Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
SHORT
I’m just sliding into my cut, ready to head to the clubhouse with Trip, when my phone rings. I glance at the caller displayed on the screen and quickly answer.
“Prez?”
“Get your ass here.” His tone tells me it’s urgent.
“Sure, Prez. Trip and I were just leaving.”
“Fuck, Short. You can’t bring the boy here.”
“What the fuck, Prez? He was fine yesterday.”
Bullseye gives a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah, but yesterday Doc wasn’t here.”
“Shit!” I exclaim, scratching my head as I realise being a parent comes with its own problems. “Prez, Bron’s at work and I can’t leave Trip alone.”
“Fuck!” He goes quiet, then asks, “He do okay with Trixie?”
Pinching my nose, I think fast. “Yeah, he got on with everyone, to be honest.”
“Well, I’ll send Trixie and Heathen out to your place. You be ready to jump on your bike the moment they get there.”
“Sure thing, Prez.” My head’s suddenly filled with everything that happened last night, how careful I had to be with Bronwyn because of what the bastard of her father had done to her.
And how the therapist had told her part of Trip’s problems had come from the cruelty Doc and his bitch of a wife had shown him.
“Prez, I warn you, Doc’s on my shit list right now.
I’m not sure I can be trusted in the same room as him. ”
“Button that shit down tight, Brother. Doc’s time is coming, I fuckin’ assure you.” With that warning, he ends the call.
It’s then that I notice Trip’s standing by the door, his toys still in his arms. Oh fuck. Now I’ve got to stand up as the parent and disappoint him. How the fuck do I do that?
Walking toward him, I take the box of cars from him. “Change of plans,” I start. “Trixie and Heathen are coming here to play with you. You can show them all your new toys. That sound good?”
Of course, I can’t read his expression. He’s as impassive as ever. Then he tries out his newfound skill, points to his toys, and then to the door.
“No, Trip. We can’t go to the clubhouse today.”
Oh fuck! He launches himself toward me, his fists flail, and his legs kick out.
Damn, he nearly got me right in the balls.
Deploying my defensive skills and using the fact that my arms are far longer than his, I hold him as far away from me as I can.
Somehow, I know trying to reason with him isn’t going to work.
He tries to get free. If I hadn’t got a hold of him, his arms would be whirling like windmills.
His legs almost comically make him look like he’s running on the spot as he tries to make contact with me.
Damn if I’m going to do something like Doc and his wife did, however tempting the idea.
Locking him in his bedroom isn’t going to help.
Last time I held him tight. Right now, I don’t know if that will work.
It’s obvious Trip has lost it and doesn’t know what he’s doing.
He’s acting on instinct, so I act on mine as well.
Pulling him off balance to tug him to me, and sinking to the ground, I wrap my arms around his body, and curl my legs around his.
Damn it, he’s strong for an eight-year-old boy, and it hits me. We’ve got to get a handle on these meltdowns before he gets much older, else he’ll be a danger to himself and everyone else. Right now, all I can do is wait him out.
Wondering whether a distraction might help, I take a good grasp of both his arms in one of my meaty paws, and somehow manage to get my phone into my free hand. I manage to shoot a quick text to Heathen before he can get loose.
I start a rocking motion, back and forth, for what seems like a million times. His efforts to break free of my restraint tire both of us out. But after what seems like a lifetime, he starts to relax. I continue swaying with him, and at last dare to loosen my hold.
When a knock comes at the door, which I’d left unlocked after Bronwyn had gone out, thinking we’d soon be following her, I call out softly, “Come on in.”
When it opens, Trixie and Heathen step inside. Both stop short when they see me sitting on the floor, holding Trip in my arms.
Speaking softly, I explain myself. “He had a meltdown when I told him he couldn’t go to the clubhouse.”
Trixie falls to her knees beside us. Worried he might start up again, I motion her to move back and give us space. I don’t want him to hurt her.
“Got this,” Heathen says. He holds up a box of building bricks with a picture of a motorcycle on the front.
Hell, the prospect’s done good, even though it looks complicated to me, far more difficult than building a simple house. Still, the subject might get Trip’s attention. I beckon to him to pass me the box.
“Trip,” I say gently. “Look what they’ve brought you. You’ll have fun making this.” I put the picture in his line of sight, and then open the box to show all the pieces inside. “You think you can build this before I come home?”
For a moment there’s no reaction, then, at last, he reaches out his hands. I give the box to him. Taking a risk, I let him go, and when he makes no abrupt movement, I stand.
“Why don’t you take it into the kitchen and use the table?” I let out a huge sigh of relief when he does what I suggest.
Then I turn to my visitors. “I’m fuckin’ sorry you had to see him like this.”
“Don’t apologise,” Trixie snaps smartly.
“It is what it is. Christ knows how overwhelming his change of circumstances must be to that kid. It would be enough to mess up a normal child, let alone one who’s been brought up like he has, and given his issues.
Short, it’s great he understood you were leaving without him, just a shame about his reaction.
But hopefully we can make sure he has a great time today, so it might make it easier in the future.
” She holds up a bag. “I’ve brought shit to make cookies.
Even if he doesn’t want to help bake them, he might enjoy the taste. ”
Heathen looks at me, and a look of understanding goes between us.
“Might not be your size.” He waves at himself and chuckles.
“But I’m still bigger than him. If he needs corralling, I’m sure I’m up to the task.
Which reminds me. Bullseye wants you at the club half an hour ago, so you need to get on your bike. ”
“I’ll just—”
Trixie looks thoughtful and stops me. “It might make it worse if you say goodbye. Just go, Short. We’ll take it from here.”
I hate leaving him, but I’ve no option. “Call me, yeah? Call if there’s any problem.”
“Just fucking go, Short,” Trixie instructs me. “We’ve got this.”
“Thank—”
“Just go.” Heathen grins. “We’ve got a motorcycle to build.”
I fucking go as Trixie had put it, but feel torn as I get my bike out of the garage.
Torn between the boy I’m now responsible for, and my loyalty to the Kings.
But as I ride, I realise I’m no good to anyone with a foot in each camp.
I have to trust Trip’s in good hands, and switch my concentration to the club I swore an oath to protect.
The road disappearing beneath my wheels, and the wind in my face, clears my head. By the time I ride onto the compound, I’m one hundred percent focused on why Doc’s put in an appearance today. But when I enter the clubhouse and head straight for Bullseye’s office, Freak appears and bars my way.
I try to move around him, growling, “Prez told me to come as soon as I can.”
He places his hand on my chest. “And I’m here to ensure you’re in the right headspace.” He shakes his head, and before I can try to get past him again, he quickly informs me, “You’re not going to like some things Doc has to say. Give me your piece and whatever weapons you’re carrying.”
“Fuck that,” I tell him. “I want to kill Doc for what he’s done to my ol’ lady and son.”
“Short!” Bullseye’s voice makes me turn to him.
He’s exited his office and closed the door.
“Brother, I gotta be able to trust you. I want to put a bullet in that fucker’s head myself, but he’s got intel we need to get out of him.
” He gives me an assessing look. “Give your weapons to Freak. I ain’t taking any chances. ”
“Prez—”
“No, Short. Bear with me on this.” His face suddenly twists in a lopsided grin. “If it helps, I can assure you Doc won’t be leaving the compound today. Or, not in one piece and breathing.”
Prez has given Doc a death sentence? I stare at him, wondering what’s happened to put Doc’s misdemeanours above the service he provides to the club. Must be dire to be prepared to lose our access to no-questions-asked medical treatment.
“You serious?” I ask.
“As a fuckin’ heart attack.”
Reluctantly, I hand my piece and knives over to Freak, acknowledging Prez is probably right.
I’m only one step away from putting a bullet in Doc’s head just for the reason of being in the same room as him.
One thing they seem to have forgotten, though, I’ve still got my fists.
I won’t point it out to them. I don’t want to end up wearing handcuffs.
Tense, wondering what the fuck Doc had to say that has Prez invoking the death sentence, I follow him and the enforcer into Prez’s office.
Saint is perched, leaning against the desk, while Doc sits in a chair in front of it, casually plucking at his suit jacket cuffs. Both look up as Prez, Freak, and I enter.
“Can we get on with this?” Doc states, as calmly as any man who believes he holds all the cards.
Taking his seat behind his desk, Prez settles his stare on the man sitting opposite. “We’ve told you already, we don’t know where your daughter and son are.”
“Know where my fucking daughter is,” he growls. “She’s at the hospital. We’ve already gone over this. I need you to intercept her on her way in or out of work, so I can find out where she’s stashed Trip.”
“And I’ve told you no,” Prez states calmly. “Kidnapping a nurse in plain sight carries too much risk.”
“Call yourself fucking bikers?” Doc snorts. “Bunch of fucking pussies. You’ve obviously never met a real MC.”