Sandy creases her brow and her mouth purses—it looks like she wants to stay, but Wheels lays her hand on her arm. “Thank you for coming to see me, but I’d like to put this behind me. Once I’m dressed, I’ll come down to the clubroom to find you.”
So, picking up the tray―the food on which I notice has hardly been touched―Sandy and Carmen leave us alone.
Making my way to the bed, I sit down, bringing myself once again to her level, believing she’ll find it less intimidating. I study her for a second, she looks tired and drawn, and the smile she’d managed to summon up for the girls has disappeared. I’d do anything to put that smile back.
After a moment, I explain what’s going to happen. “I’ve got to go to a meeting for a while. It shouldn’t be too long. The prospects are outside and they’re not gonna let anyone in without checking with you first, until I get back. That okay with you, babe?”
“Which ones?”
“Hank and Spider.”
A little smile. “I like Hank.”
I do, too. The jury’s still out on Spider. He can be a lazy fucker.
Another moment of consideration, and then she says bravely, “Okay. But, Wraith, you won’t be too long, will you?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be as quick as I can be. You get showered and dressed, and I’ll be back before you know it. If you feel up to it, the prospects will take you down to the clubhouse. The ol’ ladies will be there to keep you company.”
She nods, but slowly. I’m reluctant to leave her, but there are things that need to be done. After placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, I leave her, go back to my room to freshen myself up and change. Slipping back into my cut sporting the patch I’m so proud to wear but that was so sullied last night, I make my way through the clubroom and into church.
Chapter Eleven
Wraith…
Not everyone is here yet—I’m a little early—but Drummer is sitting, waiting at the head of the table. And someone has already filled him in on all the events of last night. Drummer might go through women like a knife through butter, but he would never take anyone but a willing partner. And that goes for the rest of us.
“Lucky you were passing,” he tells me, his face as dark as I’ve ever seen it. “Bastard wouldn’t have stopped.”
Suppressing a shudder, I don’t even want to think what would have happened if I hadn’t been there, or if I’d left it to later to leave the bar. I suppose I should thank Chrissy for chasing me out when she did. Not that I’m going to, but if she hadn’t have come on so strong and I hadn’t wanted to get away, well, I agree with Drum, Buster would have raped her. And maybe wouldn’t have stopped there.
“I’ll get a prospect on her until Horse gets back. Give her some kind of fuckin’ comfort. She must think we’re a load of animals.”
“No need for that. I’ll be with her.” The words come out before I can censor them.
His eyes narrow. “Like that, is it?”
I shrug, trying to recover some ground. Drum hasn’t rescinded his instruction that none of us should touch her. “I don’t like a guest of ours being put in that position. I think we owe it to her to show we’re taking this seriously.”
“It’s serious, Brother,” he assures me. “Very serious. And there’s gonna be serious fuckin’ consequences too.”
During our short conversation, the seats around the table have been filled, except for the one of course. Friday is usually the day for church, and we’ll still be holding our regular meeting later, but all members have made themselves available for this special meeting after getting the call. This morning there’s just the one important item on the agenda—what to do about Buster. The only missing member.
Drummer bangs the gavel and gets attention on him. “Right, the way gossip spreads around this place like wildfire I think we all know why we’re here. Before we go through the options, I want to let you know what that fucker Snake had to say when I had words with him earlier.”
I sit up, my interest caught. Snake is the president of the San Diego chapter, where Buster had transferred in from.
“Seems like he hadn’t been exactly straight with us. The patch-over request came from Buster himself, but if he hadn’t had jumped, he would have been pushed, and quite possibly had his fuckin’ patch taken away.”
“He cause trouble down there?” This from Slick.
“Too fuckin’ right. Apparently, the club whores had complained about him. Seems he was inclined to be rough.”
Now that’s something. Those girls take a lot from brothers who can get pretty rowdy at times—for them to complain suggests he’d been particularly brutal with them.
“Snake wasn’t surprised by what I told him, and I have his go-ahead to do whatever we think we should. Not that I need it of course.” No, as Drummer is president of the mother charter, he outranks Snake. “Now, anyone got anything to say?”
Rock lifts his hand, the one not twirling his gun around on the table. “He’s been showing outright disrespect for the VP and other officers, Drum, as well as to the girl. His fuckin’ attitude is off. Last night was fuckin’ despicable, but this would have come to the table eventually in any event.”
“And he’s been disrespecting the fuckin’ club too. He missed church a few times with no fuckin’ excuse. Before we go on, anyone want to say anything in our brother’s defence?” As Drummer’s eyes flick around the table, no one stirs.
“VP, you witnessed the incident, what’s your proposal?”
Before I can speak Dart puts his hand in the air. “You might all want to see these.” He throws copies of the photos he’d taken last night of Wheels’ face and the bite marks clearly visible on the top of her breasts. “Luckily, Wraith stopped him before he went any further.” As the pictures do the rounds, various miens of disgust appear on my brothers’ faces.
I tap my fingers on the table. I know what I want and hope my brothers will support me. “I want his patch, Drum.” As Drummer goes to speak, I hold up my hand, I haven’t finished yet. “And I’m sick of breathin’ the same fuckin’ air as that sadistic bastard. I want him dead.”
There was an audible intake of breath from around me. I couldn’t put it any plainer than that. Mutterings started but were quickly brought to a halt when Drummer slammed his meaty fist down. “Okay then, there are two motions on the table. First, we vote on taking his patch.”
He starts with me, a definite ‘Aye’ purely for form’s sake as everyone knows the way I’ll be voting and continues around. There was no dissension.
“Right, Buster, the man we used to call brother is out, and out bad.” That, at the very least, would mean the large Satan’s Devils tattoo on his back would be burned off. Drum pauses for a moment as Heart records the result of the serious vote in the club’s record book.
The prez wipes his hand over his face, and then says in his most solemn tone, “Second motion, that we send him on his way to Satan.”
I could hardly get the word ‘Aye’ out of my mouth fast enough, but for such a decision with such grave repercussions, it doesn’t surprise me this time the vote takes a little longer and can’t help but be relieved as one after the other of my brothers gives the same vote as me. It comes back around to Drummer, who, with a glance in my direction, gives a resounding ‘Aye’.
As Heart scribbles again, Drum nods slowly. “Right, we’re all in agreement. VP, you, Blade, and Peg will take the lead. Any other brother wanting to help Buster on his one-way fuckin’ trip to Satan feel free to join them. I want this sorted by church this evening. As the VP so eloquently fuckin’ put it, it offends me to be breathing the same fuckin’ air as that bastard.”
With a final bang of the gavel, church is dismissed.
I’m warmed how many of the brothers follow Peg, Blade, and me as we make our way to the place with the innocent misnomer of storage room. As I glance behind, I see faces flushed with rage, a couple of brothers have their arms moving to and fro in practice swings, and others have
fists clenched by their sides. Slick is thumping one hand against the other. The man waiting for us was in for a great deal of hurt. His exit from this life isn’t going to be easy. Uh-uh.
Deferring to their VP, it’s me who opens the door and flips on the lights. He’d been left hanging by his arms from the rafters in the dark―why waste electricity on a man who everyone expects to soon breathe his final breath?
Stepping inside it becomes clear that whoever had strung him up had already gotten a few licks in. Buster is dangling shirtless, and there are nasty bruises across his chest, which I hope are hurting.
As we enter, he lifts his head, and any hope he might have had evaporates at the expressions on our faces. But he tries. “Aw, fuck, come on, brothers. You don’t wanna do this.”
I step in front of him, bouncing on my feet, hardly able to contain my rage. Did he really think we’d give him a pat on his motherfuckin’ back? “We don’t need fuckin’ brothers like you, Buster.”
He spits on the ground. “All this about a fuckin’ bitch?”
Heart, his affable personality absent for once, comes up alongside me. “We care about our fuckin’ women, you motherfucker.”
“I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ patch over this? Jeez. Bros over hos, guys.” He shakes his head as though he can’t believe it.
He doesn’t seem to have a clue how badly he’s fucked up, but one look at my tight features gives him the answer.
I want to get back to Wheels and don’t want to string this out. “Blade, get the blow torch and the rum.” We keep a bottle of one hundred proof rum here for just this purpose. Luckily, we rarely have occasion to use it.
The fire in Buster’s eyes slowly dies as his pupils dilate in horror. “Hey, I’ll get the ink blacked out. No need for this. Hey, come on, guys, you don’t want to do this. Snake will vouch for me.”
“Snake thinks the same as us—that you’re a fuckin’ animal that needs to be put down.” I nod to Blade, knowing as our enforcer he’ll know what to do, and I see no need for any delay.
Blade passes the bottle to Peg, who begins making sure Buster’s back is covered in the flammable liquid, while Blade gets the blowtorch going. Without giving the hanging man a chance for any more filth to come out of his mouth, he touches the flame to his back. Now the air is filled with the sounds of screaming and the odour of burning skin as the full back patch tattoo is burned off. The smell makes me want to gag, but I stand stoically until the flames have died away.
Buster’s conscious, but in a whole lot of pain, and he’s about to take a lot more. Moving off to the side, I take the baseball bat that’s conveniently sitting there and take the first hit, smashing into one kneecap and then the other. He’s now holding his full weight on his arms, tears of pain flooding down his face. His eyes search out mine, and I give a crooked smile, knowing that now he realises we’re not just taking his patch, he’s a dead man.
Buster spits blood, then in a gurgling voice gasps, “She’s just a fuckin’ crippled whore—”
Slick gives him no time to spout any more poison. Taking the bat from me, he chooses the ribs. One by one, my brothers step up until Buster’s nothing more than a dangling mess of broken bones. He’s flitting in and out of consciousness.
I hold up my hand. There’s no point continuing, more pain probably wouldn’t even register, and I’m anxious to get back to check on Wheels. I jerk my head toward Blade and he nods back. Getting out his namesake from his belt, he swipes his finger along the side as though checking how sharp it is, it will be like a razor—he keeps it that way. Now he steps forward and starts carving over the would-be rapist’s torso. He’s quite artistic, so I give him the time he needs and enjoy the last few screams which turn to whimpers as the blood pours out, and then there’s silence. Blade cocks his head toward me, and I give him a quick jerk of my chin. He knows what has to be done and ends it by slicing the blade across Buster’s throat.
It’s done, over. And I for one will sleep easier in my bed tonight.
“I’ll send the prospects down to clean up. Blade, you stay here and watch them.” Blade throws me a chin lift. He’ll make sure the body is burned along with his cut and buried up in the forest behind us. After one last glance back at the dead man, I leave the storage room.
Chapter Twelve
Sophie…
Before my accident, I used to love sex—I mean, I really enjoyed it. I suppose some people would call me promiscuous, but I’ve never seen it that way or thought it was wrong. If I saw a man I liked and believed he could give me a good time, I went for it. No one would criticise a man who acted the same way, so why should I be the one to feel ashamed? After getting burned so badly the first time, I knew I would never again be in the market for a relationship, so why not get my physical needs fulfilled in different ways?
A brief smile comes to my lips as I recall some of my experiences in rather unusual places, the illicitness of our activity seeming to fire the pleasure. The men I’d been with wouldn’t have walked away with their heads hung low, so why should I?
But all the times I’ve hooked up with men, it’s always been my decision. A handsome man giving me a come-on, and I’d be there, but only if I wanted to be. Never has someone tried to take it from me by force.
Since my accident all that’s changed. Sex is no longer important to me, the fear of rejection dampening my libido. I know there’s no point flirting suggestively as I’m too ashamed of what my body has become. I don’t even get aroused reading my books, and the batteries on my vibrator are still as fresh as the day I put them in before it happened, before Ethan St John-Davies arranged for me to lose my leg.
Now I’m a victim of attempted rape, saved at the last moment by a man who says he wants me, even with my physical limitations, though I’m not sure whether I believe that or whether he just said it to make me feel better. I spent a good part of last night sobbing into his shirt, but my tears were not so much down to what Buster had tried to do, instead it was that I’d been absolutely powerless to stop him. I’d had no means of fight or escape. That he had known that makes me angry―what kind of man takes advantage of a helpless woman? That he nearly succeeded makes me scared. What if it happened again? The fear which had been in the back of my mind since Horse brought me here, that I was at the mercy of these tough, leather-clad men with violence running through their veins, assails me.
But what else can I do? Where could I go? There’s a bloody contract out for me so I can’t go home, and I’m not sure how safe it would be for me alone in a foreign country. As last night showed me, I can’t exactly run away if I’m in any danger. A woman in a wheelchair or even on the crutches which I’m now starting to use more regularly sticks out like a sore thumb!
Suddenly a vision of Peg comes to my mind. Not only has he learned to walk again, but he also does so with such ease that it’s hard to see he’s got an artificial leg. I’m never going to get my leg back, but if I keep up with the exercise, I will be able to regain my independence. If I could walk properly again, it opens up a whole new world to me, and people would be less able to take advantage. Then my motivational thoughts start to fade. Whether I can walk with my prosthesis or not, I don’t wear it to bed. I’d still be just as helpless unless… Unless I have a weapon to hand. That’s what I’ve got to do, get Wraith to get me a gun, or even a knife. Something I can have close by so I’m able to protect myself. I’m sure Wraith will help me.
The decision made, my positivity return. Electing there’s no point dwelling on what might have happened, I need to get my strength back and some form of protection so nothing of the sort can happen again. I wheel over to where my prosthesis is lying on the floor next to my crutches, which Wraith had neatly grouped together after that bastard had thrown them away. Picking it up, I go back to the bed, transfer from my chair, and start strapping it on.
It’s an hour later when Wraith returns. I’m sitting in the wheelchair, the prosthesis lying over my lap. Seeing the fresh tears in my eyes, he
misinterprets them.
“Hey, darlin’.” He rushes to my side, putting his arm around me and pulling me to him. “You don’t have to worry about him ever again, I promise.”
Wiping my hand over my weeping eyes, I give a little shake of my head. Incapable of forming words, instead of speaking I pass my prosthesis over to him. My constructive thoughts of a while ago having been totally swept away.
He takes it from me and gives me a curious look, then glances down to examine it more carefully.
I see the exact point he realises when his eyes narrow and his lips grow thin. “Shit,” he exclaims as he notices the crack in the socket which should form a snug fit between my stump and the device. “That fucker do this?”
“Must have happened when he threw it against the wall.”
I don’t have to explain what this means. I don’t have to tell him that the independence I was slowly regaining has now been lost to me. Or that I’m stuck in this bloody wheelchair until I can get a replacement. Oh, I might be able to hop short distances on one leg and my crutches, but for anything more I’ll need a prosthesis. And fuck knows when I’ll be able to get that. I don’t have to say a word, he understands without me spelling it out. Wraith hugs me closer and rests his chin on my head. After a moment, he pulls away and takes his phone out of his pocket. He dials, then I hear him say, “Peg, can you come to Wheels’ room? Yeah? Great.”
I don’t know why he’s asked the sergeant-at-arms to come to the suite, or what he’ll be able to do. And depressed as I am, I don’t bother to ask.
“We’ll sort it,” he tries to reassure me. “Don’t worry.”
Swallowing down another sob, I cry out, “But how? We came so quickly I didn’t get travel insurance and don’t even know if they’d cover something like this if I had. I’ll need to go back to England to get a new one. And if it’s anything like the last time, that will take a couple of months.”
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