Chapter 12 Lyric
LYRIC
The room slowly fills with patched brothers, and the persistent ache I’ve had in my chest loosens slightly. Being around them and engaging in something normal settles me in a way that has been impossible over the last week.
“Sit down, and shut the fuck up!” Zombie shouts once Romeo, the club secretary, arrives.
It takes less than five seconds for my VP’s orders to be followed and silence to ensue. All eyes are on me while my own gaze is homed in on the empty chair Rowdy always occupied at the other end of the table.
“Goddamn weird without him,” Pilot says, echoing my thoughts.
“It is,” Quake confirms.
Boondock, our Treasurer, shakes his head. “He’d be the first to tell us to get our heads outta our asses and focus on business.”
Goose barks out a laugh. “Fuck, yes, he would. Rowdy didn’t appreciate church being wasted on shit not pertaining to the club.”
My control snaps. “If Rowdy’s death doesn’t pertain to the club, I don’t know what fucking does.”
“Didn’t mean anything by it, Pres,” Goose says, hands up in surrender. “Just… commiserating.”
Heaving a sigh, I jerk a nod. “Yeah, okay. Let’s save the commiserating for the funeral tomorrow. Right now, we focus on the accident report.” I look at Quake. “You said it came in.”
“It did,” he confirms, lifting the stack of papers in front of him and passing them to his left. “In a nutshell, it states that the accident wasn’t an accident at all.”
“What?” I snarl, white hot fury slamming into me.
As the papers continue to be passed from brother to brother, Quake explains. “According to the accident reconstruction specialist, there was damage to the club Jeep that’s consistent with being hit by another vehicle.”
“Makes sense,” Whiz quips. “After Rowdy and Mellie hit the semi, I’m sure they were rammed from behind by whoever was back there.”
“True, but the specialist notes that the damage he’s referring to in this section of the report was likely caused by an intentional hit,” Quake says.
“Someone forced them to crash into that semi?” Copper asks.
“Seems like it.”
“What about witnesses?” I ask, not directing the question to anyone in particular.
“My contact at the state police said they were only able to interview those people who stopped to help after the accident,” Copper replies. “There was no mention of an intentional hit.”
“Do you have the names of who they talked to?” Zombie asks, and Copper nods. “Good. You and Quake are gonna go pay them all a visit and see if you can get any more info that they might have left out.”
“Whatever it takes,” I bark. “I want answers.”
“Understood,” Copper and Quake say simultaneously.
A thought occurs to me, and I narrow my eyes. “What was the name of the person involved in Rowdy’s motorcycle accident?”
“Ray ‘Cray Cray’ Burns,” Romeo says, his eidetic memory kicking in. “He was affiliated with the Shadow Sixes at the time.”
“Do you have a current list of the gang’s members?” Zombie asks.
“The most recent I have is from a year ago,” Romeo admits. “Seven years ago, he was going through his initiation. According to my most recent info, he’s now higher up on the food chain as one of four enforcers.”
“Then he definitely needs fucking talked to,” Trick bites out, rubbing his hands together. “I can handle that.”
I nod. “You and Undertaker track Cray Cray down,” I order. “I’ll see if I can get a face-to-face with the Shadow Sixes’ Shot Caller, Loco.”
Zombie chuckles. “Shouldn’t be too hard. Idiot was arrested two days ago on drug charges. I’m sure his lawyer will have him out soon, but as far as I know, he’s still sitting in a cell downtown.”
“I love when someone else’s stupidity makes our job easier,” Pastor states with a laugh.
“Idiots make permanent decisions with temporary information,” I comment matter-of-factly.
“I’m sure that’s some lyric,” Sawbone says dryly.
“Yep,” I say. “Look it up. Good song.”
“Anyway,” Zombie interrupts. “Back to business.”
I shove a hand through my hair. “Right. We have our assignments to sort out this accident bullshit. Anything else we need to discuss?”
“Uh, yeah,” Pilot says. “How should we handle Mellie being back?”
I tense at his question. “Whaddya mean?”
“Pres, she doesn’t remember us,” he reminds me unnecessarily. “I think I speak for all of us when I say we don’t wanna fucking scare the poor girl.”
“She remembers me,” Zombie says, grinning at me like an idiot.
“Fuck off,” I snap, slapping him upside the head, before answering Pilot. “Follow her lead. That’s the best advice I have. If she seems overwhelmed, back the hell off.”
“Is she coming to the funeral tomorrow?” Whiz asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “That’s up to her.”
“Are you guys still gonna get hitched?” Undertaker queries.
“What’s with the interrogation?” Zombie demands, saving me from answering. “You know as much as we do at this point. We’re taking things with Mellie a day at a time.”
“Thanks, brother,” I mumble. “Anything else to discuss?”
“I’m supposed to fly out next week to replenish our drug stash,” Pilot states. “Still good to do that, or should I put it off a little longer?”
“No more putting shit off,” I order. “We have to get back to normal, and not just for the club’s sake, but for Mellie’s, too.
Everything that was rescheduled since last week needs to move forward, and any upcoming business dealings will proceed as planned.
If there’s a problem, let me know, otherwise it’s back to business as usual.
” I glance around the table, taking in their nods of understanding, and then I bang the gavel. “Church dismissed.”
As soon as the room clears out, I make my way to the spare room that Mellie was taken to upon arriving at the clubhouse. My heart skips a beat when I find it empty. Pulling out my cell, I shoot off a quick text to Peach, as she was the last person who should’ve had contact with my girl.
Me: Mellie isn’t in her room
Peach: No shit
Me: Check yourself… where is she ???
Peach: How should I know
Me: WHERE IS SHE
Peach: Check your room…
Gripping my cell, I make my way to the large space Mellie and I shared until the night before our wedding. The lock disengages after the scanner reads my palm, and I push open the door. I scan the room, but other than a discarded bag on the floor, I don’t see any trace that Mellie was here.
Then I hear it… the sound of crying mixed with the shower running.
I hurry to the attached bathroom, and sorrow fills me when I see Mellie sitting on the shower floor with her legs drawn up to her chest and her head resting on her knees. Her shoulders are shaking with sobs, and the guttural sound coming from her is equal parts terrifying and heartbreaking.
“Mellie?”
Not wanting to scare her, I take my cut off and set it on the vanity before stepping inside the glass-enclosed shower stall slowly. She doesn’t lift her head or even acknowledge my presence, so I squat in front of her and cup her cheeks.
“Mellie, baby, look at me,” I coax but still get no reaction. “What’s wrong?”
“H-h-he’s gone,” she stutters through the sobs. “I… I remembered him, a-and h-he’s d-d-dead!” she wails.
Rowdy.
Without giving it a second thought, I turn so I can lean against the wall and lift her into my lap. My cock springs to life being so close to her naked body, and I’m grateful I didn’t waste any time taking off all my clothes. Maybe the denim will hide it from her enough.
“I know, baby,” I soothe, resting my chin atop her head. “Let it all out.”
I have no clue how long we sit in the shower, but by the time her sobs have slowed to a wet hiccuping, the water is frigid, and she’s shivering.
Standing with her in my arms, I step out of the shower and set her on the closed toilet seat.
Then I grab one of the fluffy towels she insisted we buy a few months ago, wrap it around her, lift her again, and carry her to the bed.
“I-it’s…” Hiccup. “My f-fault.”
Rage like I’ve never felt before slithers through my veins. I’m not mad at her but rather at the fact that she could possibly blame herself for what happened. Shit, if there’s anyone to blame, it’s me.
I’m the one who didn’t fix her car.
I’m the one who asked Rowdy to pick her up.
It’s all. My. Fault.