“Get on with it, Brother,” Freak growls.
Coughing to clear my throat, I try again, and this time a sentence comes out. “I want to claim Bronwyn and Trip as my ol’ lady and kid.”
There’s a murmur of confusion around the table, and it’s Winchester who asks, “Bronwyn? Doc’s kid? Hell, Short. I thought she was out of bounds.”
“Trip?” Rattler asks, his eyes confused and wide. “The kid’s Doc’s son, and he’s?—”
“Don’t fuckin’ say it,” Freak roars.
“Start at the beginning,” Bullseye growls. “And you fuckers shut up and listen.”
Taking a deep breath, I take Prez’s initial advice. “Bronwyn came to me all beat up, as most of you know. It was Docwho’d blackened her eyes and cut open her forehead.” Once I’ve started, the words come easier. As they sit in spellbound silence, I enlighten them on how we went to follow up to see what had made Doc lose his mind and hit her. As I continue, no one interrupts. Disgusted looks, exhaled gasps, the sound of fists hitting the table, and quite a few swear words come out. When I talk about discovering Trip’s existence and his real relationship to Bronwyn, the room goes completely quiet. Except for Words, who stands, plants his fist in the wall, then comes straight back to the table.
Having hit my groove, it all comes out. When, with a nod toward Prez, giving him his due for connecting the dots, I lay out our assumptions that it’s possible, if not probable, the Mojave Devils are playing a significant part, uproar ensues, which Prez and Tempest have to calm.
When something approaching peace is restored, Paint states, “The girl and the kid need protection. They’re not at the club, so where are they now?”
“At the house I bought to flip,” I tell them. “It’s not ideal, but it’s more suitable for the kid. And since I only purchased the place recently, I’m hopeful the county land records office won’t have registered the change of ownership yet. And anyway,” I add. “There’s nothing to link Bronwyn and Trip’s disappearance to myself or the club.”
Prez butts in, “Except for Doc noticing you’ve been over-friendly to her.” He shrugs as if he thought it was something I should mention.
“Yeah.” I shake my head. “Apparently, there’s that. But all I did was act like a human being.”
“So why did you say you were taking her as your ol’ lady?” Piston asks. “She sounds like she’s safe as long as she stays out of sight.”
“Nah,” Rattler says lazily, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “Short’s got the hots for her. Anyone could see his tongue hanging out when she was around. Probably she wants nothing to do with him, but he sees a chance to get into her pants by pretending to swoop in like a knight in fuckin’ armour.”
“If you don’t kill him…” I glare at Stalker. “Then I’m fuckin’ going to.”
Rat widens his eyes. “Why? What have I said now?”
Saint leans forward and looks down the table. “When Bron was fourteen fuckin’ years old, she was forced to have Doc’s kid. Only Doc attended to her, with no hospital, no anaesthetic, and not even her mom there. And that’s after he sexually abused her regularly for six years or more. You really think Short has a chance of getting his dick wet anytime soon?”
Rat looks askance, but that doesn’t stop him commenting. “Then Short’s no knight, he’s a fuckin’ saint. And I accept that as far as I believe the moon’s made of cheese. What’s the real story, Short?”
“I like her,” I growl. “Abuse is something I know only too well. Luckily, not the sex part, but the living with a controlling, abusive asshole bit.” I point my finger at him. “And that’s all you fuckin’ need to know.”
I turn to the rest of the table. “Making her my ol’ lady brings her under the club’s protection. Same goes for claiming Trip as my son.”
“This meeting is still making no sense,” Genie states. He rests his hands on the table and starts strumming his fingers against the wood. “Doc’s one man, he’s no threat. Short can easily send him packing.” He thinks for a moment. “He’s unlikely to get the law involved, as even if he wants to accuse Short of kidnapping, he clearly doesn’t want his kid’s true parentage to come out.”
“Would it?” Woody asks. “I mean, Bronwyn’s his child, too. Could he get away with saying Trip was her brother?”
“DNA doesn’t lie,” Genie answers him patiently. “Doc’s wife wasn’t involved in the making, so it would be easy to prove.”
Woody leans his head forward and bangs his forehead against the table. “Will you forget I ever asked?” he growls, looking chagrined.
Prez bangs the gavel. “Have we all forgotten about the probable involvement of the MDMC?”
Using the resultant hush, I step in again. “Bronwyn doesn’t deserve to hide. She’s well on her way to becoming a registered nurse practitioner, which would benefit this club. She needs to go to school and to the hospital so she can keep up.”
Piston startles as if something has hit him. “We go up against Doc, we might lose his services.”
“Exactly,” Prez states. “Which is another angle to us agreeing to Short’s request.” He looks around the table, eyeing each man in turn, pausing on them until they meet his eyes. “We’ve got choices. We keep our medical safety net, and we turn a blind eye to the abuse that’s happening on our watch.”
“And let the Mojave Devils walk all over us, and condone the kidnapping of a kid.” Words shows he’s not just a pretty face. “If Short keeps Bronwyn close, Bronwyn could extract our bullets and sew up knife wounds herself.” He grins. “Hell, even I could help. I’m pretty handy with a needle and thread.”
“You only work on dead bodies,” Paint points out and grimaces.
