I nod.
Luckily, he, too, seems impressed.
Suddenly an altercation breaks out on the other side of the yard. A Hispanic is surrounded by the Aryan crew. His friends have backed off, leaving him heavily outnumbered. As the scuffle continues, my new friend walks away, presumably to join it.
“Don’t get involved,” Cap warns, speaking quietly out of the side of his mouth. “Keeping yourself to yourself is the best way to stay out of trouble.”
“Why aren’t the guards getting involved?” The man’s now on the ground, and I wince as I see a foot hit his side hard.
Rat shrugs. “It’s their entertainment. They will, eventually.”
They do. But not before the man’s taken some punishment.
This life on the inside is going to take some getting used to.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Allie…
“Allie, you listening to me?”
I nod. My mind as usual imagining all sorts of evil happening to Truck. “Sorry Drummer.”
“I know you want to visit him. But there’s the car journey, and you’re so weak. Do you really think you’re up to it?”
Whether I am or not, I can’t stay away. “I’ve got to see him, Drummer.”
He stares at me for a moment, hearing the need in my voice, then nods without further argument. “I’ll get us both on the visitation list, and I’ll come with you.”
I’m so grateful to him that I won’t be walking into the penitentiary alone. “Thank you, and thank you for everything else. I’m sure Truck will appreciate it too.” I hope I’m saying the right words. I seem to be doing everything on autopilot, unable to accept Truck’s not coming home.
Drummer’s lips thin. “Not my first rodeo. Had men go inside before. Sort of got a mental checklist of things to do. Set up prison accounts so they’ve access to money inside. Arrange for old ladies to be able to accept collect calls.”
“Will he be alright in there, Drummer?” There’s more emotion in my voice now, as I realise the danger an unprotected biker on the inside could be in.
“I’ve arranged protection for him, Al. Got the Wretched Soulz on his side. He’ll be fine.” He tries to inject certainty into his voice, but he can’t hide the risk that my man’s facing.
“Thank you,” I repeat, inadequately. Pleased Truck’s got backup, but terrified because he needs it.
“I’ll get Hound to take you back to your suite.” He stands, goes behind my wheelchair, and pushes me out into the clubroom.
I feel so damn useless and helpless.
There’s a disbelieving air of quiet about the club. Brothers milling around, looks of sympathy sent my way, a shared misery that one of their own won’t be coming home for a long time. Truck’s incarceration being a stark reminder of what could happen to any of them just because they belong to an MC. If Truck with his good record behind him didn’t get clemency, it doesn’t bode well for any of them. The women, their faces are full of horror, and of understanding of how I must be feeling.
Hound takes over from Drummer. “You want to stay here, or…”
“Just take me back, Hound.” My voice sounds like I’m choking. I just want to be on my own, to wallow in my misery.
He pushes me inside my door, and I dismiss him. Gingerly I pull myself up and stand. When they’d brought back Truck’s bike, they’d brought back his saddlebags. I’d just left them in the corner, waiting for him to come home and put them back in their rightful place on his bike. Now, my eyes land on them, and I have the urge to open them up, to see what’s inside, to touch articles that belonged to him.
With one hand to my stomach I get down on the floor and kneel beside them, my hands caressing the black studded and fringed leather. No plastic paniers for Truck, the traditional looking bags more the look he liked for his bike.
The contents of the first one are mundane, a tee shirt, his old riding gloves and a spare pair of safety glasses. I feel a piece of paper at the bottom, and after pulling it out and unfolding it, I have to smile. It’s a selfie of he and I that I remember him taking, just before I got sick. We’re lying in bed—suitably decent—both smiling widely, our eyes creased. What was it he’d said? I can’t for the life of me remember, but it was something that had made me laugh. Happy. We look happy.
I raise my eyes and stare at the bare wall. I can’t remember what happiness is. All I’ve been focused on for the last few months is the misery I’ve felt. I didn’t even send him off with happy memories.
What can he be feeling now?
I open the second saddle bag, and here’s where I find it. His gun. I pull it out, it’s weight feeling heavy in my hands, but settles there all too easily. Had I unconsciously been searching for it?
I can’t do this.
Not alone. When I thought Truck would go to court and then come home, I had something to hold onto, the thought I wouldn’t be giving birth on my own. It’s not only him that’s been given a sentence, it’s me as well. Only mine seems insurmountable. I’ve been condemned to continuing the rest of this terrible pregnancy without my man’s support. I’ve been penalized with the promise of giving birth without my partner beside me. My penalty to raise my baby during those first nine months alone.
Truck had been right. I should have had an abortion. How could I do this to me or to her? With Truck beside me I thought I could be strong, put up with the needles and poking and hospital stays while they rehydrate and supplement my wrecked body. Now? It’s too late. I’ve no desire to help myself, yet alone the life growing inside me.
What kind of mother would I be on my own?
But I’ve no choice. I have to go on. Or…
The gun twists in my hands as if someone else is holding it.
Placing it on my lap for a moment, I search the bag for ammunition, find it, and load the weapon. I’ve not been around bikers without learning how to do that, even practiced shooting at targets, though I’ve not felt the need to own a gun myself.
“Allie?” A voice calls and there’s a knock on the door.
I don’t answer aloud, but mentally I’m screaming, Go away.
“Allie?”
My desire to be left to take the only option I feel I have remaining is taken from me when the door opens. Should have locked it.
“Allie!” This time my name isn’t a question, but an exclamation. Sam drops to her knees beside me, and gently takes the gun from my hands.
“Give it back,” I round on her. “It’s Truck’s.”
“So it should be stored in a gun safe while he’s away. What the fuck are you thinking, Al?”
“That I can’t do this. Not without Truck. It’s too hard Sam, I just can’t.”
Placing the weapon well out of my reach, she takes out her phone and taps on it. Then she comes back and hugs me to her. After a moment she puts a supportive arm around me. “Let’s get you up.”
I snort. I’m so fucking useless, I can’t do anything without help. But I accept her assistance to get onto the bed.
Sam glances at me, taking in the sorry sight of what I’ve become. Sadly she shakes her head. “I can’t begin to know what you’re going through, not in so many ways. Sure, I can sympathise with being sick, I had morning sickness a bit, more with Zane than Eli. But nothing compares to this. Drummer was there for the birth, helped when the babies were young. I know what you’re thinking, Al, and if I was in your place, I’d probably be at my lowest point too, but it will get better.”
“Will it?”
“I know three months sounds like a long time, especially knowing you’ll suffer every day. But it will pass, Allie. I’ll be your birthing partner if you like, hell, any of the old ladies will be there to help you. And when your daughter is born? You certainly won’t need to feel alone. Everyone will pitch in and help you.”
“You make it sound easy,” I scoff.
“It’s not easy,” she contradicts. “This is the hardest thing you’ll ever do. Was hard before, but without Truck? Can�
��t even imagine that for you. You’ve just got to take it one day at a time.”
“Every day is so hard, Sam.”
“I know, hon, I know. But it will turn out right. You just have to have faith. Hope in you and faith in your man.”
She looks around my room. “I’ll tell you the first thing we’re going to do. Drummer and I are moving you into our spare room up at the house. We're not leaving you alone, Allie. You need help, and I’m going to make sure you get it.”
I shake my head, not wanting to impose. I know what’s behind her offer. “I’ll be alright. I promise I won’t…
There’s a knock at the door. When it opens, it’s Drummer. He’s walking in with a deep frown on his face. “Got your text,” he confirms to his old lady.
She nods toward the gun. He picks it up and puts it in his belt. Then, surprisingly, with a soft look he usually reserves for his woman, addresses me, saying, “Let’s go get you settled.”
Even I know you don’t argue with the prez when he’s set on what he’s going to do. But the implications of his statement don’t really sink in until he’s wheeling me up past the suites, and to the top of the compound where his house was built. I can remember it going up, three houses being erected at the same time. Viper and Bullet using it to practice their fledgling skills on—skills now being used to build a shopping mall in town. Drummer’s house, the sweet butts’ and the one now occupied by Joker, Lady, and their adopted daughter, Maya which had originally been reserved for visiting officers. There’s quite a village here now, with Peg’s house, Rock’s and Heart’s, and I can see foundations being laid which will become Blade’s.
Sam’s in the lead. “You’ll stay in the third bedroom, Allie. Zane and Eli are sharing for now.” When she opens the front door, Drummer pushes the wheelchair inside.
I haven’t been in this house for a few years, but I have been here before. Well, not since Sam came along. I think it’s best not to mention that to her, and of course, I’d not been given a tour. Drummer’s bedroom, the kitchen table, and the living room wall is all I really remember.
The spare room I’ve not been in before. It’s pleasant enough, I think as I look around.
“I’ll get your clothes brought up, and your bits and pieces from your bathroom. You’ve got an en suite here. Feel free to use the kitchen, or come and join us in the lounge. This place is your home now, for as long as you need it.”
It’s happening so fast. “I don’t need this, Sam. I’ll be fine…”
“Al, you do. It’s a choice between staying here with us, or having a prospect in the suite next to yours. You need support, and help around if you want it, as well as company.” And no time to eat a bullet or look for some other way out is what she’s saying.
“We’ll leave you to get settled. If you want anything, just call out, okay? I’ll be around.”
“Sam, don’t put yourself out for me.”
She shrugs off my concern.
A little later I hear the opening and closing of doors, and then the excited voices of children. I listen to her sorting them out, admiring how natural she is being a mom. Did she have a good example to follow? How does a woman know what to do?
Far from being annoying, the sounds of a normal household going about their day is comforting. After another predictable bout of sickness, I snuggle back against the pillows and look at the positives instead of the negatives. How lucky I am to have people who care about me.
Sam had told me I had to have hope and faith it will all work out.
I have to have hope.
Hope in me that I can carry on and faith that my man will stay safe. Hope that he will return to me. Hope that my baby will be okay. So much to have faith in.
My daughter kicks and I smile. Hope.
If we all get through this and come out the other side, perhaps that should be her name. Hope. My lips form the words as I try it out.
Twenty years in the future – Drummer
“Of course, the worst was to come.”
“Truck, being sent down?”
“Yeah. There we were, Allie, a woman we all respected, and damn it, loved, so ill she looked close to death at times. It wasn’t only Truck who thought she should have an abortion. I thought she should too.”
“She looked so poorly. I honestly didn’t think she’d survive, Drum. No one would have questioned it if she hadn’t have carried on.”
“She couldn’t have. Not without the club.”
“Club’s family, Drum. No two ways about it. When one of us needs help, we all rally around. Allie wasn’t just an old lady, she had been club for years prior.”
“Club’s loyal.” I raise my chin toward him. “Someone goes against us, we hit them hard. Someone does us a favour, we owe them back.”
He looks at me sharply. “You thinking of Ella again?”
Sometimes I think he can read my mind. “Yeah. At the beginning. She helped us out, paid a heavy price for it. Such a cost, we didn’t know at the time.”
“Slick thought she’d walked out on him,” Peg muses. “Damn near broke him when he found out what had really gone on.”
“Women are strong, aren’t they, Peg? We treat them as delicate flowers that need nourishing, but hell, what Ella went through would have broken any man.”
Peg gives a low chuckle. “Slick didn’t want anything to do with her, but you insisted.”
“She’d gotten hurt and more so than we knew then, doing something for the club. Whatever she needed help for, we were going to be there for her. Whether Slick wanted to or not.”
“That trouble was Jayden, and the child grooming ring she’d gotten involved with. Fuck, even now it kills me to think of it. Fourteen-year-old kid should never be subjected to that.”
“It started the war with the Herreras,” I point out. “But even if I’d been able to see into the future, I wouldn’t have done things different.”
“Couldn’t have walked away, Prez. Not from that.”
Now Slick’s gone, and Ella’s proving how strong she is all over again. Building a life for herself in Pueblo.
“Club rallied around Dart’s woman too.”
“For her son, Tyler. We organised that run for him to raise funds.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Truck…
“D’you play chess?”
Hawker has continued to remain mostly silent. If I ask him anything, he’s likely to answer with a grunt, if he makes any attempt to reply at all. So his question takes me by surprise.
“I used to.” For a moment a wave of sadness passes over me. Hammer and I used to play from time to time at the station house, a way of passing time between calls, part of what’s lost to me now, even if I wasn’t locked up. I bring myself back to the present. “Can’t say I’m a master.”
Hawker chuckles. “Then you’ll be easy to beat.” He swings his legs off the top of his bunk, then takes a chess set down from a shelf. He picks up one black and one white pawn, and places his hands behind his back. Then, when he brings them to the fore, I pick his left. It’s black.
He slides his white pawn to e4 in a typical opening move. At first, I’m not paying attention, and all too fast I find I’m at checkmate. The next time we play, I take it more seriously, using more minutes to decide my next move. When this time it’s me who eventually is able to pronounce that I’ve blocked him completely, I realise my head has been on the game, and for a while at least, not worrying myself sick about Allie.
“Thanks,” I tell him gratefully as he puts the chess set away, having declared there’s no time for another match tonight.
He shrugs. “You’re good. We’ll play again.”
Anything. Anything, to stop what I have no control over going around and around my head.
Apart from the evening chess matches and the work I throw myself into during the day, another distraction to stop me thinking all the time, I find myself bored. I’d spent months willingly cooped up in my apartment, but now that someone els
e holds the keys to my freedom, I find it difficult.
That I’d been in the Army helps accept the routine, but I long to be out on my bike, breathing fresh air. A sentiment I share with Cap and Rat, and a few other Wretched Soulz I’ve now been introduced to.
When visiting day comes around, it’s a break in the monotony to find someone has come to see me. Drummer.
I stand as he enters the room, my hand starting to rise, then realise I’m not allowed to shake his. In case he palms something and hands it to me.
As we sit, he examines me carefully.
“You doing okay?”
I shrug, then ask what’s on my mind. “How’s Allie?”
“She wanted to come with me, but she’s taken bad again. She’s back in the hospital.” At my look of increased concern, he hurriedly adds, “Nothing other than what she’s normally in for. Just topping her up as she says.”
“Drum, I wish I was there for her.”
“Know you do, Brother. Must be fuckin’ hard. But it is what it is, and we have to deal with it. You can rest a bit easier though, Sam and I have moved her in with us.”
That’s good to hear, but I wonder why he thought it was necessary. Is there something he’s not telling me? Is she worse than he’s said? “Anything happen?”
“No,” he answers fast. “Just thought it was best. She’s sick and miserable with it, and giving her time to brood won’t do her any good. Got a few numbers to give you, by the way. Mine, Alex’s if you don’t know it already, and Allie’s. I’ve set Allie up with a pre-paid account so you’ll have to use that number. At least you’ll be able to talk to her yourself.”
That’s great news he’s sorted that out. I feel relief I’ll be able to hear her voice, but my spirits immediately fall, knowing speaking to her for ten minutes at a time isn’t going to be long enough to say what we need to. “Tell her I love her, Prez. Tell her I think of her all the time.”
“You think she doesn’t know that, Truck? Guess what, that was her exact message to you.”
“Prez, she needs money, needs to get prepared with baby shit…”
Truck Stopped: Satan's Devils MC #11 Page 30
