Lesson complete. Speak without permission and lose your privilege to do so at all.
Chapter Forty-One
Hunter
Release your rage. I will catch you when the dust settles.
With a nod at Mark who will be the point of contact for members not coming to the campground, we spill out into the startling Texas sunshine. Four of the trucks have already left, while mine and William’s still wait for us. Cheryl has her arms folded and stares at the passenger side of my truck with a frown. I tilt my head, trying to see past the glare of the sun to what, or rather who, commands her attention.
I eat up the space, my heart sinking with the knowledge it can only be Eleanor. Despite her insistence she is not able to socialize, she manages it exceptionally well, but the mask has clearly slipped if Prez’s wife is staring at her with concern.
She glances at me and takes a step back, allowing me to reach the cab. Outwardly, Eleanor looks fine. She sits ramrod straight in her seat with her arms relaxed at her sides, but her blank eyes are so utterly and completely void of emotion it is terrifying to witness. Fuck. I can’t have been gone for longer than fifteen minutes, but she has slipped into this state. And she’s deep.Gone. Vacant. We have a ninety minute drive, and I stupidly thought her fears could wait until then. I put her second.
“How long?” I ask Cheryl. She’s experienced, witnessed, and even been part of the solution, for people with psychological scars. She knows the kind of danger this behavior presents.
“About two minutes after you went inside.”
William follows and comes to greet his wife with a quick kiss. “Why are we hanging around here?” He’s less emotionally aware, but as soon as Cheryl nods toward Eleanor, his brow crumples. “What do you need?” He’s the more practical one of the pairing, wanting to fix things with physical acts, because that is easier for him to understand. In this case, I think that is exactly what is needed.
“I’ll be a few hours behind you,” I call out as I round the cab and climb inside the driver’s seat. Eleanor’s eyes close slowly, then open, like she’s aware she has to lubricate her eyeballs, but it’s a drain to do so. I reach over her and yank the seatbelt into place. Still nothing.Hang on, trouble, while your breakdown might be bad timing, I have been expecting it.A mind can’t contain that much pain and stress without an outlet and not fracture.
William nods, and they both jump in their truck and peel out of the compound. I turn to face Eleanor, breathing a little easier now we have fewer eyes on us. One attempt is all I’ll allow myself before I put into motion what I hope will be healing for her. My gut urges me to not touch her, even if my heart is thrashing in my chest to shake her back from the horror of her past.
“Eleanor?” Nothing. It’s like I’m not here. No, it’s likeshe’snot here. “You have until I start this engine to snap out of this shit and talk to me. I know how that seemed to you, like we were creating two layers of humanity and suppressing the women, and I know that is a trigger for you, but we can only move past this if you speak to me.”
I grab my phone and type out a message to prep the people I need help from and sigh as I turn on the ignition. The engine rumbles to life, and I turn the truck in the opposite direction of camp. I leave the radio off and don’t bother trying to reach her with words, since they’re clearly falling on deaf ears. There is a rising panic inside me that is as much about my history with Steph as it is with Eleanor. Fifteen minutes later, we pull into the warehouse district. We have a few businesses located out here, but I’m here for a specific one.
I park between the only other two vehicles, both bikes, meaning Tom and Wes are the only ones here. Good. I want as few witnesses to this as possible. I snap our seatbelts off before rounding the truck and opening her door.
“Get out, Eleanor.” I throw steel into my voice, and heartbreakingly, she follows the order. It would be less severe if she’d blanked me.
She slides out of the truck and doesn’t move. I slam the door closed behind her and grab her hand to pull her along with me through the metal door. Tom, a fifty-something MC member married to Wes for the last four years, came up with the idea for this place eighteen months ago, and it’s proved popular with locals and tourists alike. They’ve even had a couple of corporate events for big companies. I wonder what that says about the world as a whole.
Tom nods at me. I prepped him a few days ago after she shared the story of her tattoo with me, and I warned him I might be dropping in and to not offer small talk or stop me.
“Room is ready for you like you asked. Gear for you both is outside.”
“Thanks, man.”
Eleanor follows like a doll. I glance down at her feet, noticing she swapped her typical heels for shit kicker boots, which will work well, but she still needs the rest of her covered properly. Imove her limbs around, securing the shields in place to protect her, mirroring with my own gear, then I grab the face shield and secure it behind her head.
I push open the door, finding the room cleared of previous detritus. Everything is fresh as a daisy and ready to be destroyed. There’s a risk in putting a weapon in her hands when she’s disassociated. She could bash my head in, but I’m willing to go all in. For her.
“Eleanor, hold this,” I snap as I thrust the baseball bat into her hands.
She stares at the wall, but her fingers robotically wrap around the handle.
I position her in front of the wrecked car, which still has most of its bodywork and windows intact. Fuck, I hope I know what I’m doing. I probably should have called Gail, as I’m pretty sure this is not approved therapy.
I put my hands on her shoulders and lean down so my lips are at her ear. “You were born to kneel, Eleanor, made only to serve man. Your worth is in your ability to produce me a child.”
A tremor runs down her arm, and she tightens her fingers around the handle.
“After I’ve used you up, and you are nothing more than a barren, broken husk, you will slip into the darkness. Your name means nothing. You will be forgotten, have no lasting presence in society. You don’t deserve to put your mark on this world. None of you do.” The words are well placed, meant to cut deep. I know she doesn’t want fame or thanks, but she does and already has helped so many others. Her name is whispered in reverence around the globe. I have to force the words out. Each lie puts a crack in my psyche, so I can only imagine what it must have been like to grow up with all of these things being fed to you as the truth.
“Your brother knows it.” She rolls her shoulders. “As did your mother, who regretted the day you were born. What kind of daughter leaves her parent to be murdered?”
A low keening leaves her throat. A wounded child struggling for life. For freedom. To be heard.
