“Sit down before you fall down, old man,” Dragon suddenly barked at Poet, who was looking really fucking gray.
Casper kicked Will’s chair away from the table, and Poet hobbled his way over, taking a seat, but remaining separate from the table.
“News?” Grease asked, bracing his elbows on the table. I watched him silently for a moment as he fidgeted and noticed how much he’d aged in the past week. His hair and beard had little streaks of gray that I’d never noticed before.
“Congrats, Hulk,” Samson said quietly, reaching over to grip my shoulder, and I nodded my thanks. He’d been completely silent at every other meeting I’d attended in that room, more of an observer than anything. I wondered if he ever gave input, or just stayed to keep on top of shit going down with the club.
“Two boys from Western Oregon University, one from University of Oregon,” Poet announced to the room. “Those are the dead ones.”
Grease turned his head and spit on the floor.
“Contact in the police department says the roommate of the U of O kid was involved. Haven’t been able to find him. Not sure if he went home for the summer, or what.”
“Name?” Casper barked.
“That’s it?” Dragon asked in confusion. “Only four of ’em?”
“Looks like it,” Poet answered, shaking his head. “They were doin’ little shit. Kid shit. That fuckin’ attack was—it didn’t make any fuckin’ sense.”
“Little cunts,” Smokey rasped, his breath labored.
“Name?” Casper asked again.
“Steve Smith,” Poet replied. “Waitin’ to hear where he’s from. Maybe he’s run home to Mummy and Daddy.”
“He’s mine,” Grease announced, his voice resolute.
“Steven fuckin’ Smith? Jesus, like finding a needle in a haystack,” Casper commented in disgust. “Talk about the most average name in the fuckin’ United States.”
His words nagged at me. Average. There was something right at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t grab hold of it.
A knock sounded at the door and all our heads snapped up in surprise. Casper pushed to his feet and opened the door.
“I’m sorry. Really sorry, but Patrick’s not supposed to be—”
“Wife!” Poet bellowed, his face a mixture of embarrassment and fury.
“Don’t ye use that tone with me, Patrick Gallagher!” Amy’s voice was shaking, and oddly had a hint of a Scottish accent. “I’ll twist yer balls straight off yer body.”
I covered my mouth with one hand to hide my smile and dropped my eyes to the table. If I met anyone’s eyes right then, I’d fucking lose it.
Dragon helped Poet get to his feet, and the old man stomped off the best he could while putting very little pressure on his wounded thigh. When the door closed behind him and we couldn’t hear him bitching at his wife anymore, the entire room roared with laughter.
“Did you see her face?” Grease asked, a small smile on his face. “She probably woulda tore off his balls.”
“Nah, she needs ’em,” Casper argued, his voice hitching as he tried to fight off his guffaws.
“Aw, fuck. That’s disgustin’,” I groaned, making a new round of laughter roll through the room.
Dragon’s eyes were crinkled at the corners as he glanced around the table, meeting each of our eyes one by one. “I’ll do my best,” he announced seriously, his face falling back into severe lines.
Every single man went silent as we nodded.
“We gotta talk arrangements,” he said roughly, leaning back in his chair.
“Farrah’s been takin’ care of Slider, Vera and Gram,” Casper announced. “Got ’em at a funeral home—” his voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Waitin’ on details from you.”
Dragon nodded. “You got the cash for that?” he asked bluntly.
“No,” Casper answered. “With Lily…”
My stomach rolled. “I got it,” I cut in. “Got some savings.”
“Got a baby on the way,” Casper argued.
“And income comin’ in, we’ll be fine—” I shot back.
“Club’ll handle it.” Dragon cut me off. “Least we can do. Clear?”
“Yep,” Casper said, his whole body seeming to sag in relief.
“Grease?” Dragon called, drawing attention to the silent man beside him.
“Cremated Mick,” he whispered roughly. “Not doin’ nothin’ ’til my woman’s out of the hospital.”
I closed my eyes against the look on his face. The man was barely hanging on—I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten that far.
“Ain’t sure she’s gonna want a club—” Grease said apologetically.
“No worries, brother,” Dragon replied softly, reaching out to grip Grease’s shoulder. “You do what’s best for your family. Ain’t no one gonna question that.”
“You got the cheddar for that?” Samson spoke up, surprising us all. “Me and Ash can help with Micky.”
“I got it, man, thanks,” Grease said with a nod, a look of understanding passing between them.
Another knock broke into the tense silence and Dragon cursed. “Grand Central fuckin’ Station.”
“What?” Grease yelled sharply at the door, his nerves obviously fried.
Samson’s woman, Ash, poked her head in, making him sit up straighter. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the man was afraid his woman was going to drag his ass out like Amy had done to Poet.
“Sorry,” she said worriedly, glancing around the room. “But someone’s screamin’ like they’re dyin’.” Her eyes met mine. “Think it’s Trix.”
I shot up from the table, glancing at Dragon.
“Go!” he ordered, standing up quickly.
I ran.
When I got to my room, I threw open the door, Trix’s screams getting loud as fuck once they weren’t muffled by the solid wood. She was thrashing around, tangled up in the blanket and sheets as she wailed nonsense.
I felt Dragon at my back as I stepped into the room and reached for her.
“Bea,” I yelled over her cries. “It’s a dream, baby. It’s a dream.”
Trix hit me in the face as she flailed, and I scrambled to grab her arms as she fought me in her sleep. She was pulling so hard against me, I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.
“You’re okay,” I murmured over and over as I tried to contain her. “Baby, wake up.” My voice cracked.
Finally, I crawled completely on top of her, dropping my body over hers as she beat at my back. I pressed my face against hers, seeing stars as her forehead hit my cheekbone.
“Shhh,” I whispered into her ear as she finally slowed her struggles, then went completely still beneath me. “You’re okay, Sweetbea. It’s just a dream.”
I lifted my head and glanced quickly at Dragon, who was standing in the doorway. His eyes were dark and haunted as he nodded at me, stepping back and pulling the door closed, leaving me and Trix alone.
“Cam?” she asked softly, tears running down her face, into her hair.
“Hey,” I whispered gently back, my throat tight.
It was too much. I was cracking. After everything that had happened that day, I was finally at the end of my rope. I wanted to weep.
“I was looking for you,” she whispered back, her eyes glossy.
“I was right here, baby.”
“No, you weren’t,” she murmured back, closing her eyes and turning her face away.
* * *
Three days later, we said goodbye to Gram, Slider and Vera. They were going to be buried in a cemetery on the edge of town, leaving a space between Gram and Vera for Micky’s ashes. Callie had decided she wanted Mick in beside his great-grandmother, but they were waiting to lay him to rest until she could be there. Until then, his remains would stay in his bedroom.
As I helped a hollow-eyed Trix into one of the limos the funeral home had provided, I glanced around to the sea of bikes waiting to leave from the funeral. Aces members from chapters all over the we
st coast had traveled to Eugene to pay their respects. So had members of other clubs we were allies with, coming from places all over the US, from Florida to Montana.
“I’ll see you at the cemetery,” I said quietly to Trix as I helped her buckle her seatbelt. The limo was already full of family, her mom and Farrah, my little sisters, Tommy and Rose.
Leo was riding in the procession, his scar on full display for the first time since the shooting.
I nodded at my ma and backed out of the limo, walking over to where my bike was parked. The people of Eugene were going to be out in full force as we rode through town, and the thought of the police outriders stopping traffic along the route made me chuckle a little under my breath.
The day before, I’d finally heard from the cop who’d questioned me. They were closing the case. Between the boys’ prints all over their weapons and the fact that our guns were registered, it was a clear case of self-defense. He’d sounded pissed. I was pretty sure Poet had something to do with the fact that the dogs had been called off. He’d probably called in every favor he had with the department, one last hurrah before he stepped away.
“Ready?” Casper asked, wrapping a bandana over his flattened Mohawk. Mom must have cut his hair the night before.
“Yup.” I started up my bike.
Thank Christ it was almost over. Trix looked like she was going to fall over at any second. She was barely eating and she hadn’t slept in days, beyond a few naps at her parents’ house. She barely spoke to me.
She barely spoke to anyone.
I hadn’t been able to corner her, there was too much shit happening, too much to get ready and plan for. There hadn’t been time to make her talk to me.
I cracked my neck and slid my helmet on.
After this fucked up day was over, I was going to sit on a couch and drink until I couldn’t stand up again. Then tomorrow, I was going to figure out what the fuck was going on with my woman.
This shit had to stop, one way or another.
Chapter 20
Trix
I glanced across the crowded clubhouse and took a deep breath. I’d been mingling for over two hours and my feet were beginning to hurt in the shoes I’d borrowed from my mom. I hadn’t had anything to wear to a funeral—I hadn’t even been to one since I was a kid. If it had just been Slider and Vera, I would have felt comfortable in a nice pair of jeans and a tank top, but for Gram, I’d known I had to do better than that. Unfortunately, the only summer dress I’d had was getting too tight in the chest and belly, so I’d felt like I was wrapped in sausage casing all day.
I was ready to change into one of Cam’s t-shirts and get off my feet.
My family had taken a little time alone at my parents’ house to unwind after we’d finished burying Vera, Slider and Gram, but eventually we’d had to make our way back to the clubhouse. The reception—if you could call it that—was just as important as the procession of hundreds of bikers had been. It was a celebration of life, and Slider wouldn’t have wanted any other type of sendoff.
I’d also spent quite a bit of time with Cam that day. It was odd, his presence soothed me as much as it hurt. I was so jumbled up inside that I wanted him close, but the minute he got too close, all I wanted was for him to leave. I hadn’t told him that I was moving in with my parents yet. I didn’t want to deal with the fight that I knew it would cause, especially right before the funerals.
Everything hurt, from my eyelids to the tips of my toes. I felt so worn down, so overwhelmingly tired. When I tried to sleep, I had unbearable nightmares, but when I stayed awake, I was so weary I could cry. The lack of sleep made the flashbacks even clearer during the day, almost like hallucinations that I couldn’t seem to stop. I wondered if anyone else was dealing with the aftereffects of the attack like I was. If they were, they weren’t admitting it.
I swept my eyes around the room one more time, but I couldn’t see Cam anywhere. I wasn’t really surprised. There were so many people in the room that they brushed up against me constantly. My parents and Leo were over by the pool table, beers in hand. Leo wouldn’t be old enough to drink legally for years still, but I think my mom was giving him a pass for the day.
He’d been shot in the face—drinking beer seemed so insignificant in comparison.
Gramps and Nan were sitting a few bar stools down from where I was standing, and I caught Nan’s eye as I made my way toward them.
“I’m beat,” I told her quietly, leaning in for a hug. “I think I’m going to go lay down for a while.”
“Okay, baby,” she murmured back, looking closely into my eyes. “Get some rest, huh?”
“I’ll try.”
I pushed my way into the back hallway, and finally had some room to move. While the clubhouse was open for visiting members and friends, the hallway to the bedrooms was off-limits. A prospect that had been a few years behind me in high school stood guard.
When I reached Cam’s bedroom, I let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a little quiet.
I pushed open the door and closed it behind me without turning on the light, cocooning me in darkness.
“You comin’ to bed?” a voice slurred, making me jump.
“Cam,” I sighed after a moment.
“Who’d you think it was?” he asked, and I could hear the sheets rustling underneath him.
“Why are you in here?” I replied without answering his question.
“Needed a couple minutes by myself,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I’ll just—”
“Don’t open that fucking door,” he snapped, making me freeze in my tracks.
“What’s your problem?” The hair on the back of my neck stood up, the darkness making his harsh words seem almost threatening.
“My problem?”
“Yeah,” I inched farther into the room, crossing my arms around my torso.
“You seriously askin’ me that?”
I stayed silent as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, finding him seated on the bed with his elbows braced on his knees.
“What’s goin’ on with you, Bea?”
“Nothing,” I replied automatically, the word coming out tonelessly. My limbs felt like dead weight as I tried to keep my body upright.
“Bullshit,” he hissed, raising his head to look at me. “You’re not sleepin,’ you’re not eatin,’ you’re barely fuckin’ talkin.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m not doing this with you when you’re drunk,” I snapped back, slowly turning toward the door.
“We’re doin’ this now,” Cam argued, surging off the bed so quickly I took a stutter step away from him. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s wrong?” his voice grew louder.
“Nothing.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screamed, leaning forward a little at the waist.
“Fuck you!” I screamed back, my face heating.
“Oh, fuck me? Fuck me?”
“Get the fuck away from me!”
“I’m not anywhere goddamn near you! You don’t let me near you!” He threw his hands up in frustration.
“That’s because I don’t want you near me,” I hissed back, my hands shaking. “I don’t even want to look at you!”
Cam stumbled back a step, his face creased in confusion. I took the opportunity to dart toward the door and I’d barely gotten it open before Cam’s large hand was over my shoulder and slamming it shut again.
“You’re not fuckin’ leavin’!” he shouted.
That was the catalyst. Four small words that sucked me back in time to a place I never wanted to visit again.
Memory after memory filled my head until I was stumbling away from the door, pressing my hands against my ears trying to make the voice stop.
“You’re not going to leave me.”
“You’re not leaving.”
“You won’t go anywhere.”
“You’ve got nowhere to go.”
“What, did you think you
would run from me?”
“Cam? Everything okay, bud?” Casper’s voice called, then the door behind me swung open and the overhead light was flipped on.
I didn’t turn toward the door. Instead, I pressed my hands harder against my ears as the memories continued to flood in, even as light filled the room and illuminated the bed I’d been sleeping in for weeks.
“Stupid bitch.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“Come to Daddy, Trix.”
“Don’t,” Cam’s voice slurred as he moved toward me. “Get out.”
“You’re drunk, son. Come on, come back to the party.”
“No. We’re talkin’.”
“Doesn’t look like Trix feels like talkin’.” Casper’s voice was calm, even as Cam seemed to grow more agitated.
I stared at the dark green wool blanket covering Cam’s bed.
“Prospect called me—what’s goin’ on?” my pop’s voice rumbled through the room.
“Get out!” Cam yelled.
I jolted as Cam reached behind him, wrapping his arm around my waist and pressing me into his back.
But still, I was frozen. Stuck between the past and the present.
“Why the fuck are there toys all over the living room, Brenna?”
“You stay home all fucking day, you couldn’t clean the fuck up?”
“Where’s Trix? Trix, Daddy’s home!”
“I’ll see my kid when I want to, bitch. Trix, come on down, sweetheart!”
“You okay, Little Warrior?” my pop called, making Cam’s arm tighten around my waist.
“We’re talkin.’ Get out,” Cam slurred again, his fingers rubbing gently on my belly.
“Trix? Answer me,” my pop ordered.
“Come on, Cameron,” Casper said gently. “Just makin’ sure everything’s okay, boy.”
“Everythin’ was fine till you came busting into my room,” Cam snapped.
“Bellatrix Colleen?” Pop called.
There was movement at the door, and then Casper cursed. “Get the fuck outta here, Ladybug.”
“What’s going on?” Farrah asked accusingly. “Cam?”