Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SHORT
It’s mid-morning. Grabbing a beer from the bar, I make my way into church, dropping my phone into the basket left for that purpose outside.
Knight stands guard, firstly to protect our property, and secondly to ensure no one tries to sneak a device inside.
To be honest, the only time anyone tries to enter church with their cell is as a test to ensure whichever prospect on duty is doing their job properly.
Today, I just want to get the meeting started, so the thought of hazing him doesn’t cross my mind.
Saint’s already in his seat, Freak beside him, Tempest opposite. Beside him are the gaps where Stalker, our treasurer, and Piston, our secretary, normally sit. Both chairs are currently empty.
As Winchester marches in like a soldier going on parade, Tempest beckons him, and they take a moment to whisper together. Probably about their baby, the gun range they’re currently setting up. After him, Paint prances in.
Bullseye arrives last, walks to the head of the table, and sits himself down, his eyes studying the room, noticing Words and Rattler are still missing. The former doesn’t keep him waiting long.
Words marches in, giving a mock salute, and apologising to the prez. “Sorry, I was just with a grieving widow. Tried to hurry it up, but she kept me talking.” His excuses are valid, and Bullseye acknowledges his words with a chin lift. We all give him leeway when he’s dealing with funeral business.
Piston and Stalker appear, waving their hands in apology.
“Where the fuck’s Rattler?” Bullseye’s voice drips with impatience.
Tempest, closest to the door, stands. “I’ll get a prospect to go find him.”
While he doesn’t stop the sergeant-at-arms, Prez lets his annoyance show. “Fuckin’ asshole will find himself cleaning the heads soon if he doesn’t show.”
Re-entering and retaking his seat, Tempest shrugs. “Heathen’s gone looking for him.”
I share Bullseye’s frustration, impatient to get this show on the road.
Although I’m fairly certain no one can link my house to me, I’m still angsty that Bronwyn and Trip are there on their own and unguarded.
Doc named me to Prez. It’s not beyond the stretch of the imagination that he’s got a member of the MDMC following me.
That’s how I got injured. Someone had to have been watching to know where Paint, Winchester, and I would be in order to ambush us.
It now seems a strange coincidence that, consequently, it’s how Bron and I had gotten close.
There’s an actual phrase for it… ill winds, I think it starts.
Minutes tick by, brothers talk among themselves, until suddenly the door opens to reveal Rattler, still trying to pull his t-shirt over his head, with his jeans unzippered.
His hair, shaven on both sides, is mostly tidy, but those long strands flowing from the top which he normally ties into a ponytail hang loose.
“Whose bed did you crawl out of?” Winchester drawls. “And close the garage door for fuck’s sake. No one wants to see your dick.”
Hastily zipping himself up, Rattler wins the battle with his t-shirt and glares at the man who’d spoken. “My own bed. Which was empty. I was working late at the strip club. Can’t a man get any fuckin’ sleep around here?”
“So was I.” Stalker shrugs. “Left after you, from what I can remember.”
Passing Stalker to get to his chair, Rattler clips him around the back of his head, which makes Stalker leap up, grab Rattler around the throat, and push him against the wall.
“Sit the fuck down!” Prez roars.
His tone separates them, but they take their seats with gestures toward each other that suggest they won’t waste time picking up where they left off after the meeting.
Noticing, Prez rolls his eyes. “Kill each other on your own time, not mine.”
Words groans loudly. “Got too many civilian bodies lining up. Got no time to deal with one of ours as well. Can you keep it to just maiming this time?”
A few people chuckle, but not I, Prez, nor anyone else who’d been in the earlier meeting does.
Ignoring him, Prez bangs the gavel. “Church in session.” He leans back in his chair. “This extraordinary meeting has been caused because Short wants to take an ol’ lady. I’ll let him tell you why.”
As he smirks at me, uproar breaks out around the table. A few want to know why they’ve been called away from whatever the fuck they were doing when such an issue could wait until our normal church, while the rest are rolling about laughing.
Stalker even points to the Bullseye, saying, “Good one, Prez. We all know Short will never settle down. So, what’s this meeting really about?”
Again, Prez bangs the gavel, knocking it on the wood a couple of times. As he does, Tempest stands up, places his palms on the table, and shouts, “Settle the fuck down.” He points at Stalker. “And you, don’t call your prez a liar.”
Mouths drop open, and suddenly I’m the centre of attention.
For the first time in my life, I wish I wasn’t such a big fucker, and I could slide down under the table and hide.
I’m not an officer. I don’t have a rank.
I usually contribute only when my opinion is asked for, or when I need to provide input on something I have knowledge about.
Never before have I initiated a discussion, and now I don’t know where to start.
I’d hoped Prez would update the brothers, so his putting this on me takes me unprepared and surprised.
All eyes are on me, and the unusual situation has got them all piping down. Grimacing, I try to gather some words, and get off to a bad start when all that comes out of my mouth is, “Er…”
“Get on with it, Brother,” Freak growls.
Coughing to clear my throat, I try again, and this time a sentence comes out. “I want to claim Bronwyn and Trip as my ol’ lady and kid.”
There’s a murmur of confusion around the table, and it’s Winchester who asks, “Bronwyn? Doc’s kid? Hell, Short. I thought she was out of bounds.”
“Trip?” Rattler asks, his eyes confused and wide. “The kid’s Doc’s son, and he’s—”
“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” Freak roars.
“Start at the beginning,” Bullseye growls. “And you fuckers shut up and listen.”
Taking a deep breath, I take Prez’s initial advice.
“Bronwyn came to me all beat up, as most of you know. It was Doc who’d blackened her eyes and cut open her forehead.
” Once I’ve started, the words come easier.
As they sit in spellbound silence, I enlighten them on how we went to follow up to see what had made Doc lose his mind and hit her.
As I continue, no one interrupts. Disgusted looks, exhaled gasps, the sound of fists hitting the table, and quite a few swear words come out.
When I talk about discovering Trip’s existence and his real relationship to Bronwyn, the room goes completely quiet.
Except for Words, who stands, plants his fist in the wall, then comes straight back to the table.
Having hit my groove, it all comes out. When, with a nod toward Prez, giving him his due for connecting the dots, I lay out our assumptions that it’s possible, if not probable, the Mojave Devils are playing a significant part, uproar ensues, which Prez and Tempest have to calm.
When something approaching peace is restored, Paint states, “The girl and the kid need protection. They’re not at the club, so where are they now?”
“At the house I bought to flip,” I tell them.
“It’s not ideal, but it’s more suitable for the kid.
And since I only purchased the place recently, I’m hopeful the county land records office won’t have registered the change of ownership yet.
And anyway,” I add. “There’s nothing to link Bronwyn and Trip’s disappearance to myself or the club. ”
Prez butts in, “Except for Doc noticing you’ve been over-friendly to her.” He shrugs as if he thought it was something I should mention.
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Apparently, there’s that. But all I did was act like a human being.”
“So why did you say you were taking her as your ol’ lady?” Piston asks. “She sounds like she’s safe as long as she stays out of sight.”
“Nah,” Rattler says lazily, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Short’s got the hots for her.
Anyone could see his tongue hanging out when she was around.
Probably she wants nothing to do with him, but he sees a chance to get into her pants by pretending to swoop in like a knight in fuckin’ armour. ”
“If you don’t kill him…” I glare at Stalker. “Then I’m fuckin’ going to.”
Rat widens his eyes. “Why? What have I said now?”
Saint leans forward and looks down the table.
“When Bron was fourteen fuckin’ years old, she was forced to have Doc’s kid.
Only Doc attended to her, with no hospital, no anaesthetic, and not even her mom there.
And that’s after he sexually abused her regularly for six years or more.
You really think Short has a chance of getting his dick wet anytime soon? ”
Rat looks askance, but that doesn’t stop him commenting. “Then Short’s no knight, he’s a fuckin’ saint. And I accept that as far as I believe the moon’s made of cheese. What’s the real story, Short?”
“I like her,” I growl. “Abuse is something I know only too well. Luckily, not the sex part, but the living with a controlling, abusive asshole bit.” I point my finger at him. “And that’s all you fuckin’ need to know.”
I turn to the rest of the table. “Making her my ol’ lady brings her under the club’s protection. Same goes for claiming Trip as my son.”
“This meeting is still making no sense,” Genie states.
He rests his hands on the table and starts strumming his fingers against the wood.
“Doc’s one man, he’s no threat. Short can easily send him packing.
” He thinks for a moment. “He’s unlikely to get the law involved, as even if he wants to accuse Short of kidnapping, he clearly doesn’t want his kid’s true parentage to come out. ”