Hawk's Cry : Satan's Devils MC Second Generation #2

by Manda Mellett

  “Wraith,” Mom challenges him with a growl. “We need more than that.”

  “Sophie, my love, I’ve said enough.”

  She glares, but his mouth remains firmly shut.

  “Club business.” Sam rolls her eyes. “All I could get out of Drummer was that there’s only a teensy-weensy risk of something coming at the club, but being overbearing and protective as usual, they want everyone close.”

  “Another day won’t hurt, will it?” I turn back to Dad. “If I, or you or Drummer can get Eli to understand the risk, then he’ll be calmer about returning.”

  Sam’s looking at me thoughtfully then addresses herself to Dad. “I think you and Drum should share with Eli what you can’t with us. Even as he is now, he won’t want Olivia in any danger.”

  I grin. That’s the way to play it. Trust a mother to know her son. Even if he isn’t thinking straight at the moment, I’m sure he’ll still want to protect me. Of course I’ll refuse to go back home by myself.

  Dad stares at Sam, then walks off, taking his phone out of his cut as he does.

  After a few moments he returns, his call finished and looking unhappy as if he’s received the answer he didn’t want. “Drummer doesn’t like it, but can see it makes sense. We’ll play it your way, Olivia. But if the risk level rises, or Eli holds out too long, we’ll fuckin’ kidnap him. Not having you in danger. Not for any damn thing.”

  Sam looks toward me, then at Dad. “So, someone’s got to be staying tonight. I’m happy to do that with Drum, but we’ll need a change of underwear at the least.”

  “I’ll keep you company if you’re going back to the compound,” Mom offers.

  Dad sighs heavily for a moment, then looks up to the ceiling. “Alright,” he growls, reluctantly giving in. Then turns around and yells, “Prospects!” At which, Nathan and Rascal come running. “Change of plan. Leave that shit where it is. Follow Sam and Sophie to the compound, then escort them back here.”

  With air kisses for me, and a full-on kiss between Mom and Dad, the two women and prospects leave.

  It’s just me and Dad now.

  I realise my plans for the day have been turned upside down. Mentally I run through the tasks I need to do, then, damn these pregnancy hormones, I remember I’ve left some clothes at the dry cleaners I’d forgotten to collect.

  Luckily, now I can leave the packing, I’ve plenty of time to go out and get it before Eli comes back. I delve down into my purse and check the ticket is at least where I remember it is, in my wallet. Then I take out my keys and call out where I’m going.

  “Hey, Olivia. Hold up. You’re not going anywhere on your own. I’ll come with you.”

  “Dad.” I roll my eyes. This is one thing I haven’t missed, being followed or escorted all the time. “Look, I’m just going over to the mall. I won’t be long. And we’re out of coffee, so I’ll pick some up.”

  “Not letting—”

  “I’ve lived here for weeks and nothing’s happened, Dad.” I start to get annoyed. “If things are so dangerous, why weren’t you worried two days ago, last week, last month?” My eyebrows rise as I challenge him. “I’ve lived here for two months and have gone everywhere on my own. What’s happened now to change that?” As he seems lost for an answer, I continue, “What would have happened if Eli hadn’t broken down? I’ll tell you what.” I’m getting into my stride now. “We wouldn’t be going back to the compound, the club has washed its hands of us. We’d never have even known there was danger coming to the club because it wouldn’t concern us.” It seems ridiculous to me. I’ve gotten used to having some freedom. What’s changed in two days?

  “Olivia—”

  “I’m going, Dad. And you’re not coming with me.”

  Leaving him open mouthed, I pick up my keys and leave the house.

  I drive the short distance to collect the clothes that have now been cleaned, then, on the way back to my car, I get a text. I take my phone out of my purse, swearing quietly as I’m sure it’s my dad checking up.

  Gabe: I was hoping to see you as I’m being transferred again. Any chance we could meet for a coffee? I’d like to say goodbye in person.

  Well that’s strange, another one of those coincidences. I smile to myself. Seems to happen a lot with him. I think for a moment. If he hadn’t said it was to say goodbye, I’d have brushed him off. It doesn’t seem right to meet another man, however innocently, with everything going on with Eli. But to share a coffee, or in my case a soda, one last time? To talk about something else and stop worrying about my husband for just a moment?

  Before I can have second thoughts, I tap out a reply.

  Olivia: I’m actually close right now if you want to meet at the normal place. I can’t stay long though.

  Gabe: Perfect.

  I’m actually glad to have a chance to say goodbye. From my father’s reaction just now, once I’m back on the compound, I’ll have no freedom to meet anyone for coffee, or not without having a shadow with me.

  I don’t, however, want my dad to worry. Once again, I send a text.

  Olivia: Just meeting a friend for coffee. Won’t be long. x

  Dad: You should come straight home.

  My eyes roll as I hear his voice in my head, replaying it as though I’ve gone back fifteen years in time. I’m a grown woman, I can do what I like. Eli won’t be back from the therapist for some time, and now I want to meet Gabe for what will be the last time and close this chapter in my life.

  Olivia: I won’t be long. x

  Putting my phone on to silent, I slip it back into my purse, unsurprised when it vibrates again. It will only be Dad telling me to go straight back. I ignore it and drive the short distance between the store and the coffee shop.

  Gabe is sitting in his normal place by the window, and a soda is already waiting for me, along with a cake that he knows I enjoyed the last time we were here.

  “Hey, how you been?” He stands to greet me, his features forming a welcoming smile.

  I rub my stomach which seems to stretch further every day. “As good as can be.”

  “You’re glowing.”

  Ignoring his compliment, I ask a question myself as I sit down, “So what’s this about you leaving?”

  He grimaces. “Yeah. I’m leaving today. It’s what happens in my line of work. You have to go wherever the leads take you.”

  “You don’t get much choice in it then?” I sympathise.

  “No, not really. Tucson’s not a good place for me to be anymore.”

  “You still going to be in Arizona?” Mmm mmm I think to myself, taking a bite of the delicious cake.

  He watches me eating, then shakes his head. “No, I’ll be leaving the state. So this, sweet Olivia, is the last time we’ll meet like this.”

  “That’s a shame.” I take another bite, moaning as the sweetness hits my taste buds. As it happens I won’t be around either. But I don’t bother to tell him that. It would lead to questions about where I’d be living, and I don’t really want to go into details about my family being bikers.

  “It is what it is.” He shrugs. “And you’ll soon have your hands full with the baby.”

  I nod, and smile, thinking how good it will be living close to Sam and Mom once again while in the last stages of my pregnancy.

  “How long have you got to go?” He seems to be making polite conversation.

  Before I answer, I take another bite, chew, then swallow. “Just another four weeks. I must admit I can’t wait to meet him or her now.” I finish my cake, then lick my fingers clean of the icing. “What?” I ask, as he’s staring at me with a distinctive curve to his lips.

  “I’m just glad you’re enjoying your cake.”

  “I am.” I yawn loudly, covering my mouth with my hand. “Oh, sorry.” I feel my cheeks redden.

  “Pregnancy makes you tired, or that’s what my wife always used to say.”

  I remember he lost her, so cover his hand with mine. “I’m sorry.”

  He turns his
hand over and his fingers grip mine tightly. He mumbles something, but I don’t catch it.

  I’m feeling a bit strange. Lightheaded. Maybe too much sugar has gone straight to my head.

  “I think I better go.” I try to stand and stumble.

  “Is she okay?” I vaguely register a female voice asking.

  “She’s fine,” Gabe replies for me. “Just got up too quickly. I’ll take her home.”

  He’s holding my hand, painfully tightly. His arm is around my waist.

  Something’s not right.

  “This isn’t my car,” I complain as he opens a door and starts pushing me inside. I try to resist, but my limbs feel like jelly, and my swollen stomach weighs me down. I drop into the seat as my legs refuse to support me. The door bangs shut loudly.

  Immediately, he’s around the driver’s side, sliding in behind the wheel.

  With what’s left of my senses, I try to open the door, but he’s already locked them centrally, and in my increasingly befuddled state, I can’t find the button to override that.

  He’s drugged me.

  “What have you given me?” I manage to rasp, my fear for the baby forcing my words out.

  He doesn’t answer, just starts to pull out of the parking lot.

  I try to stay conscious, to watch where we’re going, trying to pick up clues of where he might be taking me, but my eyelids keep lowering as if by themselves. Eventually, it’s too much effort to lift them again, and I succumb to the darkness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Eli…

  I could have killed Hound and Throttle when they dragged me out of the house this morning. All I’d wanted to do was wallow in my own misery, perfectly content to spend the whole day doing exactly that.

  What actually got me moving wasn’t the orders that Hound had barked at me, but the knowledge that they were there in my bedroom in the first place. Even stranger, they’d made no mention of my leaving the club, and the word Brother had come from their lips.

  I’d felt I’d reached my lowest point and had no idea how to climb back out of the mire. Their appearance gave me a glimmer of hope that there might be a way back. Not to the club, I didn’t want that, but perhaps a way out of this grave I feel like I’m living in. If they’d put themselves out for me, maybe it was up to me to try.

  I had absolutely no faith in the doctor I was going to see. How could talking about my problems help? There’s no magic wand to fix me, but if Hound and Throttle want me to go through the motions, I’ll give it a go.

  At the hospital, Dad’s already waiting. He offers to come in with me, but I’m a fucking man, aren’t I? Surely I don’t need a parent holding my hand. Straightening my shoulders, I follow the instructions I’m given as to where I should go.

  I’m surprised when first I’m given a full physical with blood taken. It’s only then that the doctor starts on the therapy. He’s not the same man who came to the house, but I’m here, so I may as well cooperate.

  First, he asks me a list of questions, and gives the instruction to answer truthfully. Here, within these four walls, I’m assured of confidentiality and nothing but total honesty will help me in any way. I do make a mental note to steer away from club business, but decide I’ll tell him everything else.

  No, I don’t take drugs. Never have, never will. Sure, I use cannabis from time to time, but not every day. Doesn’t everyone?

  I don’t smoke. Drink? Is he having a laugh? I’m a biker for fuck’s sake. Or I was.

  Have I suffered trauma? Well, yes, but that’s something I can’t admit to. While he’s assured me he won’t share anything I say, there’s always the possibility that knowing I’ve killed and tortured people and buried bodies where they’ll never be found might send him running straight to the cops. I know he’s probing to see if I could be suffering post-traumatic stress, and honestly, nothing I’ve done has had that effect on me. I’m not haunted by the faces of dead men in my dreams. Anyone I dispatched to meet Satan deserved to die. I don’t dwell on the time a bullet came too close to me, nor the time I was rammed by a truck causing me to lose control of my bike. When we mete out our own form of justice on those who had wronged us or ours, it got adrenaline rising, not fear. I live, had lived, for those times.

  Health issues? Nah, my health is good.

  How’s the relationship with your wife? What relationship? I can’t be bothered to work at it anymore.

  How often have you felt down, or depressed? That you had no control over the world? Every fucking day, Doc. Every fucking day for months.

  We go through my sleep patterns, my appetite, my energy. Then comes the big one.

  Have you ever thought of suicide?

  If I don’t reply honestly, he won’t be able to help. I shrug and admit it seems like it could be the answer.

  He doesn’t react, just nods, and taps at his keyboard making notes. We talk about whether anyone else in my family has ever suffered depression or stress. I almost laugh. Drummer? He’s always in total control, and so is my mom. We talk through the events of the past few years, concentrating on the last twelve months. He seems particularly interested that I was voted in as VP, though I’m careful not to say all that entails. I concentrate on telling him how I take overall responsibility for the running of our businesses, and the general well-being of the club. And that, if Wizard is away, step in and act as the president. My long-term relationship with Liv is picked apart, how we moved from friends to lovers, then to being wed. His eyebrows rise slightly when I add she’s expecting a baby in a month.

  Finally he pushes away his keyboard and takes off his glasses, swinging them gently. “Barring nothing untoward turning up in your bloodwork, I think what we’re looking at is clinical depression brought on by the stress of sudden life changes. You’ve had a lot thrown at you over the past year.”

  Raising my eyes, I look toward him as he gives what I’m suffering from a name. Clinical depression. I’d half expected a pull-myself-together lecture, to be told I’m a man and my lot’s much the same as any man carries. That I’m wallowing in self-pity and to pull myself together, to suck up what’s been thrown at me by life.

  “I don’t know myself anymore,” I admit. “I feel inadequate. My club trusts me, and I’m not sure I’m worthy of that. I could,” lead a man to his death, “make a decision that ruins us financially.” He waves at me to go on. “My wife is depending on me to be there for her and the baby, but I’m worried I’ll fuck up.”

  He doesn’t tell me all men worry when they’re expecting a child imminently. Instead he taps out a few more notes.

  “Why has this happened to me?” I suddenly cry out. “I don’t understand.”

  He gives me his full attention. “Depression is far more common than you would expect. I suspect you always have been self-aware and self-critical. Stress can build up when there are a series of events that bring it to a head. Maybe none of the events by themselves are particularly serious, but they can add together and put you on a downward spiral. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and something we can help you overcome. Asking for help, coming here today, is an important first step.”

  I was forced to come, but I don’t tell him that.

  He’s given me a diagnosis. I’m no longer floundering wondering what’s wrong. I don’t want to live the rest of my life like this, if I do, it’s likely to be short. I may have needed persuasion to speak to someone, but now I have, perhaps I owe it to everyone, Liv in particular, and even myself, to continue to get help.

  “How can I fight this?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realise I want to fight my demons. Right now I know I’ve got a battle ahead, and though I’m not sure I can win it, I’ll give it my best shot.

  A half-smile appears on his face. “Continue taking the antidepressants—”

  “They do nothing but make me sleep.”

  He dismisses my objection. “They take time, two weeks or more to have an effect. It’s important to keep taking them regularly. I can re
duce your current dosage if they make you too fatigued.”

  I hate the thought of being doped up, but I also hate feeling the way I do now. I’m more interested when he suggests CBT—Cognitive Behaviour Therapy. At first I shrugged it off until he explains what it is. We’ll pinpoint my negative thoughts, feelings and behaviours, and work on changing my response. I can even do the course online. He’s right, I’ve always been critical of myself, starting from when I was a child. I would think before acting, part of the reason I was made VP, but also the reason I failed. Maybe if I can learn not to take it to extremes, I’ll be able to manage my own expectations better.

  He encourages me to stop doing what I’m most guilty of, shutting people out. Maybe Hound and Throttle appearing today show I’ve a whole wealth of support that I’d thought I’d left behind. Maybe moving back to the compound would help, confronting my fears rather than running away. If someone doesn’t kill me on sight.

  When he mentions exercise, I smile. I’m sure Peg would help me get back into shape. The corners of my mouth quickly turn down. Am I ready to go through an intensive training programme with Peg in the gym? Well, it’s one way of killing yourself.

  Surprisingly, I leave the doctor’s office with more positive thoughts. The biggest takeaway being he was confident that I’d come out the other side okay. That these feelings I have are not going to stay with me for life. That I’ll have confidence in myself again one day. That I can be man enough to be a dad to my kid.

  Hound’s head tilts to the side when he sees me. Then he smiles and his arm goes around my shoulder, slapping me on my back. “You’re walking taller, Brother.”

  Drummer stands from the seat where he’s been waiting. His steely eyes settle on me. I frown, unable to read the expression on his face as he steps closer.

  “Fuckin’ proud of you, Son,” he tells me, his voice cracking. When I crease my brow, he explains, “You’ve taken the first step.”

  I’m thinking hard as we walk through the hospital corridors, making our way outside to the parking lot. Dad goes to his bike telling us he’ll meet us back at the house. I follow the others to the truck. When we get there, I finally speak.