If Ty did this, told Mikey, then Mikey would be honor bound to tell her brother. She knew they were in touch. Mikey, now known as Watcher, had been clear on that when he set her up with Tyrell three weeks back.
“Please.” That one word broke in three places, her voice betraying her. She sucked in a breath, then blew it out, trying to control both her belly and her tears. Accent thick, she pleaded with Ty. “You cain’t. He cain’t know. He knows, he’ll tell my brother. Davy don’t even know what Daddy did. Don’t know about what happened after he left. I’ve only talked to him a couple of times on the phone, haven’t seen him for nearly four years. He don’t know nothin’ that happened. If he knew, he’d kill Daddy. An’ Watcher’ll hafta tell Davy.” She willed him to believe her, to trust she knew the best path. Bending at the waist, she begged, “Don’t. Please, God, don’t. You know how this goes. I just gotta figure out what to do.”
Ty’s scowl deepened. Then he asked the right question. “You wanna raise this baby?” Sobs now shaking her frame, Bethy shook her head, having worked it out in her head that an on-her-own sixteen-year-old mother couldn’t come close to giving this child what it deserved. “Want it to go to a good family?” Her head moved up and down so fast a wave of nausea crawled up her throat. That same wish had fled her lips nightly while she sat close to the open window, staring up at the cold stars overhead. “Then that’s what we’ll do, little girl.” He took a step towards her and lifted his arms out to his sides. Disbelieving for a moment, she watched as the corners of his mouth curled up. “Come here, Bethy.” She flew across the room to him, letting him wrap her up with his warmth and love. “Then that’s what we’ll do. But first, you’re gonna tell me everything about this Taylor dude. Everything you can.”
His voice had taken on an edge of rage when he finished with, “I’ll take care of him, honey.” He rocked them in place, soothing her with his words and body. “Then I’ll take care of you. We’ll do whatever you need, honey. I got you.”
Davy moved again, pulling her thoughts from the past. She froze when he said, “That’s a dark study, honey. Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
Without lying, she answered, “Tyrell. He’s been a really good friend, you know?”
“I know.” Davy’s other hand slowly stroked up and down her shin. His next words were careful. “Y’all are pretty tight.”
Tipping her head, she looked at him and rolled her eyes. “He’s my friend, Davy. That’s all.”
Not smiling, his eyes on her were serious when he said, “If it weren’t…if y’all were more than friends, that’d be okay. I wish you weren’t…” Davy sighed. “I wish things were different for you. I wish I could make things different.”
Ty stood in the kitchen and stared at Bethy as she opened the thick envelope of papers from the Harrison County clerk’s office. “That them?” She pulled out the sheaf of pages, scanned the top sheet and nodded.
“The annulment is official.” Bethy shoved the certified forms back into the envelope, not wanting to look at them one moment longer than she had to. “It’s all behind me.” Lifting her head, she told him, “Weird that I get these the week after he died.”
She’d heard from Aunt Barbra that Taylor had passed away. He’d been crushed when his tractor rolled over on top of him as he worked the side of a mountain. His body had laid out in the weather for days before anyone found him. With Bethy gone, there was no one else on his land. He’d died without an heir, which meant his land would go to the state and then up for auction. She’d had the option of stopping the annulment and being declared his widow, but she hadn’t wanted the weight of that placed on her shoulders. Then everyone would have to know about the baby, which meant her father would know. Bethy rested her hand on her swollen belly. He’ll never hurt you, little one, she told the child inside her.
Glancing up, she caught a look of rage and guilt on Ty’s face that surprised her. She remembered his vow to take care of Taylor. “Ty, what did you do?”
“Only what needed doin’, Bethy. Nothing for you to worry about.” He grabbed her jacket and tossed it across the room to her, and picked up his sweatshirt, shrugging it on over his head. “Let’s get to this class so they can teach you how to breathe right, yeah?”
Bethy only moved enough to pluck her jacket from the air, staring at Ty, fear crawling through her chest. “What did you do?” Her whisper was barely enough to stir the air, but he heard her.
“Man like that? What do you think I did? He had another girl all lined up, Bethy. I asked around, and he’d been hanging around at every one of the church camps. I know you know you told me what happened there. Know you haven’t forgotten. He had another girl lined up.” Ty lifted a hand and pointed to her belly. “That child’s a girl, you gonna stand there and tell me you want her in the same world as Taylor? Breathin’ that air?” Bethy shook her head. “That’s right. And neither did I. So, I did something about it. Took care of it, like I told you I would.” Breathing hard, as if he’d run a marathon, Ty stared at her. “Took care of it, Bethy. Takin’ care of you. My little sister, I love ya, honey. Took care of it.” One palm flattened on the table in front of him. His sober expression didn’t change, having settled into rigid lines while he waited for her reaction. Held himself still, and the very air in the apartment was still, as if they were standing on a precipice. “Now, we going to Lamaze class, or not?”
For me. “We’re going.” She didn’t move, holding her jacket as if it were foreign to her, an article of clothing she couldn’t understand. Anything could tip things the wrong way, and she was suddenly terrified of things falling out badly. So she stood there, jacket in hand and let the magnitude of what Ty had done sink in. He did that for me.
“Then come on.” Irritated and impatient, he slapped the table lightly, barely rattling the salt and pepper shakers. She didn’t have any fear of him. He’d never hurt me. Gentle and kind, he’d never shown her anything other than the sweet giant he was inside. He did that for me. I can’t ever repay him for knowing that shadow is gone.
“I love you, Tyrell.” Bethy took a breath, feeling the baby move and roll around, shifting inside her. “You and Watcher, you’ve done so much for me, so much more than my family. And you…every time I turn around, you’re taking care of me. You’re more my family than anyone else could ever be.”
“You afraid of me now?” He asked the question with a duck of his head like he expected the worst.
“No.” Strong and firm, she laid it out for him. Never. “I am not afraid of you, Ty.”
“Then what the fuck you doin’ all the way over there?” He moved, coming closer, and took the jacket from her, shaking it out so she could slip her arms into it. “We got places to be.”
“Tyrell has always been there. He’s my friend.” Bethy didn’t miss how Davy flinched at the spaces between her words that shouted he hadn’t been there for her. “I can’t change what happened, Davy. We can’t change the past. But you’re here now.” His hand squeezed her ankle. “And that counts for a lot, big brother.” She paused, then carefully asked, “You think he knows about me?”
“He does. He knows he’s got a sister. You want to meet John?” Davy had instinctively known who she was talking about and she smiled, shaking her head. “You change your mind, let me know, I’ll set it up.”
“Okay.” A scene from last weekend flashed through her head, leaning against a tree and laughing, out of breath from chasing Michael through the park, his long legs easily outdistancing hers. Do you want to know you have a nephew? Bethany clamped her lips tightly. “Do you think Daddy knew?”
“Hard to think she’d keep it a secret from him. Probably why he was so damn mad at her all the time.” Davy’s voice had an edge of anger, his eyes focused on something in the past. “Not that the old man needed an excuse.”
“I feel so sorry for her. She was in a hard place. With us, she missed him. With him, she missed us.” His gaze snapped to her, and she stood firm. “I’ll let you know abou
t meeting him. It seems weird. I wouldn’t know what to say.”
Ty was in the room when she pushed her son into the world. His big hands were the ones that brushed back her hair, and he was the one who told her the baby was well and healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes, and gorgeous. He told her she’d done good. That she was brave.
She held his hand tightly, crushing his fingers as the pain hit when the adoptive parents held her baby. Not mine, she tried to remind herself, feeling a welling ache in her chest. Then the woman turned and offered her a watery smile filled with such joy those words lost their sting.
Angling the blue blanket so Bethy could see him, Martha Marshall said something so sweetly gracious Bethy loved her even more. This woman who had become like a mother figure to her, someone who so longed to be a mother, but nature had denied her the chance. Ty had found the Marshalls through mutual friends, and they agreed to an open arrangement. When Martha turned to show Bethy the baby, she said, “Look at our baby boy.”
Michael Tyrell Marshall.
“Don’t gotta decide today.”
Early days
Gabe, four years later
“Fuck.” The word gained extra syllables as he growled it into the darkness of the alley. He hadn’t seen the blow that had finally taken him down. Gabe pushed against the ground, trying to get his feet underneath him. One arm buckled, sending him sprawling into the slimy grime along the edges of the cobblestone and he shouted with the pain, cheek pressed to the chill of the bricks underneath him.
“Stay down.” Gabe froze at the command in that voice. The speaker had utmost certainty that he would be obeyed. He believed his words would be taken as gospel, and it sounded so much like Gabe’s old man, he couldn’t suppress a shudder that rolled through him.
Not my daddy. That was all the reminder he needed, and Gabe gathered himself for another attempt. “Fuck.” He paused, got one knee on the ground and shoved again, staggering as he gained his feet. “You.”
“Boy.” Now the voice sounded faintly amused but pleased, like Gabe had done something unexpected and rare. “Takes some balls to climb your ass back up after the beatdown you just took. Should stop while you’re ahead. Stay down. Just fuckin’ quit.”
Reaching back with one arm, Gabe tried to find the wall he knew had to be there, praying it wasn’t far and that his legs would hold him up until he found the support. “I don’t.” He stumbled, and the movement woke a deeper pain. Fuck. “Quit.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” A different voice, this from beside him, and Gabe felt a shoulder shoved under his arm. “He’s done, Shooter. Paid his dues.”
Gabe’s eyes had squeezed shut against the pain which seemed to be coming at him from all directions, swamping him like a metal johnboat in a sudden storm. Wave after wave, doing their damnedest to take him down. Flinging his head back, he forced his eyes open as he stiffened his legs, leaning on his unexpected supporter.
“Whatcha think, Gabe? Think you’ve paid your dues? Think you’re ready to join the big boys?” Shooter. Now that Gabe had a name, he recognized the voice, one he’d spoken to over the phone several times in the past month. Gabe had been trying to extricate his group from the larger chapter in Louisville, and the man had repeatedly put him off, claiming multiple excuses that never seemed to hold water. Rumor had it he wasn’t Diamante at all, but Outrider. Rumor was wrong.
Can’t complain when you’re the beggar, he thought. “Pretty clear—” He paused to breathe, wrapping an arm around his gut and grunting as the pain in his ribs hit him. “I’m sittin’ out on the porch.” Hissing in reaction to a movement from the man beside him, he grunted again. “For the duration.”
“Tellin’ you, he’s done, Shooter. You leave him alive, we are assured of his loyalty.” The voice had a faintly Mexican accent, a way of rolling the letters that sounded exotic.
“Fuck you, Chismoso. He ain’t done until I say he’s done.”
Chismoso. Diamante from Juarez. If he were here, then crazy Lalo won’t be far be—
Something hit Gabe’s calf, sweeping his legs out from under him as his knees crumpled. He went down hard, unable to break his fall, arms instinctively going to protect his already damaged ribs. Another voice, this one gleeful as it shouted, “Again!”
Blow after blow stripped his senses, each sharp pain pushing him deeper under until there was just a noisy blackness all around.
“Tabby and Jonny, sittin’ in a tree.” The shouted rhyme came from a multitude of throats, the gaggle of boys on the schoolyard gravitating towards the ring of bodies already formed around a small girl huddled on the ground. Her too-big pants with ground-in stains from being pushed to the grass had pulled to gape at her waist, her shirt had rucked up and Gabe could see the livid bruise on her back. Goddamn Daddy to hell.
He pushed through the circle, shoving until he went to his knees beside her, reaching out and pulling her into his arms. Her tears wetting his chest, he glared up at the faces laughing down, their words and laughter trailing off as his anger made itself known. Silence descended, and the bell rang, the long rope pulled by the favored first grader calling everyone back to class.
She pushed against him, hands fluttering like butterflies as she tried to escape without touching his skin. A moment later he heard her utter a word and understood, hating that he did, hating even more that she did. “Unclean.”
“Don’t care about that, Tabbycat. I got you.” He pushed to his feet, pulling her up alongside him and walked her to the side door of the schoolhouse. Calling the teacher over, Gabe explained, and they escaped together.
He got Tabby to talking, and she finally gave up the names of the boys who’d started hazing her. The next day was Saturday, and Gabe knew where the boys would be. He forced himself out of bed early to do chores so he could be at the fishing hole before they arrived.
At supper that night, he caught Tabby staring at his hands, knuckles scuffed and bruised from the lesson he’d delivered. When he finally got her to look at his face, he winked, and she ducked her head. But before she had, he’d seen the tiny smile. Work my fingers to the bone to see that.
After a time, even the noisy blackness receded.
***
“Fuck, boss. You took a beatin’.”
Gabe shifted on his back, sliding to one side a few inches, twisting his neck so he could see the speaker. His side was one throbbing mass of pain so he rolled slightly, finding his flanks and low back were just as bad. Gonna piss blood.
“Jesus.”
He tried forcing one eye open, making it into a bare squint. The blood, sweat, and fluids had dried and caked the upper and lower lashes together, so he could only open it a fraction of an inch. A round face hovered close, the man’s features swimming in and out of focus while Gabe concentrated on maintaining that fraction of an inch long enough to see who it was. The voice was familiar, but nothing made sense right now.
Probably cuz my head hurts so fuckin’ bad.
“Can you sit up?”
Ridiculous. He tried to snort a laugh, failing miserably when his ribs complained, his muscles seizing in a hard spasm. Frowning pulled every inch of his face painfully, so he let his features smooth out instead of scowling like he wanted. Blinking that one eye hard, he managed to gain another fraction of an inch open and the face above him resolved into someone he knew.
“Gator.” His voice was weird. Soft and wispy instead of hard and angry, which was how he felt inside. “Get me up.”
“Hang on, boss. Lemme make sure you aren’t broke up.” That preceded a painful process of touch and movement as his second’s hands pressed and pulled, ensuring Gabe wouldn’t permanently injure himself by moving.
“Get. Me. Up.” No mistaking the impatience in his tone, and Gator responded like Gabe expected, an arm around his shoulders lifting and twisting, pulling him a few excruciating inches. Back against the wall, he leaned where Gator put him, not trying to move beyond getting his eyelids open. Best he could do was the one eye, but h
e managed to get that working, at least. “Head.”
“Yeah, no doubt.” Gator had read the message in the one word. “Side of your face is busted, bruised to shit and swollen enough I expect it hurts like a bitch. What…?” His voice trailed off as he glanced around the alley. “Chismoso called me, or I’d have never found you here, Gabe. What in the fuck did you do to piss everybody off like this? I thought we were in line to join ‘em. This looks to be the opposite.”
“Breathing.” Clamping his teeth against a wave of nausea, Gabe said, “I’m talented like that.”
“You mean you smartassed your way into a fucking beating?” Gator shook his head. “What are we going to do now?”
Gabe let his head lean back against the wall, resting his eye for a minute. “We go on. I got what we want. Nothing less.”
“You mean you’re willing to do this again? You are one crazy fucker.” Gator crouched, one knee to the ground. “Stupid, too.”
“No, man. I got what we want.” He moved, bringing up one swollen hand to dig into the inside pocket of his vest. “Charter.” He battled a cough, and won, knowing how badly that would hurt. “Lexington.” Papers dangled from his fingers.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Gator took the papers, unfolding them, looking at the handwritten message, blinking in surprise. “Fucking insane, man.” Bringing the documents closer to his face, he asked, “Who the fuck’s Fury?”
“Lookin’ at him.” Gabe lifted his swollen lip, stretching the throbbing flesh tight, grinning through the pain. “Got our own chapter.”
***
Six months later
Fury blew out a frustrated breath at the idea of repeating himself yet again. Why can’t the man just listen? “I told you. No, I’m not opening a second chapter in Fort Wayne. I just expanded the territory for Lexington. Bought a couple of businesses up there. Not lookin’ to cause trouble for anyone, and Shooter gave a thumbs-up to everything. See, not out of line.” The last sentence was hissed, and he knew the man on the other end of the phone had taken the warning as he intended.
Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11) Page 5
