Blood in the Water (Kairos) (32 page)

Ashleigh drove her mother and Dolly to the church, following behind the hearse and its escort of numerous thundering Harleys.  Ashleigh knew that the sound of that many engines would have thrilled her brother.  Chiz, Fletch and Morse forced themselves to ride.  Fletch had tossed his cane into her car before they had mounted up.  He took it with a relieved word of thanks when they got to the church.  Morse was pale and shaking, but upright and looking grimly determined to remain so.

It was the first time she’d stepped foot inside the First Baptist Church since her wedding day.  She remembered the proud smile that Dean had sported all day.  He’d hated wearing pants and a dress shirt.  He’d looked like a GQ model, a fidgety one that couldn’t stop tugging his collar or shucking his cuffs, but still.  Ashleigh still felt guilty that he’d had to be so uncomfortable for that day.  They took their seats on a front pew at one side of the aisle.  The club would sit on the other. 

The mourners poured in behind them until the majority of the pews had been filled.  Only when the last person was seated did her father and the other members bring Dean to the front and set the casket on the trestles in front of the altar.  Ashleigh found that space in her head that was filled with white noise and stayed there for the ceremony.  She made the appropriate responses, mouthed the appropriate words to the hymns, but she wasn’t truly there.  She roused only enough to drive safely as they escorted the coffin back to Green Pastures.  Dean had always said that he wanted to be cremated and for his ashes to be scattered along the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, one of his favorite rides.  She retreated into her head again for the short service at the funeral parlor.  They would collect Dean’s ashes and take them on their final ride in a day or so.  For this day they would all return to the clubhouse. 

Once all the mourners had arrived at the clubhouse, there was a respectful silence as all the patches in the room threw back a shot of Jack Daniels to toast Dean. The rest of the day passed in a blur of sympathetic faces and muttered condolences.  After the toast had been made, Paul had returned to her side and hadn’t left it.  She knew he was concerned that she didn’t eat any of the food that had been prepared by friends of the club; but she felt that if she opened her mouth to eat, that the sorrow would come flooding out and that she wouldn’t be able to rein it back in. 

She felt a subtle shift in him during the wake.  Although Paul hardly left her side, Ashleigh was convinced that she could feel him pulling back from her, withdrawing a little.  It was nothing that she could define, but by the end of the night there was distance that there hadn’t been in the morning.  Ashleigh was too heartsick and too exhausted to question him about it.  Instead she filed it away to worry about if it was still there in the morning.  She let him escort her home, to his house.  She let him undress her and was glad when he didn’t try to make a move, she was empty, spent and used up by the day.  They climbed into what she now thought of as their bed, rather than his bed, and she fell asleep cradled against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.  She hoped that Dean had found such peace, wherever he was.

Chapter
Nineteen

Paul slipped from the bed in the early hours of the morning.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  The weight of the guilt he carried was making it hard to breathe.  He could feel it corroding everything he touched.  Every trusting look that Ashleigh gave him, every unconscious gesture of acceptance and comradeship from his brothers added to the burden.

Ashleigh was deeply asleep.  He was glad for her sake.  He knew the day had been hard on her, as had many days before that.  He was worried about her.  She wasn’t eating properly and her spark had dimmed.  He very much wanted to take care of her, to be able to nurture that spark back into the blaze it had been, but he couldn’t stay.  There was only one way to solve the conundrum that had been presented to him.

She didn’t wake as he dressed.  He paused before he slipped his kutte on.  What had once been a balm, as much a piece of him as his own skin, now felt like acid being dripped across his back.  He wasn’t worthy of it.  He had earned the ‘Redeemer’ patch which now graced it.  He had tortured and killed for his club, and the patch was a message to others of what he had done, but he didn’t deserve it.

The ride to the clubhouse only strengthened his resolve to do what he felt was right, but it did nothing to assuage his regret at what could have been.  He would have given much to be able to relax into life with his brothers, to make a life with Ashleigh.  He was giving everything because he couldn’t do any of that with a clear conscience.

During the day he’d wanted to scream a thousand times that he shouldn’t be there, that he didn’t deserve their sympathy or their friendship.  He’d made sure to keep Ashleigh close.  He didn’t want Jimmy anywhere near her.  He wanted to be the one to protect her, he wanted that so badly he could taste it, and this was the only way to do that.  He was glad that they’d had the time that they’d had together.  Those memories would sustain him, and he would need all the strength that he could gather.

The clubhouse was silent and mostly dark by the time he got there.  The main room was empty, only the lights behind the bar were still glowing and a faint light came from the kitchen.  It was all illumination for a brother in need of food, water or alcohol in the early hours.

One of the Chapel doors was slightly ajar.  Paul headed in that direction, certain for no reason that he could say that what he sought was in that room.  Sure enough, he found Sam slumped in his chair at the head of the table, nursing what had probably been a glass full of whisky.  It was now only half full.  There was no bottle in sight.  Paul hoped that was a good sign, that his president hadn’t drowned his grief in alcohol.  Sam appeared to be staring into space and did not stir when Paul stepped through the doors.

“Pres?”

Sam blinked several times before he lifted his head to look at Paul.  Maybe he’d been asleep with his eyes open.  “Paul?  What’re you doin’ here, brother?”

“I need a word.”

Samuel’s brows drew down in confusion and concern.  He motioned at a chair with a steady hand.  “Have a sit.  What’s up?  Is it Ash?”

“No.  She’s good.  Well, as good as she can be.  She was asleep when I left.”  Paul pulled out his usual seat and dropped into it.  He would have liked to have done the brave thing and stayed standing, but the enormity of what he was doing was beginning to hit him and his knees were suddenly weak.

“What’s up then that you come find me at this time?”

“Need to speak to you.”  He saw something, a light, maybe something hopeful, flicker in Samuel’s eyes.  “No.  Not that.  I wish it were.  It’s not that.”  He felt like the worst kind of bastard for crushing a father’s hope.  He truly did wish he’d been on a mission to request permission to marry Ashleigh.  If only that was the reason for his visit, but it wasn’t.

“Shark, Paul, brother.  You’ve got me worried.  What do you need?”

Paul took a deep breath, leaned his elbows on the table to brace himself and looked Samuel directly in the eye.  “When I patched into the club, when I came to the Priests, I was on a mission to kill you.”

Samuel seemed to be frozen.  His expression of concern hadn’t changed, but it was like someone had shot a freeze ray into the room. 

“When Chiz called me, I was goin’ to patch and I was goin’ to do it in good faith.  I had no intent.  But Jimmy and Giles sat me down and asked me to end you, and I agreed.”

“Jimmy wants me dead?”  The surprise was evident on Samuel’s face.

“Yeah.  I didn’t have all the pieces at first, but I think I do now.  Spike Pierce is lookin’ to turf you out of the deal with the Rojas.  I don’t think he’s picky, I think if he can’t position the Tails in the Priests’ place then he’ll set up with the Mexicans, but he aims for you to be gone whatever he does.  Jimmy said they wanted a bigger cut of the profits, and maybe that’s true.  But I think Spike is the driving force, he’s goin’ to patch over the Rabids with or without the deal.  Jimmy thinks he’s got a friend there, but I don’t think that’s as much the case as he thinks.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”  Samuel nodded to himself.

“Not after they asked me.  I knew I’d be dead if I turned them down once they showed their hand like that.  It doesn’t excuse what I did, though, comin’ into your club, your family.”

“Fallin’ in with my girl.”  Paul saw the first signs of real anger in Samuel.

“Yeah, fallin’ for Ash.”  At that, Paul had to break his eye connection with Samuel. 

“Were you behind that thing, runnin’ me off the road, the shootin’?  Is Dean’s death on your hands?”

He looked Samuel directly in the eye again.  “No. I swear to God; on my worthless life, no.  I never made a move.  I couldn’t, right from the get-go you all showed me what’s real, what it was like to be a part of a real family. You showed me real brotherhood.  Right away I knew I couldn’t do it, didn’t want to do it.  I’ve been tryin’ to think of a way to make everythin’ right, and comin’ clean to you is the only way I see.”

“I should kill you.”

“Yes, you should.”

Confusion painted Samuel’s face and tone momentarily.  “You saved my life.  At the park that day, you saved my life.”

“I told you, right from the go I knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t, do it.”

“When were you supposed to kill me?”

“They said no timeframe.  You and Terry both if I could.  But they’re gettin’ antsy.  Spike called me a couple of weeks ago, the night after the shootin’ in the park.  They threatened Ash if I didn’t get somethin’ done.”

“They threatened my daughter and you didn’t tell me?”  The anger was back and stronger this time.

“I tried to keep her safe. I wouldn’t ever let her get hurt.”

“I should kill you.”  Samuel said again, almost to himself this time.

“Yes.  You should.  I don’t see that you have a choice otherwise.”

“You want to die?”  Samuel cocked his head to one side, studying Paul.

“No.  No, I don’t.  I want to live. I want to be a part of this club I want a life with your daughter.  But I can’t have that be based on a lie.  I won’t live that lie.”

“If the rest of this table find out about this, they will end you.”

“I know.  They have every right to.”

Samuel was silent for a long while.  He dropped his eyes to his glass and turned it in is fingers.  “If I end you; if I tell them and let them end you, then we lose the best chance we’ve got of ending the bastards who want me dead.  Half my table is crippled at the moment. I keep you alive, I could give you a chance at redemption. I think I owe you that chance.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I’m not doin’ you a favor here.  I want you to take out the bastards who want me dead.  The chances are high you’ll die doin’ that.  If you don’t, there might be a way back for you with this club, but I can’t promise that, I won’t promise that.  That’ll be up to the table and they may well want to paint the bayou with your blood.”

“I accept that.”

Paul’s phone vibrated in his pocket.  He’d forgotten that he’d picked it up, his hand guided by habit, as he’d left the house.  He was going to ignore it.  Now was not the time to be chatting with anyone.  The only man with any claim on his attention at this moment was sat staring at him with hate in his eyes, but the sixth sense that had kept Paul alive more than once was working its magic.  Paul pulled the phone out, ignoring the way that Samuel’s expression darkened still further, and answered it.

When the voice had finished speaking, the handset slipped from his fingers and bounced along the table.  Samuel, having caught a word or two, was looking stricken now.  Paul’s brain stuttered back into time with his heart, which had stopped dead and was now racing to regain its former rhythm.  He turned wild eyes to Samuel.

“They’ve taken Ash.”

Chapter Twenty

The insistent knocking on the front door roused Ashleigh from a deep sleep.  She ran her hands over the mattress as she came to and realized with a shock that the bed was empty.  The shock turned to worry as she realized that the knocking was continuing.  Surely if Paul as in the house he’d have gotten to the door already?  

She scrambled out of the bed and tripped into her panties before tugging on a hoodie that had been slung across the seat of the chair.  It was one of Paul’s, the kind without a zip that was more of a sweater, and it hung to her knees.  She padded, half running on bare feet, to the door.  Her confusion at Paul’s absence was momentarily forgotten in her rush to find out who was so adamantly demanding entry.

She saw the red and blue flashing lights through the glass and flung the door open, knowing who would be likely standing on the porch before she saw them.

“Where is he, is he okay?”   She demanded, fear tightening her gut into an agonizing knot.

She didn’t see Chief Hooper’s fist swinging towards her face.

~o0o~

The blinding pain in her head roused Ashleigh from unconsciousness.  She blinked, trying and struggling to focus.  Panic stopped her heart until she realized that she was neither blindfolded or blind, only that the room was dark.

The room looked like a motel room.  Generic decoration, generic, worn furniture, and no personal touches of any kind.  It smelled like a motel, the musky, musty lingering scent of lots of bodies fighting past the pine disinfectant and the floral air freshener. Her heart stopped again when she allowed her head to roll so that she could see the other side of the room and she caught sight of the man sitting on the other bed in the room, watching her.  She recognized him.  One of the Rabid Dogs, the one with the red hair that had tried to grab her that night so long ago.  The night that Paul had announced she was his.  Paul!  Where was he?   She struggled to sit up.  She wasn’t tied up, which seemed to be a massive bonus, until she realized that if they trusted her not to try to get away, it was because they had the means to stop her.

She took stock of her body.  She was still wearing the hoodie and her panties.  She wasn’t sore anywhere except her head, and she was still barefoot.  A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over her as she pushed herself up against the headboard and tucked her legs under her.  A mild concussion maybe... from... the memory was fuzzy at first, but the mist lifted a little and she remembered Chief Hooper knocking on Paul’s door, and then knocking her out.

Words split the silence.  The man was on his phone telling someone else she was awake.  He didn’t speak when he had finished his call, only smiled at her.  That smile was both empty and full at the same time, and it chilled her to the bone.  She was in deep shit.  She had to find a way out.

The door opened.  She caught a brief glimpse of a brass number glinting in the sodium yellow of the lamp over the door.  Yep, a motel.  It could be anywhere, though.  She had no idea how long she’d been out.  She might not even still be in Louisiana.  She tried to focus on the two men who had entered the room.  That bastard Chief Hooper and one that she didn’t know.  Almost as tall, black hair, glinting eyes and a self-satisfied smirk.  He was wearing a kutte, but she couldn’t tell from the slim patches on the front which club he was from.

“Miss Ashleigh.  It’s good to see you awake.”

“Where am I?”  That was the most pressing question.  If she was going to try to run, how far did she have to go to get home?

He smiled wider at her question.  The Chief leaned back against the door, his arms folded across his chest as if anticipating her train of thought.

The unknown man spoke again.  “You’re still in Louisiana.  Don’t worry; you’re not far from home.  Please, let me introduce myself.  My name’s Spike.”

She didn’t recognize the name, either.  “You’re not one of the Rabid Dogs.”

“No, I’m not.  I’m President of the Satan’s Tails.”

Ashleigh nodded.  She’d heard her father mention that club when he was talking to the other boys, but they’d never had anything complimentary to say about it.

She didn’t believe for one moment the look of concern that suddenly creased Spike’s face.  “Miss Ashleigh, I’d like to apologize for the uncouth way in which you’ve found yourself here tonight.  We didn’t exactly plan for this.”

He pulled out the chair that was pushed under the faux wood dresser and sat on it back to front, resting his crossed forearms over the back.

“You see, Jimmy saw you and Shark leaving the clubhouse together.  He’s been tellin’ me how tight the two of you are. We were gonna pay you both a little visit, just to have a little chat, thought we’d take the opportunity of us all bein’ in town.  But then Shark’s bike was missin’ but your car was still there.  So, we called the Chief, we were reckonin’ that you’d open the door to him quicker than you would to us, and we were right. 

Ashleigh cast her eyes over to Chief Hooper.  She wasn’t a fool.  She knew he and her father had a business arrangement.

“Oh, don’t worry your head.  The Chief just knows when to look for a better deal is all.  Now, I’ve told Shark you’re here and he’s bringin’ your daddy and Terry over just like I asked him to.  He’d do anythin’ to save you, darlin’.

“Of course, none of this would’ve been necessary if he’d done what he was s’posed to do in the first place.  We’d have left you alone, mostly, maybe.”

“What was he s’posed to do?”  Her voice creaked.  She could really do with some water to unglue her tongue, but she’d be damned if she’d ask.  She’d read somewhere that it was better to keep people talking in situations like this, to stall them.  It could have been something from TV or a movie and been complete and utter bullshit, but she didn’t have any better ideas just now.

“He was s’posed to kill your daddy and his VP.”

Her stomach flipped again and she had to throw her hand to her mouth to keep the bile from escaping.  “No, that’s not true.  It can’t be.  He wouldn’t.”

“I assure you, darlin’, he could’ve and he should’ve.  He didn’t seem to be puttin’ too much effort into it, though.  Havin’ seen for myself what was distractin’ him, I can appreciate that a little better now.  But still, Shark’s s’posed to be more professional than that.”

“You’re lying.”  Even as she said it, Ashleigh wondered how well she really knew the man whose bed she’d been sharing.  Surely she would have caught a sign or a clue that he was planning to betray her and the club, that he was planning to rip her heart out.  No matter how hard she flicked through the memories, she couldn’t find anything, not one piece of evidence against him.  But why was this man telling her otherwise? 

“No.”  She hated that her voice shook.

“What other reason did you think he transferred for?  He was happy in Texas, had no need to move.  We sent him out as a wolf amongst the sheep.”

She felt blind and dense, stupid and used all over again.  The bile rose again and she swallowed hard to keep it down.  She grabbed handfuls of the cheap comforter, needing to hold onto something, anything, before she fell back into the void.

“Mind you, he’s off the res now and we can’t trust him.  You must have a solid gold pussy, darlin’, to turn a man from his brothers.  He’s just as dead as your daddy and his friend.”

It was hopeless.  If what this man said was true, then her daddy was on his way over, walking right into the trap.  Spike was right; her daddy would do anything for her.  She wondered if anyone else knew what was going on, Dizzy or Chiz or Crash, but her mind was whirling with Paul’s betrayal, her body was sick with it.  The gaping wound that had been threatening to swallow her whole all day had developed teeth and was shredding what little of her that had been left, the part that Paul had been sustaining.  The emotional agony was so acute it was a physical pain.  She couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled over her cheeks.  She folded over, trying and failing to keep the pieces of her soul together.

“I see you don’t feel like chattin’.  That’s okay, darlin’.  Garfield here’s goin’ to take good care of you for me ‘til your man brings your daddy to me.”  He turned to the man that she’d recognized, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the edge of the other bed.  She looked up but the lascivious smirk on his face brought the bile back, followed by a chaser of fear.  The sickening knowledge that she wasn’t yet as hurt as she was going to be settled in her gut.

“Keep her in one piece.  Remember, we’re next door and these walls are like paper.  We can hear what’s goin’ on in here.”

“Yes sir.”

Even to her ears, numbed by misery, Garfield sounded less than sincere.  She wondered if Spike heard the lie in his voice.  She wondered if he cared.  Probably not.  She didn’t see what reason she could have for hope.  Her daddy was being served up on a platter and would be overwhelmingly outnumbered if this was the same motel that the rest of the Rabid Dogs were staying at.  And that was if he wasn’t hurt already. 

She didn’t want to believe that Paul could do what he was being accused of.  She wanted to believe that there had been something true and honest between them.  It had felt as though there had been.  But she hadn’t wanted to believe that Matthew could cheat on her, either, or that he would discard her so callously.  But he had.  She hadn’t been enough once.  No reason to believe she had been anything more than that again.  She should have listened to Dean and stayed away from Paul.  Thoughts about her brother, that she’d ignored his advice, that she couldn’t tell him he had been right, that he couldn’t hold her and comfort her, added fresh acid to the blades that were slicing through her heart.

She curled into a ball on the bed and sobbed.  She was past caring if the man sat across the room watched her fall apart.  She knew she didn’t have the physical strength to get away from him, and she sure as hell didn’t have the strength or the speed or the energy to outrun however many men were out there waiting.  She’d be shot or worse.  At least if she waited she’d get to see her daddy one last time, maybe hopefully.  If she had the chance to tell him she loved him before they were both killed, it would be enough.  If she had the chance to spit in Paul’s face, that would be bonus, but her sorrow was drowning her anger.

“Now, now, darlin’.  He ain’t worth all them tears.”  The voice was right beside her. 

She jerked up and nearly hit her head on his.  He was leaning right over her.  The only reason she hadn’t was that he’d stepped back at the last minute.  He was holding out a wad of tissue paper to her.  She eyed it suspiciously, but took it and blew her nose and wiped her eyes.  Crying had only made her head hurt worse.  She was fairly sure she’d have a bruise somewhere from the Chief’s punch.  She was sure she could add swollen and puffy.

“There, there, beauty.” She flinched imperceptibly when the used the pet name that Paul always called her.  She wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not.  She cringed away when he reached his hand out to stroke some of her hair behind her ear.  She stayed statue-still as his fingers tucked the lock into place, but when his hand dropped to brush the curve of her breast through the fabric of the sweater she batted it away.

Fast as whip he struck, backhanding her across the face.  A flash of pain and the taste of blood, and Ashleigh knew he’d split her lip.  The cry of pain and shock had barely left her lips when his hand smothered her mouth and he dropped on top of her, using his weight to pin her to the bed. 

She could feel the blood smearing under his palm, and she could smell old whisky in his sour breath.  He was clambering over her, pressing her flat into the bed.  She tried to struggle, but there was no strength in her limbs.  She felt as weak as a newborn kitten.  Tears of frustration leaked from her eyes.  She didn’t want to be defeated, she didn’t want this to happen, but it would.  She couldn’t stop it.  She wished fervently that she’d put more clothes on before answering the door, at least then he would have more layers to fight through and she would have had more chance to recover herself, but there was very little in between him and his goal.

He had scrambled on top of her and was wedging himself between her legs.  She tried to keep them closed, but the hand over her mouth was making it difficult for her to breathe and in addition to the physical and emotional rigors of the day she was beginning to get lightheaded.  She felt him reach down, between their bodies.  She wriggled and struggled, trying ineffectually to dislodge him.  When his hand found its target she gagged against his palm.  He was rubbing, hard, hurting her, his jagged nails catching on that sensitive skin.  Then he was fumbling at his belt and fly.  She went limp as the energy to fight deserted her, replaced by a hopelessness so complete that she was surprised her heart could beat past the thick fog of despair.