Blood in the Water (Kairos) (35 page)

Chapter
Twenty-Three

The bay in the garage attached to the clubhouse was filled with the core of the club.  Church tonight would not be held around the table.  Business would be taken care of, but it would not be discussed.  Silence echoed back from the concrete walls despite the number of bodies in the space.

Every patch was present.  Fletch was still leaning on his cane, although a little less heavily than he had been.  Physical therapy and time in the gym had given Chiz back the strength in his leg.  Morse was looking stronger than he had in days.  Terry was perched on one of the smaller wheeled metal tool cabinets that had been pushed against a wall to steady it.  He was healing well, but the gunshot wound in his side was still causing him some pain.  Kong, Tag, Crash and Sinatra had lined themselves up side-by-side.  Dizzy stood slightly in front of them.

The women of the club were present on this night to witness this punishment, this payment.  Moira, Dolly and Ashleigh were lined up against the wall, separate from the patches, but very much part of the event.  All dressed prettily for the summer heat they were an incongruous audience for this dark reckoning.  Paul couldn’t decide whether he was surprised to see Ashleigh standing there, her spine held stiff.  She may well have been in attendance for the same reason as her mother, since this was retribution for his deception against her father, but he would have understood if she had wanted to avoid his presence.  Even for this.

It was his instinct to want to protect her from this.  But as much as he didn’t want her to witness this necessary brutality, he needed her to see what he was willing to endure, that he was willing to pay any price to earn back the trust he’d lost.

He was chained to one of the lifts that they used to winch the cars above head height, his wrists manacled with chains to the steel uprights, his arms outspread.  His kutte was currently lying on the table in the Chapel.  He was clad in his jeans and boots.  His torso was bare, his back to the room.  Samuel stepped into his field of vision.

“From the Book of Revelations.  ‘And the devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire and brimstone where the beast and the false prophet are, and shall be tormented day and night for ever and ever’.”  Samuel recited solemnly without needing to refer to any text.  “Are you ready, brother?”

“Yes.”  Paul made sure that his voice held steady and strong before he gritted his teeth.  There was no way to prepare for this.

“Proceed.”  Samuel nodded over Paul’s shoulder.

He heard the whoosh and the hiss as Dizzy fired the blowtorch up.  In his mind’s eye he could see the blue flame heating the brand that Crash had fashioned by engraving a cross into a piston head.  Seconds ticked by, Dizzy would be holding the flame to the metal until it began to glow.

The sound ceased and immediately there was pain.  From the meat of the muscles that lay over his shoulder blade, from the middle of the blacked-out patch that had once been the ink that signified his membership of the Rabid Dogs MC, it rushed out across his back and through his whole body, filling every limb, every extremity with agony.  From his fingertips to his toes he felt so full of the pain that he might burst. 

He kept the strangled scream trapped behind his clenched jaw.  The stench of cooking flesh filled his nostrils as his mind rebelled against the knowledge that it was his own flesh. 

It lasted an eternity, but it was over in a span of seconds. Dizzy pulled the brand away.  Paul knew that the scorching metal had only touched his shoulder, but his whole back, his whole body, was a knot of residual agony.  Every nerve was screaming from the assault.

Dizzy released the chains at his wrists.  Paul locked his knees.  He would not fall, he would not stumble.  By sheer will he locked his body in place so that he could stand and face his brothers.  He had paid the price for his betrayal straight from his flesh.  His brothers had deemed that this penalty, seared into his skin, would be enough.  He didn’t know if he would ever have their full trust again, but he would do everything in his power to earn it; he would earn it every goddamn day.

Knowing that he’d lost Ashleigh hurt worse than anything his brothers could have demanded.  The agony in his back paled into insignificance against the misery that had made its home in his heart.  He looked up and caught her eye.  He face was carefully blank, but she was pale and her eyes were wide.

When Samuel stepped forward again, Paul turned to face him. 

“It’s done.” 

He pulled Paul into a hug and even though he was careful not to touch the fresh burn, it felt like he had.  Paul defied the urge to flinch.  He blocked out the fresh wave of pain that tore through him as he lifted his arms, stretching and pulling at the burn, to return the gesture.  The agony was repeated for each of his brothers, but Paul would not cry out.  He would not show weakness.  By the time it was over, the only sign that he felt the pain at all was the sheen of sweat that covered him.  His body’s own salt added to the torture.

Moira and Dolly remained impassively in place by the wall, Ashleigh by her mother’s side.  They hadn’t moved an inch.  They continued to stand and stare as Paul followed his brothers out of the garage and into the clubhouse.

Inside, Scrat, the new Prospect, had shots of tequila lined up on the bar, but there was something more to be endured before he could gulp down the anesthetizing liquor.  Samuel fetched Paul’s kutte from the chapel and held it out as Paul slipped his arms into it.  As the heavy leather hit the wound on his back the waves of soreness lapped a little harder; and a little harder still as he reached for the glass and finally, gratefully, swallowed the clear liquid which added its own fresh burn to his throat.

A movement caught the corner of his eye.  Samuel was nodding, when Paul turned to see at whom, he was surprise to see Ashleigh there.  He glanced around, but it didn’t appear that Moira and Dolly had followed her in.  Then her delicate, cool hand slipped into his and she was tugging him.  Even that small touch soothed him as she led him away from the other men.  He followed her blindly, mutely, out of the main room and into one of the dorm rooms. 

He didn’t know what to think, his thoughts were sluggish, slowed by pain, physical and emotional.  He allowed her to push him to sit on the bed and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom.  When she came back out she was carrying a dampened towel.  She braced one knee on the mattress next to him and leaned over his shoulder so that she could dab the cold cloth against the burnt skin.  It was blessed relief that caused his abused nerves to scream afresh.

He thought that maybe she intended to care for him without speaking a word until she sagged with a heavy sigh.

“Paul... you should know...”

She stopped speaking.  He needed her to carry on, needed to hear her voice, even if she was planning on cursing him a blue streak.  “What. What’s up, beauty?”  His voice was raspy, hoarse from swallowing the urge to cry out.

“I’m pregnant.”

The world stopped turning.  She was still dabbing the towel against his shoulder, but he no longer felt it. 

“Pregnant?  How?  What?”  He stuttered.  He knew he sounded like an idiot, but of all the things she could have said, it was the thing that he had least expected.

The movement of the towel didn’t pause.  “It’s yours.  I’m not sure when.  Maybe the day Dean died. Maybe that night after the shooting, that dream wasn’t a dream.”

He twisted, needing to see her, to touch her.  He tried to pull her into his lap, but she stumbled away from the bed.  His heart dropped and his stomach lurched.

“Beau...Ash... Tell me you’re not plannin’ on...”  He couldn’t finish the thought.  The best thing that had ever happened to him might just be about to turn into the worst.

Her expression changed from sad to furious in a flash.  “No.  No!  How could you think that I’d murder our baby?”

Paul hung his head.  “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want me for the daddy.”

“It’s not the baby’s fault.  I won’t keep it from you either.”

Something that might have been a little like hope flickered within him, and then died.  “You’ll raise it on your own?”

She nodded.  “With my family.  This doesn’t change anythin’.  Just ‘cause I’m carryin’ your child doesn’t mean I can trust you.”

He was defeated.  “Beauty, if I thought there was anythin’ I could do...”

She crossed her arms adamantly over her chest.  “There isn’t anythin’.  You came here to kill my daddy.  You let me fall in love with you, all the while knowin what you were goin to do.  I just can’t trust you.  I won’t stop you from bein’ involved in the baby’s life. I couldn’t do that.  But I can’t be with you.”

She was going to leave.  She was walking towards the door.  He should let her.  She was right; there was nothing he could do to make this better, no way to turn the clock back.  No way to change the fact that the mother of his child hated him.  That thought had him moving before he knew he was going to.  He was going to be a daddy.  Even if Ashleigh never spoke to him again, that was still the case.

Moving quicker than he thought was possible, he planted himself in front of the door, barring her from leaving.  Before she could back away he caught hold of her and pulled her close.  She struggled, wriggling in his grasp, but he kept his arms around her.  He wouldn’t let her escape.  He couldn’t feel the pain in his back anymore; it was blocked by his determination to find some way to make this right, or to at least make it work.  He held on until Ashleigh relaxed, or rather collapsed against his chest.  He could feel the wet of her tears against his skin.

“I’m not lettin’ you go.”  He affirmed as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

She started struggling again. There was a frantic quality to her efforts.  “No.  I can’t trust you.”

“I never lied to you about how I felt, beauty.  Sure, my reasons for comin’ here in the first place weren’t true.  But I never lied to you.”

She sagged against him.  He figured he had exhaustion to thank for that rather than forgiveness.  “How couldn’t I see it?  How could I be so blind again?”

He barely heard the words she mumbled, but when he put the sounds together and made it out he realized that he was dealing with more than just his own betrayal.  He slid his hands to her shoulders and held her away from him so that he could look her in the face.  He held tight, though; he wasn’t going to give her a chance to run.

“You couldn’t see it ‘cause there was nothin’ to see.  I told you, right from that first I day I knew I couldn’t do it.  Everythin’ you saw was truth.  There wasn’t ever a time I was with you that I was thinkin’ of killin’ your daddy.  The whole time I was tryin’ to figure out how to save him.”

“I didn’t know what to think.  When that guy, when Spike told me.  I didn’t know what to think.  I still don’t.” 

“You don’t have to think.  You know.” 

She dropped her eyes.  “I’m not sure I know anythin’ anymore.”

He shook her, just a little.  He needed her to see him.  She looked up, confusion and hurt writ large in her eyes.  “I love you.  That’s all you need to know.  I love you and I ain’t lettin’ you go.”

“It’s not just about me anymore.”

“Exactly.  I don’t want you raisin’ our kid on your own.  You don’t have to.  I want to be a part of this.  I want you.  I want you both.” 

He didn’t know what else he could say to make her see, to make her believe that he was sincere.  What he did know was that he wasn’t letting her leave this room without having fought for what he wanted.  When he’d ridden out to speak to her father, to confess, he’d known clearly what he was giving up, and he had regretted the loss deeply.  He hadn’t sat down and thought about that in so many words beforehand, but on that ride he’d seen Ashleigh in his house, living there.  He’d seen them together, seen himself cradling a tiny baby.  He’d imagined building tree houses in the woods and teaching his kids to hunt and fish in that wilderness.  He’d imagined having all the things he’d never had as a child, and giving them to his own children.  Those visions had made him want to turn back almost as much as they’d spurred him on.