Finding Rhiannon

by Ker Dukey

  My stomach rumbles and I think back to when I last ate. I can’t remember.

  I look at the Prez. His face is distorted by the high that obscures my vision, but I can still see the fresh lines around his eyes and forehead. His skin is pale, and the bags under his eyes bare his exhaustion. At times, I forget Brenner and Rhiannon are his family too.

  The room suddenly goes quiet, and all heads turn towards the main doors. I can’t see what everyone is looking at, the mass of bodies are screening my view.

  “Darby,” my dad welcomes as he makes his way through the crowd.

  Following him, I feel the weight of dishonor on my shoulders when Echo’s sister nods her head to both my dad and me.

  It’s been years since I’ve seen Echo’s sister. The last time she was a raven-haired eleven-year-old. Now she’s a raven-haired twenty-year-old. She’s definitely outgrown her childhood body, her ample chest and wide hips reminding me of how many years have passed. Her body is encased in black leather, from her boots right up to the biker jacket she wears. As far as I know she’s never been associated with any MC and had even tried talking Echo out of signing up to be a Lilith brother once or twice.

  She’s stunning, even more so when she smiles widely and greets us both. “Tank. Frost.”

  “I’m so sorry about your brother,” my old man apologizes as if Echo’s death is his fault.

  Darby waves off his apology. “It’s not your fault your son turned out to be a psychotic prick.”

  Well, she certainly doesn’t mince her words.

  Prez’s lips twist in amusement, and I know he hasn’t taken offence at Darby’s declaration.

  “We all ready?” Scorch barks out, taking all the attention away from the newcomer.

  I want to answer no. I want to hide back while they all bury a brother. I crave more of the oblivion only coke can give me.

  My old lady should be by my side today of all days. I need her support, the warmth of her hand in mine and the softness of her eyes on mine. I miss her. Who’d have thought all those weeks back, when we’d been forced into a sham marriage, that I would now feel like I had lost my right arm without her?

  “Frost.” Darby falls into step beside me as we make our way out to the parking lot. The asphalt is crammed full of bikes; every make, color and size imaginable sat in rows as if they themselves are showing their respect to another bike now laid redundant in the garage to the rear of the building.

  My thoughts trigger my next words. “Echo would want you to have his bike.”

  She snorts. “I doubt that, but the gesture is appreciated.” Her voice is low and gravelly with a hint of sadness to it.

  “I thought you were close?”

  Nodding, she smiles softly. “We are… were. But his brothers always came before me.”

  I’m unsure whether it’s said with bitterness or just frankness, but I guess she’s right. “Maybe, but all the brothers here deem it yours. You’re his blood, the only living family he has left. It’s only right.”

  “Then, thank you.” Her smile is more full with less sorrow than a moment ago.

  Her bike is parked next to mine and I watch as she swings her long leg over the saddle and turns to me. “I heard about your old lady and sister going missing. I’m owed one or two favors around here, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Before I can question her statement, she revs the engine and pulls into the group of bikes slowly turning onto the road and establishing a procession in honor of their lost brother.

  I’m the last to join them. I’m always reluctant to leave the club in case Avery finally comes back and I’m not there for her. I know in the depths of my soul that she will need me more than she ever has before.

  And I’m reluctant to admit that as we put another brother into the ground, my thoughts are still on my wife rather than on the man that was a good friend to me.

  * * *

  Receptions/wakes. Why do they call them that? Every fucker that attended Echo’s funeral is far from awake.

  I step over the many bodies littering the floor, unconscious from either drugs or alcohol and make my way outside.

  The moon is high, and I study it for a moment as I light a smoke, wondering if Avery is also looking at it.

  “You doing okay?”

  My lighter drops from my hands when the Prez makes me jump. He chuckles and bends to pick it up. It’s strained movements and he’s getting slower every day.

  I frown when he reaches to the packet in my hand and takes out one of my smokes and lights it. My dad hasn’t smoked for years.

  He waits until he takes a long pull and blows out the smoke before he turns to me. “We need to come to some sort of agreement with Brig.”

  My eyes widen but he doesn’t give me a chance to question him.

  “Cash is strict, Slade. We’re gonna go down if we can’t figure something out. The Cutters own a lot of business round here, places we use to regularly wash hot cash through. It’s starting to become a hand around the throat, this shit between us. What with the shipments being seized on top. Our luck needs to turnaround.”

  “Maybe,” I answer.

  “If we’re still wanting to build this strip club we’ve wanted to for so long, we’re gonna need dough to do it, Slade. And we’re fucked if we don’t have palms to grease and high-ranking shits to bribe.

  We both turn to the steel gates when a bike roars onto the asphalt and pulls up in front of us. Long legs swing off the bike, and Darby pulls off her helmet. Her long black hair falls free and she brushes if from her face.

  She gives us both her wide smiles then shoots my dad a wink. “Got something for ya’, Tank.”

  He doesn’t answer but nods.

  “Have an address for Bullseye.”

  Well fuck me, the girl came good on her promise.

  “Good girl. I won’t ask how you found out, don’t need to know. Lots of brothers desperate for something to vent off their grief. And Bullseye will do.” He nods his head towards the club doors. “Go see Kiwi, tell her I said you can have as many drinks as will lubricate your gut.”

  She laughs but positions her helmet to her head. “No worries, I have somewhere to be anyway.”

  She gives him the address and before she’s torn out of the gates I’m already in the club, kicking the comatose fuckers back to life.

  “Time for some ass whopping, guys.”

  * * *

  You can run motherfucker, but you can’t hide.

  Bullseye didn’t know what the fuck hit him when me and four brothers kicked the prick’s door down and embedded four bullets into his gut. I took pleasure in telling him his Prez was going to take his kids as a lasting punishment for his betrayal. Death was too easy for a traitor. It didn’t matter that I knew the man my entire life. Thought of him as family. I’m sick of people fucking me over. Our club over. No mercy for defectors. The fucker bled out knowing his actions cost his kids.

  Sin’s of the father and all that fucking Jazz.

  He hadn’t even seen us coming. But then, we never saw the cops either, that were sat in the dark, staking out his digs.

  The first bullet whizzed past my ear and took a chip out of the brickwork.

  “Fuck!” Scorch bellowed doing a commando roll across the lawn like something out of a movie. It would have been hilarious if we weren’t in a gun battle.

  The bullets followed his direction, and I could just make out two cops illuminated under the streetlight, hiding against a black Sedan. I move off towards the brush bordering the house and drop low.

  The fuckers are just visible. I aim and shoot four shots at their feet just in view from my angle.

  They shout out in pain and fall to the floor, giving us all a bigger target to aim for. Stupid cunts.

  We make their deaths quick and move out before more law show up.

  Bullseye’s death. A simple message.

  12

  Avery

  It’s so cold. So bitterly cold.

 
; My teeth chatter so hard I can hear the clash of them over the thumping in my head.

  Ice runs through my veins, a blessing numbness against the excruciating pain that keeps snatching my consciousness.

  The goosebumps that cover my skin as my body tries to defend itself against the merciless bite of the winter temperature physically ache my body. Every single pimple feels like a needle stabbing constantly at my skin.

  My heart is slowing now, exhausted as it tries in vain to keep the frozen blood pumping through my veins.

  My mind is my only friend in the dark of the night. It keeps my brain active against the arctic infection that threatens to suck me into its hard ruthlessness. Ghostly visions of Slade allow my soul some warmth; the tenderness to each one of his fantasy kisses and touches nurses my otherwise petrified soul.

  I can no longer open my eyes, not that I want to. I don’t want to see where I am, or what’s out there… or what he’s done to me. I’m safe in the cocoon of my own weakened eyesight.

  My feet are anesthetized by the sub-zero temperature, my legs insensitive to the layer of snow that covers my naked skin. Each mutilated part of my body is confused; the agony it feels conflicts with the detachment of shock my brain is conveying to each nerve.

  My ears pick up a sound, but I’m untroubled by it. The snap of twigs. The rustle of leaves. These sounds have persecuted the night, and I’ve been uncaring to each one.

  Yet, this time it’s different.

  Something slightly wet touches my cheek, and the scent in the air around me changes. A whine and then a loud bark jolts my brain.

  I try and reach out, but my movements are disjointed. I can’t move my arm, so I try and shift my hand. Maybe I manage to twitch one of my fingers, but I’m unsure.

  I’m so cold.

  I’m so tired.

  I want my heart to cease its relentless pump.

  I’m so very cold….

  13

  Slade/Frost

  “Your wife is suffering from hyperthermia, and we’re trying to get her blood sugar levels up as well as stabilize her heart rate. She has wounds on numerous parts of her body…” The female doctor purses her lips and sighs heavily before continuing. “There is also evidence she has experienced tremendous sexual assault, Mr. Walker. And,” she pauses and swallows. “You wife has also suffered a miscarriage. I’m so very sorry.”

  A baby? Avery was pregnant? With my son, or daughter?

  And why the fuck is she sorry?

  She isn’t really sorry.

  There is only one person who will be sorry.

  I nod, not giving her a verbal reply before I hesitantly start to open the door that will lead me back to my wife.

  I flinch when the doctor wraps her fingers gently around my wrist to stop me. “I need you to be prepared for how much Avery has suffered. It may take her a while to recover from this. Both physically and emotionally.”

  Silently, I nod once again.

  “If there’s anything you need, or if I can put you in touch with a support group that can help both you and your wife then, please, come and find me.”

  She walks away when I don’t respond, the swish of her white coat the only sound in the otherwise vacant corridor.

  My hand hovers over the door handle. I’m not even sure I want to step through. Whatever is in this room will change my life forever. I’m doubtful as to whether I’m even strong enough to survive what’s to come.

  As the door opens further, I see the back of a nurse as she busies herself with charts. Her backside is round and full, and cowardly, I use the attention it gives me to prevent myself from entering further.

  The beeping sound is the first thing I hear, the regular rhythm of it alerting me to the fact that Avery is still breathing at least. More sounds swallow the quiet, and I use them to concentrate on when I finally step inside.

  I almost dare not look. And when I do I’m not remotely prepared for what greets me.

  Avery’s body is entirely shrouded in a silver blanket, and there are more tubes and wires threaded into her body than I dare count.

  Scorch had offered to come with me, and with hindsight I know I should have allowed him. But, I hadn’t realized exactly what was waiting for me.

  I hold on to the wall for support when my legs start to tremble.

  “Mr. Walker.” The nurse’s voice is faintly muffled alongside the humming in my ears. Her touch is gentle as she helps me over to a chair that’s sat beside Avery’s bed.

  The closer I get the more horrifying the sight of her becomes.

  Her face is so swollen she’s no longer recognizable as my Princess. Her right eye is so puffy there doesn’t appear to be an eyeball in the there. Her left ear has a section of the lobe missing, and the shell of her ear is edged with teeth marks.

  Luckily, I can’t see the rest of her body, the blanket veiling what I don’t want to see.

  Bile burns my throat, and I fling myself out of the chair and rush into the room’s private bathroom. My retches are loud, and I wince when I know the nurse is listening to the sounds of my cowardice hit the bottom of the toilet.

  Sweat beads on my brow with the force of vomiting, and I grip the seat to stop myself from capsizing.

  The grief that takes over every thought in my head is just selfish heartache. Although I dread to think what Avery has been through, I can’t help but believe ignorantly of how this will affect my life, not hers.

  I’m not strong enough to be the rock she will need. The thought of that cunt touching her is self-torturous, and I don’t want to know. I don’t want to accept what he’s done to her. If I don’t think about it, then it hasn’t happened.

  She will still be the same woman when she wakes up. She’ll smile at me in the same way. She’ll love me the way she’s always loved me. She’ll still come apart under my touch, beg me to help her fly. In spite of everything, she’ll still look at me with the same adoring look as she always has.

  More vomit splashes the toilet bowl. I can’t seem to stop. Misery takes on a physical existence as I release more and more pain. I don’t want to feel it, I don’t want the agony in my heart to ache so much, and I purge it from my body.

  It’s almost as if my brain can’t cope with what lays in the room behind me, and my body is giving me an excuse to stay away as long as is possible.

  I’ve never felt so weak, so defeated by the act of another, but what Axe has done to Avery will batter us both for a very long time.

  * * *

  It’s almost dark when Avery opens her eyes – or rather her one, good eye. I’d been dozing, the gloom of the encroaching night laying heavy in the room and teasing exhaustion to win its battle on my eyes. The feel of her hand faintly trembling in mine jolts me awake, and I gasp when I find her looking at me.

  For a moment I don’t understand where I am, and it takes the sight of Avery’s beaten face to gruesomely remind me, the broken, purple skin slapping me into consciousness.

  “Princess?”

  She’s staring at me, but it’s a black void that looks at me through her eyes, the lack of emotion or expression making me sit up straighter and physically flinch.

  “Baby?”

  Her vacant stare has me wondering if she’s lost her memory because it seems as though she doesn’t recognize me. The way she used to look at me is now gone, her adoring gaze now buried beneath a bleak and unnatural starkness. There’s now a coldness in the depths of her once warm eyes, and it’s like she is staring at a stranger.

  “Princess? How are you feeling?”

  “Don’t call me that.” She croaks out. Her voice sounds odd, deep and scratchy.

  I don’t know what to do, what to say to her. I’ve never been lost for words, but my mind is filled with nothing but horror and fear as I silently beg her to say something.

  But when she speaks next, I want her to be silent.

  “Go home, Slade. Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t baby, I’ve been going out of my mind sea
rching for you.”

  “Well, you didn’t find me. Just leave me alone,” she begs.

  Selfishly I can’t. I reach for her hand that she’s pulled from my palm, but she shakes her head and flinches. Water falls from her eyes.

  “Please, leave me alone. Don’t look at me. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Pain tears through me as though she’s physically punched me in the gut. But, I know she doesn’t mean it. She’s just anguishing over what I’ll think of her. It’s a natural thing when you love someone, the need to protect their feelings even if it means burying your own.

  “What? Of course I’m not going to leave you.”

  The previous void in her eyes is swallowed by a blazing fury, licks of fire dancing in a swirl of hatred. Her lip curls and she glares at me with so much vitriol I can almost taste its bitterness.

  “Get the fuck away from me.” She bellows, her voice breaking. “You did this! You and your fucking family. Get out!” she demands pointing to the door. One of the wires in her hand rips free and blood splatters the foil blanket covering her.

  I can’t move. My body is struck frozen as I struggle to draw breath in the dense smog of revulsion spilling from her.

  “GET OUT!”

  Her screams bring a flurry of doctors and nurses, the room suddenly filled with a mass of white coats and grey uniforms.

  The chair tips over behind me when I stumble backwards, each vehement scream that is directed at me a blade to my heart.

  “Mr. Walker, I must ask you to leave.”

  I shake my head, snatching my arm away from the nurse when she tries to guide me out of the room.

  “FUCK OFF!” Avery screams, her body thrashing as the nurses try to hold her still. It’s like she’s been possessed, a supernatural entity using her to massacre me. “I hate you for this, Slade. I HATE YOU!”