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“I know everything that happens around here,” he tells me, waiting for more of an explanation.
“They check out. they’re good people. I gotta take her back to them before all this goes down.” My voice trembles just saying the words out loud.
“She’s safe here, Screw. No one would be leaving their old ladies behind if it weren't,” Prez tries to reassure me.
“That’s not why I need her to go. I made the decision last night. That lifestyle ain't for me. The girl’s better off with the people who raised her. They can help her remember who she was before all the bad things happened to her. If she sticks around here, all I can guarantee is that there will be more bad shit to come.” I can tell Prez is taken back, but he does his best to keep the stern look on his face.
“And you're sure?” he checks, dropping his tone and almost sounding sympathetic.
“I’m certain.” I nod my head, but I can’t look him in the eye because I promised myself I’d never lie to the man who took me and Squealer in when we had nowhere else to go.
“So why do it now? Why not wait until all this is done?” he questions.
“Because I don’t wanna change my mind, and once I know that man can’t get her and hurt her, I might convince myself differently. I won’t take that risk. She needs to go home. Today.
I’ve already spoken with her father and promised I’d have her back home to him by the end of the day. It’s a three-hour drive North-West. If I leave now, I can still be with you when you take Verretti. And I want to be with you.” I make that point very fucking clear.
Prez nods his head slowly like he’s taken in everything I’ve said. I know he doesn’t agree with me. I wouldn’t expect him to understand. Prez has never committed to a woman, not even Mary-Ann, who he was married to.
“Then you better hit the road,” he tells me, gesturing his hand toward the exit.
I get up to leave, nodding my appreciation at him before I do.
“If you want my opinion, I think you're making a mistake.” I knew getting out of here without some kind of advice would be impossible. “Women don’t make us weak, Screwy. They give us a purpose.”
“Then where’s your purpose?” I turn around and ask him, my curiosity sounding bitter.
He chuckles at me before giving me his answer. “She’s in the clubhouse taking care of my grandbabies, which is exactly where her mother should be. And the reason she ain’t is because I gave her up. I loved that bitch so hard, and I thought I was doing what was right by her,” he tells me, lighting the end of his cigar.
“And?” I can’t help wanting to know more. Prez never opens up about his relationship with Ella’s Mom, but we all know how antsy he gets when she visits.
“And… She’s never forgiven me for it. I’ve never forgiven myself, either.” His honesty doesn’t only shock me, it makes me realize how much he wants me to keep Lydia here. It still ain’t enough to convince me, though. There are things I’ve done that Prez doesn’t know about, things even Squealer doesn’t know.
“I’ll be there when it’s time to kill,” I assure him, not looking back and leaving to go find Lydia.
I’m alone in the club kitchen when Screwy comes to find me. Whatever’s been weighing on his mind must still be there because he looks so sad and angry at the same time.
“You want a coffee? I’m trying to be helpful, but I don’t really know where to put myself,” I laugh nervously, but his expression remains stone cold.
“We gotta talk, Lyd.” His hand rubs the back of his neck, suggesting he doesn’t like what’s coming.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I meant what I said last night.” Moving closer to him, I take his hands in mine, but he refuses to give me any eye contact.
“I need you to come with me and not ask any questions.” His voice is weak and broken. But I promised him my trust, and so he’ll have it.
“Sure.” When I kiss his knuckles, his eyes flick up to mine, and the devastation I see in them makes me start to panic.
Holding my hand tight, he drags me through the dining hall, passing Shaniya and Troj until we get to the cot bed where I’ve rested the duffel bag that me and Alex packed together. He quickly snatches it up like it weighs nothing and continues to march us out of the clubhouse without explanation.
“Where are we going? I thought the club was going into lockdown?” I ask, struggling to get my hand free when he starts leading me toward one of the vans parked out on the yard. Something’s wrong, really wrong, and I look over at the garage to where Rogue is looking in our direction, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“Hey Vipe, you okay?” she calls over.
“Stay out of this, Rogue,” Screwy warns, wrapping his huge arm around my waist as he opens the passenger door.
“Get in the cage,” he orders, still refusing me any eye contact.
“Screwy, talk to me,” I plead, trying to make him look at me and make sense of all this.
