Captive (13 page)

Suddenly I’m battered with understanding as to why Reaper was so adamant I stay in Blackwater. Why I he refused to allow me to take what he considers his child away from him. The traitorous organ in my chest bleeds for him, sympathises with the pain he must have, and probably still does feel. After the things he’s said to me, the way he’s treated me, I shouldn’t feel so much compassion toward him, but I can’t help it. Anyone that has suffered the loss of a child deserves not only compassion, but tenderness, care, understanding. That kind of loss isn’t something that goes away with time. It’s not something you only remember on the anniversary of their passing. It’s so life altering that you feel it deep in the pit of your stomach daily. You grieve when smells, sights, sounds trigger a memory of that day. The pain assails you when you recall their face, the colour of their hair, their tiny hands and feet. Some days the loss can feel so recent that it seems like yesterday it happened, not years ago. And it can take everything you have, all your strength, to push the thoughts back into the corner of your heart reserved solely for them. Or at least that’s how it affects me.

There have been more than a handful of days that I’ve burrowed my way back under the covers of my bed and waited for the pain to pass. Not often, but it’s not uncommon for it to still happen either. I don’t get caught in the grief for days anymore however. I pick myself up after a few hours, shower and dress, do something to lighten my mood, create a new memory in order to overpower the sadness. The guys were great for that. They would drag me out to practice shooting, take me for a ride, a drink, lunch, anything to take my mind off it. And for the most part it worked. The distraction was enough to break the cycle, and give me some relief from the pain of the past.

Thankfully those days are becoming less and less frequent. Something that’s also caused me moments of extreme guilt. It’s not that I want to be stuck in that circle of hell, it’s more like I don’t want to erase the importance of my loss by having another child. I would hate to think that my baby is looking down on me believing that I’ve forgotten him, that  don’t care, because that couldn’t be further from the truth. I do care, I always will. But like everything else there comes a time to move forward, and that’s what I’m doing.

“What you thinking about so hard, Pixie?” Fury says startling me when he drops onto the grass beside me.

Fury isn’t a big talker, he more like a wise shaman. He listens intently, offers advice when he feels it’s needed, but other than that he’s a silently stoic figure you’ll usually find happily ensconced in the corner of a dark room.

“Lots of things. Look,” I say pointing my finger toward the headstone.

He spends a few seconds reading the inscription before he turns to me, grabbing my much smaller hand in his huge one.

“Knew he lost a kid, Boss said something about it years ago. Didn’t know it happened the same day though. That’s fucked up.”

He’s not wrong.

“Yes it is. Do you think he visits? It looks a little overgrown, like no one’s been here for a while.”

Throwing an arm around my shoulders Fury asks,

“You want me to get some of the boys, clean it up a bit?”

“No, I think I’d like to do it myself. But thank you.” I reply laying my head on his shoulder. This is such a comfortable position for us, one we’ve been in a million times before. Fury is like my older, awesome brother. I can rely on him for anything, and he’s the one person I know that will do first, then ask questions or tell me off later.

“Love you Pixie, you know that right?” He asks with a sly grin. Nodding without removing my head from its comfortable position on his shoulder he adds, “You’ve gotta know Reaper’s got a lot of shit in his past, babe. This is the least of it, probably the nicest too, and that’s not an exaggeration. If I had to pick for you I sure as shit wouldn’t pick him, Pixie. The man has fucking baggage enough for an army, he’s not gentle, fuck, I don’t even know if he’s got the capacity to be gentle.”

I go to interrupt, I don’t know if it’s to defend Reaper or agree with him, but I don’t get the chance. Putting his hand up to stop me Fury goes on to say,

“Not telling you this to piss you off, Pixie. I’m telling you because you need to know. If he’s the one you pick, he’s the one you need, you’ve gotta know that he’s not an easy man, and it’s not going to be an easy road for the two of you. This shit is only the beginning, and for his sake you’ve gotta be a hundred percent invested, or don’t even bother starting anything. A man like him fights hard, fights for every-fucking-thing he’s got in life, he doesn’t play games, but a man like him has a weakness for women like you. Women that are all sweet and kind. Women that love with everything in them. So you’ve gotta know if you go there with him you’re the only person that’s going to have the ability to break him, babe.”

I think over what Fury said, and wonder if he’s speaking from experience. Is he the same kind of man? The kind of man that needs a woman to give him sweet, kindness, love like no other? I know he’s fought for everything he has, that’s a given. You can see it by the scars that cover his knuckles, the healed wounds that are carefully disguised by his tattoos. You can see it in his eyes. Eyes that look pained when they’re not blank, dark, and empty.

Elbowing him in the side I lean away slightly so I can look into his eyes.

“I picked up on some of that, but those are his stories to tell, and I’m not going to push him for them. We’re not even on speaking terms, we haven’t been for months, so I don’t think there’s even a slim chance for us. There probably never was if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t be so sure, Pixie. The bigger and more badass they are, the harder they fall. Mark my words, he’ll pull his head out his ass soon enough, then it’ll be up to you to decide what you’re gonna do about it. You deserve your happy babe, if you think he’s gonna be the one to give it to you you’ll need to make that leap, yeah?” It’s a hypothetical question, one that I will need to give some serious thought, because at this point I have no idea what I would do if Fury’s prediction comes true.

Fury stands brushing the freshly cut grass off the back of his jeans, and squeezes my shoulder. Making his way back to his brothers that are gathering under a large Oak off to the side of the cemetery nearest to the road, he gives me the opportunity to tidy up the neglected grave a little.

I pull a few weeds that have grown around the base of the headstone, trim the grass as best I can with my bare hands, and position the last seven poppies I have at the base of the marker, pushing them lightly into the soil so they stay put for more than a few minutes. After I’m finished I too stand and admire my work. I’m glad I was here. Glad I was able to see a part of Reaper that I don’t think he would have shared easily. It’s given me an idea of why he’s hardened himself so much, a hint into his life, and for that I’m grateful.

“Gas, grass, or ass? No one rides for free.”

-
      
Biker Guide to Life

Watching my son agonise over the information I just gave him is as painful for me to see as it was for him to have to hear it. Under normal circumstances I would never share the knowledge Emily left me with, but in this case I didn’t have much of a choice. I need perspective. I need someone else to give me their insight on what the fuck I’m going to do now. And there’s no one I trust more, respect more than my son Steel.

When he first arrived, Steel looked frantic. It probably had more to do with his old man telling him he needed him than anything else, but still, I felt like asshole for worrying him at all. I’m not going to bullshit and say I haven’t asked for help before, because I have. ‘Can you help my bury this body’, ‘I can’t find my brass knuckles, give me a hand would you’, ‘I’ll need help setting this shit on fire’, see, I ask plenty. Not your normal, ‘Can you help me move boxes’ shit, but it still counts. At least I think it does.

What I haven’t done is ask my son for help, ever. Why would I? It’s my job as his dad, my job as SAA to protect him, and every other member in the club. I’ve never made my problems his, never want to, but with this I’ll need to call in every favor, every marker I have owing to me to sort this out. And the first favor is going to come from my son. Why I feel it’s so important he plays a part in fixing this is simple; Steel has openly and viciously reacted to Adelyn’s original plan to leave Blackwater, and head back to Furnace.

I’ve never kept his brothers’ death from him, in a town the size of Blackwater he was sure to find out at some point anyway, so there was no point lying to him. I had no idea it would affect him so deeply though. Telling Steel he would have had a blood brother if he’d lived broke something inside my son, left him with a hole that had yet to be filled. It didn’t take a genius to work out why he took his opposition of Adelyn’s decision so badly; Steel believes this baby will make him whole. For the first time ever.

Retelling the story of Ryan’s birth, and later death gutted me all over again. It was hard enough living through it when it happened, let alone living it through the eyes of my eight-year-old son. At first he didn’t understand, why did his brother die the same day he was born, what was wrong with him? The answers to his questions weren’t one’s any kid his age would fully comprehend, but I did my best to explain it in a way he’d get it, in a way that would give him some peace. There were dozens of questions I couldn’t answers though, some because I didn’t have the answers, others because they were too painful, too raw even after ten years to vocalise.

In short, the final cause of death typed on Ryan’s death certificate was Stillbirth. It was a stupid fucking explanation for my sons’ death, one that didn’t sit well with me because I know better. There’s always an underlying reason for why shit like that happens, and in this case it should have said, ‘Born not breathing due to junkie mom pumping her body full of toxins for nine fucking months’. Stillbirth was too passive a word for what my unborn child must have gone through in utero. The way he would have struggled for every breath. The way his body would have had to work harder to purify the tainted blood running in his veins. And eventually in the end his tiny body gave up, it was too much for him to handle so young.

The doctors told us he wouldn’t have had quality of life, he would’ve spent months in the NICU, even though he was born only a week early. At birth he only weighed four pounds eleven ounces, he was seventeen inches long, and he had two holes in the main chamber of his heart. Later I came to believe he had one for both me, and one for his yet to born brother.

I didn’t give a shit what the doctors believed. I would have loved Ryan whether he was permanently disabled or perfectly normal, it wouldn’t have mattered to me. As long as I could hold him, rock him to sleep, feed him his bottle, I would have been happy. As it was I was only allowed to hold him for ten minutes after he passed. Carly wanted none of it, she told me I was weird for wanting to have that time with him, he was already dead I should just let him go. But I couldn’t.  I couldn’t let them take Ryan without counting all his perfect fingers and toes, stroking his silky soft hair, feeling his fragile body curled in my arms. It was going to be the first and only chance I’d have to hold my son, and I was damn well going to, Carly be damned.

The nurses prepared a small room for me to visit with him. It consisted of a chair, small table, one of those plastic hospital bassinets, and not a lot else. I’ll never forget when the nurse handed me the perfectly swaddled bundle that was my deceased son. He looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping, that he’d wake up screaming any minute because he was hungry. Of course he didn’t though, he was gone, it’s just my mind hadn’t caught up with the reality at that point. Ryan would never wake up, he’d never take a breath, he’d never know what hunger was I thought when I finally let the tears I’d been holding back run unchecked down my cheeks.

Five minutes passed like that; me crying, rocking my son, whispering over and over again that I was so sorry, that I loved him before my brother Sampson, who was only fifteen to my nineteen at the time came in, closely followed by all of the brothers from the MC. None of them said a word. They bowed their heads standing stoic other than the silent tears each and every one of them shed.

After my ten allocated minutes were up, I gently lay my son in the bassinet and walked away. I walked away from everything for six months. I didn’t come back to pick Carly up from the hospital. I didn’t attend Ryan’s funeral. I didn’t go home to my house other than to pack a bag, and get the fuck out of there before anyone came looking. I got on my bike and I rode.

I rode out of Colorado south. I put as many miles between me and the memories as I could. Cowardly, maybe. Necessary, definitely. Cell phones weren’t around back then, so the only from of contact I had with the club was when I sporadically called in to let them know I wasn’t dead, and that I’d be back eventually. Our prez at the time wasn’t happy, and the FBI was fucking pissed, but as far as I was concerned they could all kiss my ass f they didn’t like it. People who haven’t lost a child couldn’t possibly understand what it was felt like to have to see something so special, so pure a lifeless shell. I needed this time to get my shit together, or I wouldn’t be of use to anyone, especially myself.

There were times I thought about ending it, driving my bike into oncoming traffic on the freeway, in front of a truck, I didn’t care how I died, all I knew was that it would be less painful than the state of perpetual anger, guilt, and heartache I was currently living in. Obviously I didn’t follow through with it however. What I did do was end up in Vegas in an underground fighting ring for the Mob.

Long story short; I was young, dumb, and desperately in need of an outlet for all the rage I had building up inside. A guy I met at one of the seedier bars off the Vegas strip mentioned a place guys like me, (big, built, and angry), could go to blow off steam and make some cash. I thought about the offer for all of a minute before taking his card with the address scrawled on the back, and promised to see him the next night. That marked the start of one of the numerous times I’d see Benito Rossini over the next five months. It wasn’t one of my smartest decisions getting involved with him and his band of thugs, fucking stupid actually, and it was one of the decisions I’d come to regret immensely. But that wouldn’t come until later…Much later.

Facing my son across the counter where he’s leaning with both forearms braced, and his head bowed I ask,

“You know you can’t tell a fucking soul what I just told you son, not a soul. Not even Lou?”

Looking up at me, his face contorted in pain he replies,

“Fucking hell, dad. Fuck me. I-I wouldn’t have said…”

“I know, I know you wouldn’t have said half the shit you did if you knew, Steel. I wish I could say the same for myself, but I don’t think I can. I was so fucking angry at her, I didn’t think, and I didn’t take a step back to consider what she was going through. I was only worried about myself, about you, about what I’d do if she took my kid from me, how I’d feel. I didn’t think about how she’d feel about me demanding my kid as soon as it was born, what she was going through. If it wasn’t for Emily this morning, I’d still be worrying about only me.” Gripping his shoulder for support I add, “I’ve got no fucking clue why she put up with all the shit I gave her, why she took it and didn’t give it back. But knowing what I know now, I can only assume it’s because she’d been treated like that before and just shut down, so she could cope. What kind of fucking asshole does that make me, doing that to the mother of my kid?”

“Do you love her? I mean really love her dad, the way I love Lou, or the way Priest loves Brenna? Not because she carrying your baby, or she was good in between the sheets, but love her for her, because you can’t live without her, because your life will be less if she’s not in it.”

I don’t need to think about how to answer him, it comes naturally, easily off my tongue,

“Abso-fucking-lutely!”

Smiling for the first time since he arrived, Steel says,

“That’s what I thought. You don’t get that fucking pissed unless there a fuck ton of emotion behind it, and the only reason for that is because you love the hell out of her. Trust me I know, I go through the same with Lou, daily. So now you’ve just got to ask yourself what you’re going to do to get her back old man.”

“Anything. Everything. I’ll do whatever it take to get her back. I might not have really ever had her, but I sure as hell know she’s not going to be raising our baby alone. And I’m not spending a second longer without her under my roof where she belongs,” I reply with complete conviction.

Chuckling Steel straightens throwing back the last of his beer, depositing the empty bottle in the trash.

“Well, let’s ride then, because I heard she, and a bunch of Vengeance brothers are down at Mo’s. No better time than the present to make a stand and claim your woman.” Shaking his head at me he adds, “Trial by fire, old man. Trial by fire.”

Isn’t that the fucking truth? I can’t imagine Boss, Diesel, Fury, or Emily are going to be all that open to what I have to say, I can only hope I have better luck with the only person that counts, Adelyn.

Dismounting fifteen minutes later, Steel and I had no choice but to park a block away from the diner seeing as at least thirty bikes have taken up every available free spot out front. It’d be a lie if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about doing this in such a public place, I’m hoping Vengeance holds up their end of our alliance and doesn’t start shit on our home turf, or I’m going to have to call in my brothers, and that’s an explanation I don’t want to give if it’s not absolutely necessary. But in that second the sound of tailpipes rips through the air breaking the otherwise quiet street.

In my peripheral vision I see a line of bikes backing in, rear wheel to curb, led by the one and only Jones. Making quick work of parking, he strides in my direction stopping only a foot away before pulling me in for a manly hug with a few hard pats on my back.

“Me and a few of the boys got hungry, thought this was a good a place as any to get a bite. You don’t mind us joining do you?”

Fucking smartass. Behind him stands, Pipe, Cage, Tank, Arrow, Glock, and Saint, not nearly enough to even the field, but plenty for a show of solidarity. And that, that these men have my back is the very reason I joined the MC in the first place; brotherhood, comradery, loyalty before everything else.

“No, we don’t mind at all. There’s always room for a few more at our table, brother.”

Shaking hands, feeling closer to Jones than I have in a long time, we walk into Mo’s together. Filing in I take in the scene in front of me; Boss, Diesel, Fury, and Emily are in one of the back booths with almost every table filled with some configuration of brothers. Old, prospects, position holding members, doesn’t matter, they’re all laughing, eating, drinking and generally living it up. But amongst them all is Adelyn. My eyes zero in on her in seconds. It’s not hard, she’s fucking captivating. She’s had my attention from the first second I saw her, and it’s no different nearly two years later.

It’s never taken me more than a few seconds to find her in a crowded room, something draws me to her, it’s as if I’m attuned to her. I know she’s there before I see her though, I always have. The hair on the back of my arms stands up, the thrill of excitement teases the base of my spine, not to mention my cock is at half-mast without even needing me to get a glimpse of her, the promise of her is enough. It always has been, and now I know it always will be.

Immediately my thoughts turn dark, and my blood starts to boil. A large Vengeance brother, probably a good ten years younger than my newly turned forty-seven grabs her in a bear hug, tugging her directly onto his waiting lap. What happens next is a blur; the edges of my vision turn red as I stride toward them. I can feel hands on my back, gripping my arms, pulling at me, trying to stop me getting to my woman. A sharp jab to the side of my head has the sting of pain radiating through my skull, and the sound of yelling reaches my ears, but I don’t stop, I can’t. Nothing is going to stop me making my way to Adelyn, not again. Never again.