Knox Brotherhood

by Knox, Elizabeth

  Now, getting out of the car? That was a completely different story. I had been driving so long that my body was practically molded into my seat.

  I gathered all of my willpower and strength to start sliding my legs out. A grunt escaped me as my arms rooted themselves to the doorframe and then I pulled myself out. The steady wind came rolling up to my face, collecting the cold that ran down my face in wet tears.

  “Darlin’ you don’t look too good.”

  My uncle had been following my car the entire time with his bike. As I was wobbling from my car, he had parked his bike across my car to come back up to my side.

  “I’m––” My voice cracked, and I had to adjust my words with a thick cough, “I’m alright, Cracker.”

  He didn’t believe that. As I closed the door of the car with a thick slam, he watched me lean into my car with a quivering lip. My uncle’s brow furrows in disagreement, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. With a slide of his hand up to the back of my hood, pulled it off of my face only to stand there, looking down at me.

  “Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

  The line of his mouth thinned with the stiffness holding onto his jaw. God, the look on my face must have really broken his heart in two. I could only stand there while he shook his head in hard disapproval.

  “Your good-for-nothin’ husband do this?”

  I didn’t answer. There was too much grief filling up my heart, and I was afraid that just one word would dissolve me back into tears that I so desperately needed to shed. I simply looked back up to his eyes, and he knew.

  “Fuckin’ bastard.” He swore and looked down at me dead in the eye. “For how long, Ash?”

  I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I couldn’t bear the shame that was riddled with my body. My arms wrapped themselves around me as I simply shook my head.

  “Jesus.”

  Cracker breathed in and pulled me close to what I thought was a hug––only to realize he was picking me up. When he brought me up from the floor, I griped at the soreness of my abdomen.

  “Fuck! That hurts!”

  “I’m sorry’ kid.” He apologized while he adjusted his arms underneath my legs. “I gotta get you to your father. It’ll be over in a minute.”

  I had to bite my lip to hold back from groaning. He was right. It wouldn’t do to walk my way up to the house in the condition that my body was in. I wrapped my arms around my uncle’s shoulders, and he trekked forward.

  There was enough attention coming from the deck as I could spot the guys peeking over their chairs. As we passed them, I shot them a dirty look to mind their own fucking’ business and even the club whores pursed their lips in contempt at me.

  Uncle Cracker didn’t notice as he carried me up the little hill that my childhood home sat atop. It was only a few hundred yards away from the clubhouse, but those yards were a slow walk with my weight slowing us down. When my uncle started up the stairs, the throbbing aches were weighing me down to the floor with every step. I winced at bobbing it took to finally reach the deck, but sure enough, we had reached the deck and were on our way to the door.

  Cracker had to balance me somehow to get a free hand on the knob of the door, seeing as how the door was already unlocked. I wondered right then if my Dad was home. If his first time seeing me in four years would be like this. I didn’t want them too. I didn’t want him to see me so broken.

  He walked into the peaceful ambience of my home after shutting the door behind us. All these years and this house hadn’t changed a bit. Everything that my mom did was still exactly in place.

  I would’ve expected Daddy to give the place a facelift with a couple of paint jobs and carpeting instead of the usual woodwork, but I was happy to see that the place still felt like home. The walls were an eggshell white with a fine oakwood finish for the paneling. Every window sported on these peach schnapps tinted curtains so that every sunrise filled each room with orange marmalade light. Even now, the living room filled my heart with longing to return home. I can’t believe I chose to leave all of this behind.

  With Cracker’s help, I was settled onto a sofa where I rolled my hoodie up to my shoulders. When I pulled it over my head to roll it up on my lap, his face tensed at the injuries on my body. When I looked down, even I winced at the embedded purples, and blues scattered across my natural sun kissed arms. I knew that the bruises underneath my cami had to have been ten times worse, but I didn’t check in fear that I’d go sick at the sight. I was right not to check.

  “Unbelievable, Ash.” My uncle uncrossed his arms, “Let me get your Pops. Just don’t go anywhere.”

  I gave him a look.

  “Do I really look like I’m capable of getting anywhere on my own right now?”

  Cracker pursed his bottom lip and nodded. He turned his back to me and proceeded to walk out the front door. I’d wondered if I was too cold in my tone, knowing that I wasn’t. I was just a girl who’s been through a hell of a lot in the last twenty-four hours. I’ve sure as fuck surpassed my threshold.

  When I looked down to my bruises, that was enough for my tears to start welling up behind my eyes––but as soon as my uncle left, they broke.

  All alone and I just wanted to cringe into the pain, accept my disdain, and dissolve into the tears for as long as I wanted. It wasn’t just the pain that consumed my emotions. It was everything that came with it.

  From my husband beating me into the next weekend to being scared if I lost the baby. God––and coming back home! I’ve never felt so scared yet so safe in my entire life. It made me wrap my arms around my body, squeezing my arms as the sobs escaped my mouth.

  I’ve never cried like this in my entire life. This cry meant so much. Finally accepting that I’m away from Harry. Making the hard decision to come back home into my safety net. Then there was the uncertainty of the unknown.

  No matter what happened, I was proud of myself for getting out there alive. To come back home bruised and broken was a shame that I’d have to swallow down. Years ago, I had left home with the idea that being part of the MC was nothing more than a dangerous cage. I felt trapped in this town– in this club – never able to reach for the dreams that I wanted. When I met Harry, he felt like a key to escaping the cage and run to the sky’s limit.

  Now, I couldn’t have been more wrong. This cage was what kept me safe away from the dangers that resided within men like him.

  I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed the footsteps leading up to the back porch until the door shot open with a thud. My iron blood father stood there before my eyes; the color drained from his face as worry was stricken in his eyes. He found me on the couch, curled into myself and there was no warning.

  “Jesus. Fuckin’. CHRIST.” His voice roared down the house, and I shook when it hit my ears. I didn’t know if his outburst was because of my current state, or if it was the anger that has been building up over the past few years.

  I couldn’t help trembling at the sound. Everything about this house was safe. My daddy was no doubt, someone, I could count on for the rest of my life. However, my body rejected anything that reminded me the slightest of Harry, and with that, I felt my fear slowly die into itself as my father walked into the room.

  “Shit, baby, I’m sorry.” He knelt in front of the couch, hands taking my shoulders like he couldn’t believe I was really here, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Not my baby girl.” Over the years my mind developed numerous scenarios of what any type of homecoming would be.

  “I’m so sorry, for everything. I should’ve never left, look – look where it got me.” I cried on the spot and threw my arms over his shoulders.

  He rose, pulling me into his hug and slowly came to a sit beside my legs.

  “Let it out, baby girl. Let all––that––shit––out.” The width of his hand stroked my back, and slowly his comfort reigned against my fear. “I’m gonna kill ‘em. Fuckin’ rip his throat out for hurting you.”

  His words sank into the back of my head as
I closed my eyes. I was just so happy to be back home. I know he and I had a lot of shit to work through, but it was going to be okay. My fears faded away, and comfort enveloped me like a blanket. That was the last thing I remembered before I fell into a dark sleep.

  CHAPTER 3

  Blackjack

  The day had barely just begun and, yet I found myself sitting up at the club bar downstairs with a half empty drink in my hand swirling it around. Carrie Underwood was singing something sweet from the speakers upstairs, but I couldn’t hear the lyrics with the amount of noise coming from the women drinking their hearts out. They were whining something awful and had I been sitting up there; my ears would’ve bled me out dry. Even as I held my drink, their vocals were making my liquor shake in tremors. Like liquid gold, the Jack Daniels glazed the bottom of my glass, and I found my face’s reflection frowning before me.

  Just what was I doing here so early?

  Hell, even when I arrived the place was a bombshell. I was half convinced this was the after-party to whatever party I missed yesterday, but Fist proved me wrong yet again. As soon as I came rolling in with the tundra strapped to my bike, his arm had swung around my shoulder with a beer shoved into my chest before I could start asking him about business. By the looks of the party, his family was doing more than fine, and I’d just have to “sit back and finally enjoy” myself for once.

  And I did for a time, but that was back at ten in the morning. It was well enough noon and two hours of drinking, poker, and trash talk with the fellas eventually wore me out some. I gave up on convincing Hank that climate change was a real thing and that I wasn’t some posh-artist medic for saying so. I also let his girlfriend know that I wasn’t looking for just any woman––whether it be a fresh date or a babysitter for Dex. By the time I’d realized exactly where “giving up” had led me to, I had stumbled in the downstairs where Crow and Dixon were watching themselves a game of football at the club bar. Crow had poured me what felt like the fifth glass of whiskey, but I was tired enough to know that I was moving into the third. It was too early for this.

  The game had finished, the boys went their way upstairs, and I was stuck in a spot asking myself how I got here in the first place. I let that question simmer into the back of my throat as I lift my drink to finish it whole––only for the door to bust open upstairs with a heavy start.

  “Quiet down!” A voice bellowed loud enough to get the people to shut their mouths.

  I waited in my seat, putting down my drink down long enough to listen. It sounded a lot like Cracker just from the way he threw his voice. The man always knew how to get an audience.

  “God, you all smell like your own piss. Where the fuck is Blackjack?”

  Crow’s voice came forward, “Last I saw him, we were drinking downstairs.”

  “At the bar?” Cracker asked, and I raised a brow to myself.

  “Sure enough.”

  “Shit.”

  That didn’t sound good. I was just about ready to get my ass off the stool and climb upstairs when Cracker was already thundering down the steps in his boots. I stood up just as he was at the bottom of the steps; with a hand at the edge of the counter, I looked at him with curiosity at the stark expression he carried before me.

  “What in the hell is going on?”

  He shook his head with a sinking grief, “Boy, you better be sober enough for this.”

  I didn’t ask a question when he told me to put my drink down and follow him to Fist’s house. We were beelining through the short cut field, and the only thing that came out of that man’s mouth was profanities. One, because were jogging up to the porch and the man hadn’t exercised a day in his life since he turned thirty––and two, because of the very reason he brought me here to the Prez’s house.

  It was rare for the man to act like this. You would think that the devil lit a fire to his feet, but he was desperate. As much as I wanted to ask––to reach out for some information––I knew it was best to keep my mouth shut until I was spoken to.

  We had just reached the porch steps when he gave out a hard cough and bent down with his hands collected to his knees. I had just reached the last step when I turned around to see him breathing hard. When his face toned down from its flushed red, he settled on his decision to look up at me with his cold blue eyes and give me the answer I was so desperately seeking.

  “It’s Ashley, m’boy.” He says finally. “She’s back.”

  That struck my heart like an arrow. My eyes widened, but I couldn’t see it as true.

  Ashley Monroe––daughter of Fist himself, heiress to the Reapers, and the most stunning creature that ever walked on Montana soil. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her since I took my place in the army, maybe she was in high school? But the fact that I couldn’t so much as tell her goodbye made my heart ache with regret for too long. Just what made her return home after so long after staying away?

  Cracker collected himself up to the stairs and placed his hand up to my shoulder, a deep sigh releasing from his lungs.

  “Come on, boy. We have work to do.”

  I nodded, but the tone of his voice didn’t clear my conscience. There was a part of me that didn’t know whether I should question Cracker while the topic was fresh on the table––or just rush my steps forward to see the truth for myself. I didn’t let the moment hang my head in dread but instead kept my eyes open as we ventured past the front hall dividing the dining and living rooms in two. We headed into the living room, and as the soles of our shoes touched the carpet, I saw Fist himself sitting beside the vision that was his daughter.

  I couldn’t believe my fuckin’ eyes.

  Her eyes were closed with the bareness of her face lilting like a flower to the sun that was cast from the windows. Ashley looked paler than I last saw her as if all the Montana sun had been drained from her skin ever since she left her home. Her frame looked so much smaller in comparison to the burly height of her father, but it wasn’t just because she was a woman. She didn’t look well fed at all.

  The light collecting on her face made me feel sure it was her––but the bruising cast across her cheek up to her forehead that made my stomach tighten with anger.

  Just what happened to her all these years?

  Fist finally looked up from the couch and saw me right then and there. He stood up halfway too fast and stopped the second he heard her shift beside him. With a slow urgency, he stood fully before us and treaded up to where we watched her quietly.

  “Blackjack. Thank God,” He mutters passively, “She just came back all beaten up––I haven’t seen my fuckin’ little girl in years, and this is what I see. This!”

  I furrowed my brow, “Just what happened to her? Was there an accident?” I knew very well that no accident would have her looking like this. She looked as if she’d barely eaten in years, those bruises, everything added up to one thing – abuse.

  “I’ll tell you what happened.” The Prez looked up at me with brazen anger, “That fucking bastard–––Harry fuckin Vale’. I swear to God almighty, I’ll shove my gun down his throat and – !”

  “Easy there, brother.” Cracker takes his shoulder, but Fist shook his head.

  “Her uncle had to carry her back to the house, Rob.” His voice shook with grief, “My baby couldn’t even walk back home. She got here, stayed conscious enough to see me and just knocked out like a light before my eyes. Jus’ what the fuck did he do to her.”

  “Let me see her,” I asked of him, partly because I wanted to check her, to asses her injuries and see just how extensive her injuries were. The other part? That was for purely selfish reasons.

  The man nodded solemnly before stepping aside to let me through. I strode forward with my eyes holding her face as she grew closer and closer.

  The sun did her skin such justice as the color of the bruises appeared soft against the light. I knelt to her side at the couch and slowly took her face to tilt her cheek to face me. The corner of my lips stiffened, but I kept my
cool to start studying the rest of her body. Apart from her face, there were a pattern of lavender welts running along her shoulders––even the circumference of her arms. When I started at the hem of her camisole, I looked over my shoulder to gather some hint of approval from Fist. He was her father after all.

  Fist nodded quietly, and my focus returned to her stomach as I started to roll the material up along her abdomen. What I saw made me stop dead in my tracks. I couldn’t fuckin’ breathe.

  The entire surface of her pale stomach was blotched with bruises running black. Without a doubt, there was a chance of internal bleeding if not severe trauma to her organs. My hand softly pressed up against her stomach, and I could feel it rising with the breath she took before she groaned at the inspection. I lifted my hand up and realized that the swelling wasn’t out of pure breath. No. Her stomach was a formed dome against the palm of my hand. I could feel it when my hand returned to the area.

  Ashley was pregnant.

  “Jesus, Ashley,” I mutter to myself as I smoothen my fingers along the pronounced edge incurring the swell.

  “What is it, Rob?” Fist inquired with urgency in his voice.

  I opened my mouth to answer him, but the words couldn’t come out when my eyes fell on the stain spreading throughout her pants. It was a thick color that had started from between her legs. The air ran cold in my lungs, and I automatically stood up to turn and face them.

  “I need you guys to leave the room,” I stated plainly, uncaring of what outrage Fist would bestow upon me for speaking to him in such a tone.

  The man’s face twisted in confusion, and then anger. Cracker had a tough time understanding it himself.

  “Hold on there, boy. Exactly what’s going on?”

  I shook my head, “There’s not much time to explain. I’m going to need you guys to trust me.”

  “You can’t be serious––” Fist shook angrily.

  Cracker’s hands were on his shoulders the second he lunged forward.