he pushed the hair out of her face.
A faint bruise was forming along her cheekbone, yellowing at the edges, clearly not the first one she’d received.
Luke didn’t react to it. He just tucked a blanket around her shoulders and removed her shoes and stockings.
Still not saying a word, he walked past me to the kitchen, grabbing a bucket and filling a glass with water, and placed them both near his mother.
“She’s not always like this, you know,” he said, his voice making me jump after minutes of silence.
“How often…?”
“Does she get this fucked up?” he finished for me with a twist of his lips. I nodded my response. “Often enough for the house to look like this. Not often enough to be considered a nuisance that needs to be dealt with.” He answered, his tone rough, folding his arms defensively.
“It’s funny,” I said, deliberately keeping my tone light. “Whenever a member of the Junior Riders acts out, they’re given chores as punishment. It’s meant to be a humiliation ritual—what’s more embarrassing to a biker than having to fold laundry like a woman?”
“I happen to think women keep the club running more than the men but go on. Why are you telling me this?”
“You would be correct. But it’s food for thought, isn’t it? If cleanliness is next to godliness, there are things you can do to help your situation. I hear Macbeth got himself into a bit of trouble with a local girl…?”
“What does that have to do with—”
“I’m sure mowing the entire clubhouse grounds or being forced to wash everyone’s dishes would be punishment enough to make him think twice next time,” I said, hoping he caught my meaning.
His breath puffed out. “I can handle it, Gabby. It may not be up to your standards, but I’m doing my best. I don’t need—”
“I think we would both benefit from not making assumptions about the other, don’t you think? I’ll see you around, Luke.”
He didn’t answer straight away.
When I glanced up, he was still standing beside the sofa, watching me with that same careful expression he wore whenever his mother stumbled. Like he was trying to figure out which version of me he was dealing with. The girl who had helped, or the girl who was here to spy.
But ultimately, I knew he would come to the right conclusion, and that he would remember this moment for a long time.
I knew I would.
Without another word, I spun around and walked out of the club and back to my father.