Page 17 of Paladin's Hell

I have an uneasy feeling as she goes off with him, but while I don’t particularly like my father, I’m certain he wouldn’t hurt her. I told him she’s mine. As my president, and according to club rules, he’s right not to accept it. As my father, he should.

It seems everyone’s glass is empty. I lose sight of her as I’m run ragged trying to satisfy all their requests. When at last the pace slows, my eyes search the room, I’m unable to see her. But I’m the sole bartender tonight, I can’t leave my post, can’t go looking for her. Jeannie, I do see, sitting on Bomber’s lap, her skirt up around her waist, and though the material hides what they’re doing, their mutual groans suggest she’s getting what she wanted. A good fucking from a biker.

But where’s Moira? Half an hour? An hour? How long has she been gone? I’ve got an uneasy feeling, so strong it makes me think to fuck with this. It might mean I lose the patch I’ve worked so hard for, but I’m leaving this bar. Right now. My gut churns with urgency to find her as I slide out from behind the wooden planks which make up the bar top.

Fuck! There she is. Christ! She’s stumbling down the stairs, moving awkwardly, hanging on to the railing. Completely dishevelled. She’s crying.

I head over in her direction fast, roughly pushing brothers aside to get to her. “What the fuck?” I scream as I reach her.

Her eyes meet mine, she flinches, then she quickly looks away. No one stops her as she heads for the door. As she passes me, I can see her white jeans reddened with blood around the crotch.

“Noooooo!” I roar, as everything drops into place. “Moira! Moira!”

My screaming has caused the room to go silent. Even the music’s stopped. Jeannie’s jumped off Bomber’s lap, and is moving toward her friend, her hands straightening her skirt, her own pleasure forgotten in Moira’s obvious anguish.

“Moira.” I reach her, grabbing her arm.

“Leave me alone!” she screeches, shaking my hand off. “Don’t touch me!”

“I’m taking her home,” Jeannie snaps at me.

“I’m coming with you.”

“No. NO!” Moira is struggling to make her way out. “I never want to see you again.”

I try to go after her, Furnace, our VP is holding me back, his face is grim. “Let her go, Prospect.”

I shrug out of my cut, disrespectfully throwing it down on the floor. “I’m no prospect for this fuckin’ club!” How can I get my head around the only obvious conclusion, that my own father has raped my woman? The girl who was mine. The girl saving herself for me. How can I start to deal with something like that? There’s no doubt in my mind, that’s what has happened.

If I wasn’t in the club, she’d be mine already. He took her. Because I was going to make her my old lady.

If I can’t go after her, there’s only one thing that can be done. “I’m going to fuckin’ kill him!”

My hand goes to my waistband, and I take out my gun, heading toward the stairs that my father is just descending, a satisfied grin on his face as he finishes buckling his belt.

He sneers at me, before shouting, “Why’s the fuckin’ party stopped? Put the music back on. Prospect, get back to your place behind the fuckin’ bar.”

I raise my gun and step forward.

His eyes go wide, then he laughs. “You haven’t got the fuckin’ guts. Couldn’t even keep hold of your woman. Hadn’t even fucked her, you pussy. Now you’ll have to measure up to what I’ve got. Doubt you can do that. You’ll always be wondering, won’t you?”

I chamber a round, the sound echoing in the still quiet room. Before I can fire, Furnace’s hand covers mine. “Not this way, Son. We do this proper.”

“VP?” Blackie snaps.

“You’ve gone too far this time.” Furnace is shaking his head. “Party’s over, Brothers. Women out of here. Church. Now.”

“You can’t call church.” Blackie tries to bluster, his back straightening and his face looking like thunder. “You’re not the prez.”

Furnace stares at him, then says loudly. “Raping a girl? Taking a claimed woman from a brother? You don’t deserve your place at the head of the table. Anyone here got a problem with that?”

Apparently nobody has. The murmuring is full of cries of derision for what Blackie has done. No voices of support. Men have enough sex to take when it’s offered, seems they’re not happy with someone being forced.

Blackie gets pushed into church, he continues protesting. I hang back, my hands quivering with anger, deciding I’ll shoot him on the way out.

Furnace beckons me. “What you doing standing here?”

“Fuckin’ prospects don’t attend church,” I remind him.

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