Page 12 of Hawk's Cry

I’m watching my son carefully, noticing with pride the imperceptible straightening of his shoulders, and that he makes no protest or plea for clemency. But then he is, was, the VP. He knows what to expect.

“After which,” Wizard continues, “you will no longer be welcome on this compound. Your old lady can stay or go with you as you and she see fit. She will always have a place here, she’s club.”

I feel as well as hear Wraith’s sigh of relief. Eli will be gone, but Wraith’s daughter doesn’t carry his stain.

Prez stands. “We will continue this… conversation… in the storeroom.”

Eli closes his eyes briefly as though preparing himself, then, flanked by Hound and Throttle, he turns and is escorted away.

As I take my place in the group following him, Wraith’s hand rests on my back.

“You okay, Brother?”

“No.” I tell him the truth. “I feel like my heart’s been ripped out of me. I’ve seen, done, some bad fuckin’ things in my life, but this by far is the worst. That’s my fuckin’ son, Wraith. How did it come to this?”

“What the fuck made him do it?” Wraith sounds angry. “Sorry to say this, Drum, but he’s one selfish motherfucker. He’s leaving, and he’ll be taking my little girl away from me.”

Olivia may be a grown woman of twenty-five, but she’ll always be Wraith’s child. “She could stay.” I remind him what Wizard had said. “And if she does go, they’ll be fine.” I try to sound reassuring as I voice what I know is a lie. How the fuck could two Satan’s Devils’ kids live in the civilian world?

It’s he who says the truth back to me. “They have to be. I know my daughter, she’ll throw in her lot with her husband, and for Eli? Well, for him there’s no way back.”

The events of today have blindsided me. It’s not often something knocks me off kilter. I want time to slow down. I want hours, days, to process what this all means, but I don’t get that, or anything close to it.

It seems only minutes later we arrive at our destination. All too soon Eli, head held high, takes his place in the circle of men.

When Wizard beckons to me, I know there’s no way out. No way I can avoid what I have to do. I’m club.

This might be the boy who I saw take his first breath, his first step, taught him to ride his first bike, but he’s also a man who’s disrespected my club and all that I’ve stood for my whole life.

Briefly closing my eyes, I put regret behind me, instead summoning up the anger. He’s disrespecting and betraying me as well as every other man here. I pull back my punch and let it fly. He bends as air whooshes out of his stomach, and I turn when Wizard taps my shoulder and jerks his head toward the door.

With a heavy heart and dragging steps, I walk out. I’m only halfway through the door when I hear the next fist hitting flesh.

Immediately I know Wizard was right. I couldn’t have stayed to watch. At some point I would have broken and begged for mercy for my son.

Neither do I have it in me to go home.

Instead, I enter the clubhouse and order the prospect to hand me a bottle of whisky and a glass. Then I sit all alone and drink. Lost in my thoughts, wondering where it all went wrong, I lose all sense of time. The whisky which should be numbing does nothing to turn off my brain. My main worries veer between was it my fault? And what am I going to tell Sam?

“It’s done.” Wizard plops down in the seat opposite me. “He’s alive if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“He bad?”

He shoots me a ‘what do you think’ look, and nods. “Not many punches were pulled.” Picking up the bottle of whisky, he takes a long swig. I don’t bother to point out neglecting to use a glass is unhygienic.

When he puts the bottle down, he gives me a look of understanding. “This isn’t on you, Drummer. It’s all on him. He’s a man. He’s responsible for his decisions.”

But is it? How the fuck hadn’t I read the signs? How has it come to this?

Chapter Five

Eli…

I come to and immediately wish they’d killed me. Every single part of me hurts. Hurts? Fucking understatement, screams in agony more like.

For the moment it’s all I can do to try to breathe. Every breath sends pain shooting through me from ribs that are clearly broken. That was Hound, I think. I try to catalogue what my injuries might be.

My own dad had gotten me in the stomach first. Then Peg had gone for my jaw, but though I’ve probably got whiplash, I don’t think he broke it. Rock had kicked my legs out from under me. Fuck, my hand. I can’t move my fingers on my left hand. Are they broken? Did someone stomp on it? If so, was it accidental when I was prone, or deliberate?

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