I speak fast to defuse the situation, or more correctly, to explode the bomb in another direction. “Trip’s not her brother, he’s her fuckin’ son. I leaped to the wrong conclusion when she first let that tidbit slip.” I brush my hand over my skull. “I called you before I found out the truth.” I pause to allow myself a moment to summon up the strength to put the disgusting truth out there. “Doc was raping her ever since she was a child.” Ispill the highlights of Bronwyn’s story in an effort to make Saint understand. “She got pregnant when she was just fourteen, for fuck’s sake. Doc and her ma stepped in and took over the child. She’s never been allowed to be a mother to her own kid.”
Saint’s eyes widen, his fury no longer directed at me. “Doc raped his own daughter?” His tone suggests he’s having a hard time believing it.
Pippa hisses by his side, and right at this moment, I think it’s her that Doc should be most afraid of, especially when I confirm, “She was younger than Trip is now when it started.” Wiping a hand over my brow, I come clean. “I like her, Saint, you know that. I know you’ve been suspicious of me for a while. My intentions toward her have always been innocent because, as I thought she was untouched, she was out of bounds. When she told me Trip was her boy, I fuckin’ lost it.” Shaking my head, I admit, “Said things that should never have been aired in the heat of the moment. Accused her of being promiscuous when she was just a kid, of abandoning her son and taking him away from Doc. Before I knew Doc was not only his son’s, but Trip’s mother’s father, I even fucking suggested he had done the right thing in raising him as his son.” I look my VP dead in the eye. “That’s why I called you and Pippa over. I was going to throw her out on her ass, and needed someone to watch Trip while I was getting rid of her.” I swallow hard. “I was even going to return the boy to that monster of a man.”
Saint hisses air in through his teeth. “Right now, I want to punch you in the face.”
Even though I’m not healed from the blow landed by Freak, I’d willingly accept his punishment. Even physical pain won’t mend the agony in my heart, but it could momentarily dull it.
“I’d deserve it,” I tell him, knowing nothing he could do would equate to what I’ve done to Bronwyn. I’ve fucking destroyed her.
With his head shaking side to side, his long hair swinging, he snarls, “Believe me, Short, you’re this far from me punching your lights out.” He holds his finger and thumb a fraction of an inch apart. “But first, I want to hear more. Sounds like one fuck of a story she’s told you, and you fell for it hook, line, and sinker. She could be fuckin’ with you, getting your sympathy to do exactly what you’re proposing. Getting her the protection of the club, and just to prevent her and the boy from going back to her father.”
“You didn’t see or hear her, pouring her fuckin’ heart out.” I scoff. “She’d have to be an Oscar-winning actor to put that shit on. You know her, Saint. Do you really believe she’s been putting on an act all along?”
He simply stares at me. I can’t read what he’s thinking, or whether he’s just leaving the ball in my court for now.
“I believe her, VP.” It seems the right time to give him the respect of his title. “Look, I jumped to the wrong conclusion, put two and two together when those numbers weren’t even part of the equation. Then I started to listen and heard the truth. Saint, she isn’t lying. If you think about it, everything she says makes sense. Doc was struck off because he couldn’t keep his hands off female patients. It stands to reason he was also stepping over the line at home. And, we didn’t know Doc had a son. In fact, no one does. Something he definitely wanted to keep hidden.”
Saint’s expressions are changing rapidly as he processes what he’s just been told. “Has Doc been abusive to the boy? Did he attack him last night? Was that the reason she’s come running?”
Again, shaking my head, I reply, “There doesn’t seem to be a physical mark on him, or not that I’ve seen. But, Saint, that boy’s not been treated right.”
“Why last night then?” Pippa, content so far to listen and leave the questions to her man, asks softly. “Why did Bronwynbring the boy and herself to the compound last night? The abuse has obviously been going on for years, so why has the situation escalated now?”
Fuck it, but I hadn’t realised the door behind me had opened until a small voice interjects, “Because Dad was going to make hot chocolate. For Trip.”
And fuck me, I only just manage to turn, so my vomit ends up splashing into the bushes lining the path, and not all over my VP’s boots.
With me out of it for a moment, it’s Saint who rounds on her, his voice brusque as he asks, “And why was that a problem? Kid allergic or something?”
She stands up to my VP and answers, her hands clenched into fists, and her face tight. “It was what he gave me when he wanted me pliant. Hot chocolate laced with Rohypnol. It would stop Trip from having a meltdown when he did to him what he’d done to me, when I had just turned eight years old.” Her soulless delivery makes Saint rear back as Bron’s voice only grows firmer. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
Pippa might not be law enforcement anymore, but she’s still got the analytical skills she’s taken from that employment. Gently, as if probing an unwilling witness, she queries, “How did you manage to get away? I mean, if that was his intention, how did you stop him from following through?”
Bronwyn proves she can stand up to interrogation. “Dad and I got into an argument. He laid into me. By the time he’d finished, he was too wound up and shelved the idea.” She shrugs. “Maybe he knew I’d fight him to hell before I’d let him put a hand on my son. I called Short, and the rest you know.”
In the ensuing silence, I open the door, indicating to Bronwyn she should go inside, then I usher Saint and Pippa in, following them and closing the door behind me. Saint and Pippa take the sofa, though Saint sits down and immediately shiftsover, raising his ass slightly to glare at the offending spring. I motion for Bron to take the recliner, and then stand with my back to the wall, arms folded.
The VP rubs his brow and is the first to break the weighty silence. “Trip’s really your son?” he asks, tentatively, as if he’s having trouble accepting it.
“I think I should know,” Bronwyn answers him haughtily. “I clearly remember twenty hours of agony, me crying, pleading for help while pushing a bowling ball out of my vagina with no drugs and only Dad by my side. My own father stitched me up after the birth.”
“Christ,” Pippa says, wincing. Being pregnant herself, she’s got to feel empathy.
For his part, Saint pales.
Choosing my timing, I make my request once more. “I want to claim Bronwyn, take her as my ol’ lady, and Trip as my kid. I want to bring them under the club’s protection.”
Bronwyn’s staring at me wide-eyed, making me realise I should have explained my thinking to her first.
After giving me a contemplative look for a moment, Saint pats his pockets. “I need a smoke. Come with me, Short?”
For one, Saint wasn’t ever much of a smoker and gave up when Pippa knew she was expecting. For another, he’s an officer, and I’m just a member. I can’t call him out on his excuse to talk to me outside, in private.
Pippa glances at me. “Short, have you got decaf coffee or anything?” I know it’s her way of saying she’ll be staying inside with Bronwyn.
Decaf? I’m not even sure the prospect bought the real stuff. “Knock yourself out looking. Prospect did the grocery shopping.”
