Chapter Six
Venom
The first pale light of dawn kissed the edges of the curtains, outlining Ridley’s sleeping form. My gaze lingered on her face, tracing the curve of her cheek, the rise and fall of her soft breaths. A pang of longing, laced with a curious ache, blossomed in my chest. Fragments of memories swirled through my mind, taunting me with their fleeting glimpses, like a half-forgotten dream.
Her blonde hair flowed over the pillow like a silken river, and a deep sense of belonging washed over me, intertwined with a gnawing unease at the vast emptiness where my memory should be.
Carefully, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber, I slipped out of bed. My muscles protested with a dull ache, a reminder of the passage of time I couldn’t quite grasp. Silently, I padded toward the kitchen, driven by an inexplicable need to understand the broken puzzle of my past.
The familiar aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted me like an old friend. Coffee maker. Timer. Programmable. That much I remembered, surprisingly. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes as the smells triggered a cascade of images -- flashes of gleaming chrome, the roar of engines, the wind whipping through my hair as I rode. The laughter of men around a crackling bonfire, leather cuts over their shoulders.
My eyes snapped open, heart pounding in my chest. “Why can’t I remember anything since Ridley came into my life? Why are only those years missing?”
With trembling hands, I poured myself a mug of coffee, hoping the warmth would coax more memories to the surface. Recent ones. The familiar feel of the ceramic against my skin grounded me, a small comfort in the overwhelming chaos of my mind.
“Good morning, handsome.” Ridley’s voice, bright and melodious, broke the silence.
I turned, my gaze drawn to her as she emerged from the bedroom, wrapped in a silken robe that clung to her curves. Her eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint, stirring something deep within me.
“Mornin’,” I responded with a gruff rumble, trying to mask the turmoil within. “Sleep well?”
She padded over, her smile lighting up the room as she rose on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on my cheek. “Always do when I’m next to you.”
Her casual, yet undeniably intimate gesture sent a jolt of electricity through me, a mixture of excitement and confusion. My brow furrowed as I tried to reconcile the warmth of her presence with the chilling void in my memory. After sleeping together, I’d moved back into our bedroom. Didn’t seem like there was any point in keeping separate rooms. I’d also hoped it might make me remember things faster.
“You okay?” Ridley asked, her smile faltering slightly. “You’ve got that brooding look again.”
I sighed, setting down my mug. “Just… trying to remember. It’s all jumbled up in here.” I tapped my temple.
Ridley’s expression softened, and she rested her hand on my chest, right over my heart. “It’ll come back to you. I promise. And I’ll be right here, every step of the way.”
I covered her small hand with mine, the fit so perfect it felt like we were destined to be together. “I know, darlin’. I just wish I could remember everything now. It’s like looking at a photograph with half the image missing.”
“Well,” Ridley said, a playful glimmer in her eyes, “maybe I can jog your memory a little.” She leaned in, her lips teasing mine.
My body responded instinctively, arms tightening around her waist as I leaned down, the scent of her intoxicating me. Just as our lips were about to meet, a sudden crash from outside the house shattered the intimate moment.
“What the hell was that?” I growled, my protective instincts kicking in.
Ridley sighed, reluctantly pulling away. “Probably just the neighbor’s dog getting into the trash again. I swear, that mutt is more trouble than a Prospect on his first run.”
Her offhand mention of the club stirred another fragment of memory, a hazy image I desperately clung to.
“Ridley,” I said, my voice laced with urgency. “I can’t keep living with these holes in my head.”
“I’m not sure we should force it more than we already have. As it is, we’ve done all the things the doctor said not to do. I’m honestly worried. What if this causes more harm than good?”
The rough ceramic mug warmed my calloused fingers as I leaned against the counter, inhaling the rich aroma of coffee. My gaze drifted to a photo on the fridge, catching a glimpse of a younger Ridley. Her blonde hair, wild and windswept, framed eyes brimming with mischief.
“Damn,” I muttered, setting down the mug with a soft clink.
The kitchen vanished, replaced by a vivid memory. I was back at the club’s gate, witnessing a commotion.
“Is there a problem, Pete?” I’d asked as I approached.
“Just some fucking whore who insists on seeing Bull,” the prospect said, twisting the woman’s arm a little more and making her cry out. “Fucking poked my chest and bowed up at me like she’s fucking someone.”
I chuckled. “Is that so?”
I leaned down and met her blue gaze.
“Venom,” she said softly.
My gaze narrowed. “Just who the fuck are you, sweetheart? Because I sure as hell don’t remember you.”
“I’m Ridley Johnson,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. I could see the pain etched on her features.
Shock hit me as I quickly stood. Without pausing, I slammed my fist into Pete’s jaw. The woman, now freed from his grip, tumbled the rest of the way to the ground. I wrapped my arms around her.
“I’ve got you, baby girl. No one’s going to fucking touch you again.” I lifted her into my arms and held her tight. Then glanced at the prospect. “Roll that bike up to the clubhouse.”
“Who the hell is she?” he asked, his eyes burning with hate in the near darkness.
“Bull’s daughter.”
The fog began to clear when I heard Ridley’s voice. Not in my memory, but right in front of me.
“Venom?”
I blinked, the compound fading away to reveal our cozy kitchen. She stood in front of me, a concerned frown creasing her brow.
“You okay, babe?” she asked. “You seemed a million miles away.”
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, I’m… I’m good. Just remembering.”
Her eyes softened as understanding dawned in their depths. She reached out, her small hand resting on my arm. The simple touch sent a jolt through me, grounding me in the present while reminding me of all I’d forgotten.
“What did you remember?” she asked softly, her thumb tracing soothing circles on my skin.
“The day you came back,” I finally admitted, my voice low and steady. “When that prospect detained you at the gate.”
A slow smile spread across her face, and she chuckled. “On that day, I thought Dad was going to have an aneurysm.”
My lips curved into a smile, my tension easing as I watched her move around the kitchen. She pulled out plates and mugs, her petite frame graceful and purposeful in the warm morning light.
“Breakfast?” She glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.
“Sounds good.” I nodded, settling into a chair at the small kitchen table.
As Ridley bustled about, the smell of sizzling bacon filled the air. I couldn’t help but stare at her, looking over the changes from the woman in my memory just now to the one before me. Her blonde hair wasn’t quite as long. Laugh lines framed her eyes and mouth. But she was still as beautiful as ever.
“You’re staring, tough guy,” she teased, refilling my coffee cup. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Just… trying to piece it all together,” I admitted gruffly.
She softened as she sat across from me, cradling her own mug between her hands. “You know, most men would kill for the chance to fall in love with their wife all over again.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I opened my mouth, closed it again, then tried once more. “Ridley, I…”
She reached across the table, covering my larger hand with hers. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ve got time.”
My gaze locked onto hers.
“That day… When I saw you again. It was like… like seeing color for the first time after a lifetime of black and white.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t remember everything that happened, but I did see a piece of it.”
“Venom,” she whispered, emotions thickening her voice.
“Even if it’s not all there yet, I do know one thing. You scared the shit out of me. I wanted you so damn bad and knew I shouldn’t touch you. Even now, I feel the same.”
A single tear slipped down her cheek, yet her smile remained radiant. “We’ll get there again. One memory at a time.”
The shrill ring of the phone shattered the moment. Ridley reluctantly pulled her hand away, rising to answer it. I watched her, my mind still reeling from the intensity of our conversation.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her voice softening with a mother’s warmth. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. Maybe in a few days…”
My heart quickened. Was she talking to one of our kids? Maybe our son? A surge of desperate curiosity flooded through me, quickly followed by a wave of shame for not remembering him.
“Hold on,” she told who I thought might be Dawson, her gaze flicking to me.
“Tell him to come,” I said. Maybe if I saw my son in person, it would help me get more memories back. “I want to see him.”
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. It confirmed that I’d been right. It seemed she was talking to our son. “Change of plans, Dawson. Your dad wants to see you. Come on over.”
The next thirty minutes crawled by like molasses. I ran a hand through my hair, my mind racing with questions. What would Dawson be like? Would there be any spark of recognition?
The rumble of a motorcycle engine cut through my thoughts. My head snapped up, and my body tensed instinctively. I moved to the window and peered out as a sleek bike pulled into the driveway.
The rider dismounted with fluid grace, removing his helmet to reveal a young man. One I recognized from the pictures in the house. My son. As he approached the house, my breath caught in my throat. The set of his jaw, the way he carried himself -- it was like looking in a mirror, but one that reflected a younger, less weathered version of myself.
Dawson stepped inside, his blue eyes -- Ridley’s eyes -- scanning the room before landing on me. For a moment, neither of us spoke; the air thickened with unspoken emotions.
I stroked my beard unconsciously as I fixed my gaze on Dawson’s smooth, clean-shaven face. The contrast struck me. We were alike and yet so different.
“Hey, Dad,” Dawson said softly, a tentative smile dancing at the corners of his mouth.
The word “Dad” hit me like a physical blow, stirring something deep within me. I struggled to find my voice.
“Dawson,” I finally managed, tasting the name on my tongue -- both foreign and achingly familiar. “It’s… good to see you, son.”
Dawson’s eyes crinkled at the corners, a flicker of relief washing over his features. “It’s good to see you too, Dad. I, uh… I noticed you looking at my face.” He ran a hand over his smooth jaw, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I’m a firefighter. Can’t have a beard in that line of work.”
I nodded, remembering Ridley had mentioned it before. A swell of pride caught me off guard, surprising me with its intensity. I motioned toward the living room, my movements stiff with an unfamiliar awkwardness. “Let’s sit down.”
We settled into the worn leather couch, the material creaking softly beneath us. My fingers drummed against my thigh, searching for words.
“Your mother mentioned…” I began, my voice gruff. I cleared my throat, trying again. “Ridley said you’re married. Have a daughter.”
Dawson’s face lit up, his entire demeanor shifting like the sun breaking through clouds. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his eyes sparkled with unmistakable joy. “Yeah, I do. Nora’s my wife. She’s… she’s everything, Dad. And Taylor, our little girl…” He paused, a soft chuckle escaping him. “She’s a firecracker. Mom’s influence, I think.”
“Your mom mentioned a baby.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I have a son now. He’s so damn tiny I’m afraid I’ll break him.”
My heart ached for memories that slipped through my fingers like sand. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, drinking in every word.
“Your grandson’s name is Elijah. We thought it might be better to bring him by a different day, so my club president is watching him.”
“Congratulations,” I murmured, sincerity lining my tone. Even though Ridley had mentioned it before, it hadn’t hit me until now. The realization that I was a grandfather washed over me -- joy mingling with a deep sense of loss for the time that eluded me.
Dawson’s expression softened; vulnerability crept into his voice. “Taylor… she adores you, Dad. She’s always asking when she can see her grandpa again -- drawing pictures of you on that big bike of yours.”
The image hit me like a punch to the gut -- my granddaughter eagerly awaiting my return, her excitement palpable despite the distance between us. For a brief moment, I could see her. The memory vanished again. I swallowed hard, battling against the lump forming in my throat as emotions swirled within me like a storm.
I watched Dawson’s face, noting how my son’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled -- just like Ridley’s.
“Taylor’s got quite the artistic streak,” Dawson said, his voice soft with affection. “Every day she comes home from school with a new masterpiece. And I swear, Dad, nine times out of ten, you’re right there in the center of it.”
A low rumble of laughter escaped my chest, surprising me. “That so?”
Dawson nodded and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. As he unfolded it, I caught a glimpse of bright crayon scribbles.
“This is her latest,” Dawson explained, holding it out to me. “See? That’s you on your bike, and there’s Taylor riding behind you. Not that Nora or Mom let her actually ride when the bike is running. But you often put her on the seat and push her up the driveway, or a little ways down the street.”
My throat tightened as I stared at the childish drawing. The stick figure meant to be me sported an enormous beard and an even bigger smile. I traced it with my fingertip, overwhelmed by a longing for a connection I couldn’t quite grasp.
Dawson watched me intently, his expression a mix of hope and caution. “Do you… have any questions, Dad? About Taylor or anything else?”
The weight of everything I didn’t know pressed down on my shoulders. I wanted to ask a thousand questions and demand every detail of the life I’d forgotten. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I shook my head and handed the drawing back to Dawson.
His face fell slightly, but he nodded in understanding. “It’s okay. I don’t want to push too much, too fast. One of the brothers in my club, Logan, is a paramedic. He’s actually the one who saved your life, and he’s with Akira. He explained about your memory loss and that trying to force it could actually make things worse.”
Dawson stood and brushed imaginary dust from his jeans. “I should probably head out. But, uh, there’s something else you should know, Mom.” He turned to Ridley, who hovered silently in the doorway. “Farrah and Mariah are on lockdown at the Devil’s Fury. They tried to leave to come here.”
Ridley’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. Her eyes flashed as she let out a derisive snort. “Well, remind your sisters that they’re still not welcome at the Dixie Reapers -- at least not until they offer a genuine apology.”
The tension in the room skyrocketed as confusion battled with a strange sense of protective anger surging within me -- a feeling I struggled to understand. What the hell had my daughters done to be banned from this place?
As Dawson nodded and headed for the door, my mind raced with questions. The soft thud of the closing door echoed through the house, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. I turned my gaze to Ridley, her petite frame taut with tension, eyes stormy with unspoken emotions.
My throat tightened, the urge to ask about my daughters burning on my tongue. What could they have done to warrant such a harsh response from their own mother?
“Ridley,” I started, hesitant. “About Farrah and Mariah…”
She turned to me, her blonde hair catching the light, a complex mix of emotions playing across her face. For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the vibrant, outgoing woman I knew she could be, but it vanished beneath something darker, more guarded.
The question died on my lips. Did I really want to know? Ridley had already shared so much with me, at my insistence. But what if the doctor and Dawson were right and it would only make things worse? The things she’d shared so far had been good memories. But if my daughters weren’t allowed here, then they’d fucked up in a big way. I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out more about the situation.
Instead, I stood tall, my imposing frame filling the room. “I need some air,” I muttered, brushing past Ridley and striding toward the front door.
As I stepped onto the porch, the rumble of distant motorcycles called to something deep within me -- a part of my identity that even amnesia couldn’t erase.
I took a deep breath, resolve hardening inside me. I might not have remembered everything, but I was determined to piece together the puzzle of my life. For Ridley, for my children, and for myself. The life we shared was worth fighting for, worth remembering.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, I narrowed my eyes with determination. This was just the beginning of my journey back to myself, and I was ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.