Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
RATTLER
Prez has put it out there. He told Ames how easy it would be to make our marriage disappear.
That’s the complete opposite of what I want.
Maybe it’s when you’re on the verge of losing something, you realise how important it is.
I want to keep her, make our marriage real — there’s never been a person who mattered so much to me in my life, including my brothers.
But I’m not going to start with lies, or hold back information that, while hard to hear, might help her.
When the door closes behind Bullseye, I jump in before she’s time to consider his offer. “We spoke at length to your brother before…”
“Before you killed him.” Her voice is toneless.
I draw in a breath. “He wasn’t your full brother. He was your half brother.”
Her head spins around fast. That she puts a hand to her temple shows her headache might have lessened, but it’s still there. I wish I could get to my feet and go bring her into my arms, but because of what Stone had done to me, I can’t. In some ways, he’s got poetic justice.
Her face tightening, she spits out, “You saying my mom had an affair?” She shakes her head. “She’d never. Mom and Dad loved each other. I might not remember much about them, but I remember that.”
“They did,” I confirm quickly, happy not to have to dispel her early memories.
“Very much. A second child was always planned, but your father caught mumps, and that rendered him sterile. They’d hoped it was temporary, but it was not.
So after a few years, they had a baby via AID, Artificial Insemination by Donor.
It was arranged by a clinic, no sex involved.
Just a syringe and an anonymous wank into a cup. ”
“My dad wasn’t my dad?” She freezes, and pales.
“He was your dad in everything that matters,” I contradict.
“He treated you as his own, loved you from the start. But Malachi was old enough to have listened at closed doors. He heard some of the conversations and, as he grew older, checked the facts. Ames, he hated you as he thought you were an interloper. And, when your parents died, that you had no claim on the inheritance they left you.”
Her hands twist and turn in her lap. She shivers as if someone’s turned the air conditioning up. With nothing else to say, I leave her to digest my revelation.
“Maybe he was right,” she says at last, her voice sounds so small, it tears at my insides.
“He wasn’t,” I tell her. “Your parents obviously never considered you as anything other than their own. What the fuck does the donor matter? They wanted you, went to extreme lengths to have you. You were theirs from the start. Stone had no right to hold it against you.” I add more, not from what Malachi had revealed during Freak’s not so tender ministrations, but what makes sense in my own mind.
“He was an only child for so long, when you were born, the much longed for second baby, his nose was already put out of joint. He turned on you, a helpless, innocent child. He was fucked up from the beginning, Ames, he never wanted to share his parents with you.”
“We look like each other,” she states, a question in her eyes.
“Your mom obviously passed on her genes to both of you,” I reply.
I’m not surprised she’s stunned. Who wouldn’t be after hearing news that makes them question everything about themselves?
If she ever wants to learn anything about the sperm donor, I suspect she could try.
Just look how easily Ace found his aunt with a simple DNA test. But I keep my mouth shut about the possibility, she’s not ready to consider that now.
I do, however, think that some of Malachi’s fucked-up genes came from his father, and part of me is glad he isn’t hers.
In looks, they were similar, in character, oceans apart.
As she places her head into her hands, I stay quiet. I couldn’t say how many minutes have passed when eventually she turns tear-filled eyes up. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
What can I say but the truth? “Yeah.”
Her lips purse and she does that full body shiver again. “Is this why I don’t feel his loss in my heart? Because we were only half connected?” She slaps her hands against her thighs. “If I’d known this, I’d have offered him my money.”
“You couldn’t have. It was set in the will. There were no grounds for him to challenge it, and the money wasn’t available to you until you were married and knocked up, or reached the age of twenty-five.”
Again she’s silent for so long that I start to worry.
Eventually she starts talking, “My dad was incredible, the best dad I could wish for. Same goes for my mom. My grandparents didn’t tell me? Perhaps they didn’t know.” I stay silent, unable to answer. “Does this explain why I can’t grieve for Malachi?”
In my view she already had enough reasons.
He’d hurt her as often as he could. He’d tried to kill her, then, realising she was worth more alive, had proposed to use her to pay his debts.
Man like that deserves no fucking grieving, or anything to show he’d left any sign on the world.
Soon what remains of his burned out body will be found, possibly not even enough to warrant finishing the job in Words’ cremator.
I suppose to make things legit, there’ll need to be a funeral, and she’ll have to come forward to claim the insurance money.
But she’s not ready to deal with any of that.
But if my revelation absolves some of her guilt in not being able to mourn him, I’m happy to help.
“Come here.” Losing the sling I hold out my arms to her.
She shakes her head. “Rattler, I can’t. I’ll hurt you.”
She’s probably right. “What if I lie on the bed, will you lay with me?”
This time her head moves up and down.
I make the necessary awkward manoeuvres to get myself back onto the mattress.
She effortlessly gets on beside me. And this time, when I give her the opportunity and slide my arm out, she lets me fold my arms around her.
When she starts sobbing, I’m unsurprised.
I’ve just torn her world, however imperfect it might be, apart.
Holding her cheek to my chest, ignoring that my shirt’s getting soaked by her tears, I stroke her hair, murmuring inconsequential things, such as, “Cry it out, darlin’.” And, “I’m here.” I want to promise her I’ll always be here, but I’m wary of whether that will be a comfort or not.
To be honest, I’m surprised as fuck she listened to me at all.
I fully expected once I’d unlocked the door, she’d have rushed out.
I’d actually had Dum on the look out for her.
In my present state, if she’d run, I’d have been unable to catch her.
But she hadn’t. Of course, part of the reason why she had not is that she was passed out drunk. But now she’s completely sober.
Is she going to give me a chance to prove I’m a better man when I’m with her?
How can I persuade her to stay? On top of my list, I want to get her into my bed, and not just to lie beside her.
I want to show her I do know the female anatomy and how to please her, I’ll never treat her like one of the whores.
But my arm’s going to take a while to heal completely, and as for my legs?
The pain is a little easier than yesterday, but my knees still won’t bend properly, and I can’t bear my own weight for long.
According to Bronwyn, depending on the severity of the injuries, it will be a few days before I can even attempt walking unaided.
The likelihood is that if the contusions are bone-deep or in the muscles, it might take months for the pain to completely disappear.
Will Ames put up with me being an invalid?
A biker who can’t even ride. I’m surprised when my immediate expectation is that my brothers will support me through my rehabilitation, and I’ve no thoughts they’d set me aside.
Maybe it’s the example they’ve already shown with Short, or, perhaps, I’m at last relaxing my guard, accepting that, finally, I’m part of a family, the one I’d given up hope I’d ever find.
Though it would be incomplete if she wasn’t by my side.
Gradually the frequency of her sobs reduce, fading until they stop completely.
My shirt’s wet, mostly with tears, but also some snot, but I don’t care as long as she’s with me.
I keep stroking her head until her breathing evens out, telling me she’s sleeping.
I close my eyes. I might be in need of more painkillers or fresh ice for my legs, but I’m not going to disturb her.
For some reason, her lying next to me takes my mind off my throbbing injuries.
Closing my eyes I, too, drift off to sleep.
At least Stone has stopped using me as a fucking punchbag, and he’s put that baseball bat down.
I try to move my legs, but they don’t respond to the instructions my brain sends, and it’s not just because they’re tied to the chair.
I don’t want to think of how badly I’m injured.
Or whether I’ll ever be able to ride my bike again.
The one thing I haven’t done is fallen in with his plan.
I’ve refused to call Ames, and lure her into a trap.
The thought of her is all that keeps me going.
Stone’s behind me now, I have no idea what he’s doing. He could be aiming a gun at the back of my head for all I know, or pulling out more serious torture devices than the rudimentary bat and his fists he’d used up to now.
“Got to hurry this along,” he speaks from my rear. But whether he’s talking to me or himself, I can’t be certain.
“Your club thinks they’re so fucking clever, but I’m onto their game.
I knew they’ll be tracking me through some program loaded onto my phone the moment I downloaded the pin.
” He gives a chuckle worthy of any villain out of the James Bond films that I’ve seen.
“They’ll come for you, but I’ve got a surprise for them. ”