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Walking towards the front of the clubhouse, I veered into the hallway and back out, a set of double doors in front of me not the only barrier to finding John. There were two club prospects eyeing me like I had an AK-47 in my hands and a belt full of ammo. Great.
‘Nobody goes in until they’re finished,’ the older of the two said. He must’ve been eighteen at most, his hand on the gun at his hip.
‘Get out of my way,’ I said, my voice saccharine sweet, ‘unless you want Dornan to shoot you in the face.’
‘You a Gypsy Brother?’
I stared down the younger one, his eyes squinting at me as he tried to appear larger than me. Which he was, easily, but for some reason he hunched when he stood. I, on the other hand, did not. I stood ramrod straight, looking him directly in the eye. I was the furthest thing from a Gypsy Brother. ‘Do I look like a Gypsy Brother to you, boy? Move.’
It worked. They both parted, looking at the ground as I opened the double doors and entered the sacred space reserved only for Gypsy Brothers.
Sixteen pairs of eyes turned towards me as I looked past Dornan’s inquiring frown to John, sitting at the head of the long table, and waited to be addressed. Nobody spoke. John raised his eyebrows as if to say, What do you want?
‘You’re needed,’ I said to John. ‘Family business.’
Fifteen pairs of eyes averted as John stood, following me out of the room. I ignored the prospects as they closed the doors after us and resumed their spots. I’m fairly sure they were only there to keep them out of trouble. I mean, if someone really wanted to get through those doors, a couple of punk kids with revolvers tucked into their pants wasn’t going to stop much.
‘Is it Juliette?’ John asked, matching my stride as he followed me down the hallway.
We reached the kitchen/dining area and I stopped. I didn’t need to explain. It was all clear as day: his daughter, growing more frantic as she shook her mother, the puddle of vomit beside Caroline’s head on the table making a nauseating dripdripdrip as it cut a path from the tabletop onto the ground. Idiot. She had a husband, a child, a career and a life, and she did this so regularly, it was no longer shocking to see her almost at death’s door. Usually the kid wasn’t a part of it, though. That irritated me. If I had Luis, he’d never have to do anything like that for me. I would love him and take care of him and make him happy.
The fact that Caroline Portland eschewed her freedom while I fought for every minute of mine made me want to grab her by the hair and grind her face into the vomit.
‘You want me to call an ambulance?’ I asked John flatly, watching the scene unfold in front of me. Some might say that I had no empathy, but if it had been anyone else dying in front of me like Caroline was right now, I would have reacted differently. The problem was I’d seen it all before, and whether she lived or died was irrelevant to me. In fact, if she died it would only make life less difficult.
It’s funny how nine years in hell hardens you.
John was shaking Caroline when I felt a hand at my elbow. I whirled around, expecting to see Murphy’s freakish blue eyes staring back at me, but I softened when I saw Dornan.
‘What’d I miss out here?’ he asked, raking a hand through his dark hair, peppered with grey. He’d let it grow just long enough to have that perpetual mussed-up look, and it definitely suited him.
‘The usual.’ I spoke quietly enough so that John wouldn’t hear me. The poor bastard had it hard enough being married to that opiate-soaked waste of space, without hearing us pass judgement.
I don’t know why I hated her so fervently. Maybe because, even then, I sensed something about John. I saw his kindness, the very thing she rejected, and I seethed with jealousy at their beautiful child. Mostly because mine existed as nothing more than a worn photograph and an image in my head that faded more each day. Sometimes I couldn’t remember what he looked like without looking at the photograph, and that frightened me.
But this whore had everything I would never have, everything I had always wanted, and she chose to space out on heroin every fucking day.
Yeah, that’s why I hated her.
‘Time for the cold water?’ I interjected. I’d had the delight of pouring water on the bitch to wake her up more than once.
John shook his head. ‘I’m taking her to the hospital. Her pulse is barely there.’
I turned to Dornan to tell him to help, but he was already stepping forward, car keys in hand, as John took Caroline in his arms. He looked back at me.
‘Can you . . .?’ He jerked his head in his daughter’s direction.
I nodded. ‘Yeah, of course. Go. I’ll take her back to my place.’ I didn’t much care if Caroline met her maker, but I didn’t want John to suffer. We’d worked together for the better part of nine years. I spent more time with him than I did with anyone. I knew he was a good man. I knew he still carried my secret with him, and I believed he’d never divulged it, not even to Dornan, his best friend and VP. It’s funny – John hadn’t asked me about that crumpled baby photo he’d found in my apartment once in nine years. He’d never asked if the baby was my son. And I’d never volunteered the information. I’d already perfected a lie in case he did ask. I’d tell him, and anyone else that asked, that the baby was my brother. And if Murphy got involved and spilled the truth – that I had a son, who was now somewhere in Colombia with adoptive parents – well, I’d burn that bridge down if I ever arrived at its edge.
Dornan didn’t look at me again as he left, following after John. I knew he’d be disappointed. Angry. He hated Caroline at least as much as I did, and probably more.
I thought of the prospects again, their cocky little grins and know-it-all attitude. ‘Come on,’ I said to Juliette. ‘We’ll let the new boys clean up this mess.’
Juliette looked tired. ‘I should clean it up. My mom will get mad.’
I will pound your mother’s face into a fucking wall if she gets mad at you for not cleaning up her vomit. That’s what I wanted to say, but I refrained. ‘Nonsense,’ I said, extending my hand. ‘Those boys need to prove their worth.’
Almost as if on cue, bikers started to pour into the room. They all looked at me openly as they passed, but no one said a word. They wouldn’t dare. I felt itchy all of a sudden, needed to leave before Emilio and Murphy came out of their own meeting and noticed I was still around. Murphy had a bad habit of trying to corner me, and I’d developed a sixth sense around his impending approach.
