Blood in the Water (Kairos) (31 page)

Kong was tasked with delivering the mutilated Geoff the to a hospital at least a hundred miles from Absolution  The remains of the body of the Mexican were wrapped in a tarp that Dizzy had pulled from the bedroom and flung into the back of the van along with the sobbing Prospect. Kong was free to leave the hunk of flesh wherever he felt like it.

Paul stepped outside to the trickle of a stream that cut through the muddy ground a few feet from the door of the shack.  His clothes were a lost cause, but he wanted to get as much blood as he could off his hands before he rode.  He turned at the sound of footsteps.  Samuel was carrying his kutte over.  Paul stood, wiping his hands dry on the back of his jeans.

“My girl at yours?”  Samuel had gone flat, like a balloon with the air let out.  The aura of hard authority that he had shown inside the shack had bled out, replaced by the resurging grief.

“She should be?”  He took his kutte when Samuel offered it to him and put it on.  The heavy leather was the mask, the skin that allowed him to pretend that the things he was capable of were in some way normal, needed even.

“Will you tell her... about her brother?”

“If you want me to.”

“Yes.  She’ll need you.  I’ll tell her mama.”  Samuel sighed and looked out into the dark woods.  When he turned back, his look was appraising, as if seeing something about Paul that he hadn’t before.  Paul figured he pretty much deserved it.  It wasn’t every day you saw someone do what he had just done to another human being.  He wondered if, once the grief wore off, Samuel would have second thoughts about letting him anywhere near his daughter.

Paul didn’t know what to say.  There were no words that could bring Dean back or that could erase the grief.  He was honored to be trusted with Ashleigh’s well-being and wished that he was that worthy, that he was the man his president thought he was.  He wanted to deserve the trust and respect he was being given, but he never would.

They separated, Sam and Terry heading to the clubhouse with Dizzy and Sinatra following.  Sinatra was still driving the truck with Dean’s bike strapped forlornly to the bed.  Paul was both relieved and reluctant to set eyes on his house.  The day had seemed like it would never end.  He felt that no matter how much he slept it would still never end. 

Paul could see from the glow in the glass of the porch door that Ashleigh had left the small lamp on in the hallway, but otherwise the house was in darkness.  He knew which boards creaked and which doors needed oil on their hinges.  He slipped silently through the house to the kitchen.  He stripped and tied his bloody clothes in a trash bag.  Ashleigh didn’t need to see them.  He’d burn them in the morning, or later that day.  He avoided looking at the clock.  Knowing what hour it was would only increase his exhaustion.  He left his kutte hooked over the back of a kitchen chair and walked naked to the bedroom.  His whole being was crying out for Ashleigh’s comforting touch, but he didn’t relish delivering the pain he knew he was bringing to her.

She was asleep in his bed.  Her glorious hair spread across the pillow.  She knew he preferred her to leave it loose when they slept.  It was one of life’s great pleasures to wake up to that spun gold glinting in the morning light.  She was lying on her stomach, the sheet twisted over her back leaving her bare shoulders open to the cooling air.  She looked so young in her sleep, ignorant of the hurt he carried.  He took a while to watch her, to let her have that innocence a moment or two longer.  She seemed to feel the weight of his gaze and stirred, her eyes fluttering open.  As she woke, he slipped under the covers and pulled her against his chest.

“Baby, I wasn’t expectin’ you until at least noon tomorrow.”

“I know.  Ash, beauty... there...”  Jesus, he couldn’t force the words out.  “There was an accident.  It was rainin’...”  He felt the tension harden her limbs as she came fully awake.

“An accident.  Who’s hurt?  Daddy?  Dean?  We need to go.”

He held her more tightly, trying to quell the panic he could feel surging through her.

“We don’t need to go.  It’s too late.  Beauty, your brother, Dean... he came off his bike in the rain.  His neck broke.”

“He’s at St Raphael’s?  Is he paralyzed?  My god, we have to get there!”

He wrapped both arms around her.  “No beauty.  It’s too late.  He’s dead.”

“No.  No.”  She stuttered.  “He can’t be.”  She shook her head frantically and he held her tighter.

“I’m sorry beauty.  It was quick.  There was nothin’ any of us could do.”

“No.  Nooo.  No.”  She was beating his chest with her fists despite the firm hold he had on her.  “He can’t be dead.  Where’s my daddy?  You’re lyin’.”

“Your daddy’s at the clubhouse tellin’ your momma.  I’ll take you there tomorrow, beauty.  We need to give them a little time.”

“No.  I don’t believe you.  He’s not dead.  He can’t be.”

Paul grabbed her head in both of his palms, his hands dwarfing her face as he made her look at him.  “Beauty.  Your brother is dead and he ain’t ever comin’ back.  I’m sorry.”  He hated having to be so blunt but he needed to get through to her somehow.

Her crystal blue eyes glistened.  A single tear rolled out of one eye and down her cheek, then another, then both eyes, then faster and faster.  The news seemed to finally penetrate fully, and Ashleigh collapsed against him, sobbing.

Paul held her tightly to him, feeling more impotent and helpless than he ever had in his life.  He kissed the top of her head, only needing to let her know that he was there.  His cock began to stir and harden.  He couldn’t help it, she had been naked
beneath the covers and his body didn’t recognize her mourning, but he tried to will it down.  She needed comfort, not that.

She turned her flushed, tear-stained face up to his.  He pressed a soft kiss on her swollen lips, then another.  One was not enough.  He needed her to know... he would do anything to take the pain away.  He kissed her again, but this time she kissed him back.

“Please.”  Her voice was small and hoarse.  “Make it not hurt anymore.”

He knew it was futile, but he would do anything she asked.  If she had begged for the moon he would have found a way to pluck it from the sky without question.  He kissed her again, deeper this time.  Her whole body moved sinuously against his.  She brushed against his cock, which turned to steel at her touch, but she didn’t flinch.

He couldn’t touch enough of her, his hands roamed over and over her perfect skin seemingly of their own will.  Their bodies slid against each other and still it wasn’t enough.  He felt crazed with the need of her.  Judging by her erratic breathing and frantic movements she was feeling it, whatever it was, too.  Paul rolled Ashleigh onto her back, needing to be in control, needing to make her feel...  He wanted to fill his senses with her, to crowd out the grief and the anger with touch, smell and taste. 

He began to move down her body, intending to bury his face in that so sweet part, but he felt her clutching at him, pulling him back up over her.  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tightly to her.  When she gave a small shake of her head he saw that she wanted to keep him close, he thought he understood that need.

Ashleigh flexed and her wet folds were rubbing along his cock which was aching with the need to be in her.  He could feel on his sensitive skin that she was drenched and ready for him.  He rested on his forearms to give her room to breathe without losing contact and then rocked his hips, sliding into her welcoming body.

He offered comfort and solace with every movement of his body, every thrust of his hips, and with every shift of her body she took it and demanded more.  They were soon slick with sweat.  It was so intimate, surging, flesh against flesh, so close they were almost breathing each other in.  When he felt her scalding, silky sheath tighten he drove harder still into her body until the world exploded for both of them in a shower of stars.  He didn’t let go, unwilling to let even a hairsbreadth of space between them.  He only shifted so that Ashleigh wasn’t crushed under his weight, and then he held her as she cried.

Chapter Eighteen

It had been not quite two weeks since the night that Paul had arrived home and told her that her brother was dead.  The autopsy had shown what those who had witnessed the accident suspected, that Dean’s neck had broken when he’d landed on the highway after losing control of his bike in the pouring rain.

In the morning when she’d awoken and realized that it hadn’t been a nightmare, that Dean was indeed dead and wasn’t at the clubhouse waiting with a new joke or a tale about one of the boys or just a smile, she’d felt her heart physically snap.  It felt like the fabric of reality had been torn and that the rip was in the center of her chest.  The rent was still gaping wide enough to suck the whole world in and turn everything inside out.  She felt drained and exhausted, like maybe Dean had taken her life force with him when he’d gone.  She was nothing but a husk.  If not for Paul holding her up, a solid, unwavering tower of strength by her side, she would have fallen.  She was still struggling to wrap her head around someone so lively and vital and strong could be alive one moment and dead the next.

In moments like this, when she first opened her eyes in the morning, before sleep had fully left her brain, she let herself believe that he was alive, but the reality that he was gone kept crashing back over her like a bleak, grey wave.  Today the wave threatened to drown her; today was the day of her brother’s funeral.  Her thirtieth birthday had passed two days before, but she hadn’t celebrated it.  She wasn’t sure that her parents had remembered or whether it had just been too much for them to think about.  Ether way she hadn’t reminded them.  Paul had found out somehow, someone must have told him, but he didn’t make a fuss.  He’d presented her with a single red rose, they’d ordered takeout and he’d made love to her so slowly and gently that she’d felt like the only woman on earth.

Paul hadn’t woken yet, but Ashleigh didn’t feel like she could lie in bed any longer.  She needed distraction, so she edged out of the bed, being careful not to wake the sleeping giant next to her, and headed for the shower.  She ran the water hot and let the spray soak her as it turned her skin pink.  She wasn’t entirely sure whether she was officially living at Paul’s house now, but she’d barely been home in two weeks.  She’d emptied her fridge and collected most of her clothes.  It was probably a conversation that they needed to have, but not today, definitely not today.

Paul was awake when she re-entered the bedroom, but Ashleigh couldn’t find the words in her to speak, even to say ‘Good Morning.’ He seemed to understand and kissed her gently as he passed her on his way into the bathroom.  She was stepping into a black shift dress when he came back into the bedroom.  Any other morning she would have shown the proper appreciation for the sight of him in nothing but a towel, but this morning she felt like she’d been drugged or that gravity had increased, making it difficult for her to move her limbs.  She struggled with the zip on the dress, but then Paul’s hands softly moved hers out of the way and he slid the fastening closed for her.  It was a blazingly hot day, thickly humid, making everything even more sluggish. 

She dried her hair and tied it sedately at the nape of her neck, only taking care with it for other people’s sake, and applied enough makeup to look presentable.  There was no amount of foundation to disguise the hollows in her cheeks or the dark circles under her eyes.  Her appetite had fled and although she was sleeping reasonably well she still had the appearance of a confirmed insomniac.  She slipped her bare feet into black pumps and went to find Paul in the kitchen, since he’d finished dressing a long time before she had.

A steaming cup of black coffee was waiting for her on the counter.  It was the only way she’d been able to drink it in weeks, finding she couldn’t tolerate anything sweet without her stomach turning over.  She wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to draw some much needed warmth from it, despite the fight that the air conditioner was having with the humidity.

Paul was at the stove working with a spoon and a frying pan. The smell of cooking eggs penetrated the fog in her head, and Ashleigh had to take a moment to decide whether the smell made her nauseous or ravenous.  Paul served up two plates of scrambled eggs and toast onto the small table.

“You need to eat, beauty.  It won’t do anyone any good if you pass out during the service.”

He was all quiet concern, not pushing her, just speaking sense.  She looked at the plate and decided she was hungry.  She pulled a chair out and sat down.  She relinquished her coffee mug in favor of cutlery and tucked in.  She knew he was glancing at her as he ate his own breakfast, but his scrutiny didn’t unnerve her.  He kept it low key.  She enjoyed the feeling of being cared for, that someone was concerned about her well-being, and was thankful that he knew how to keep that dialed down to an appropriate level so that she didn’t feel smothered.

She helped him take care of the dishes, but still couldn’t find the motivation for conversation.  Her sadness lay heavily on her soul.  He kissed her gently again before she opened the door to her SUV.  He would be riding today, and she wasn’t dressed for a bike.  He stayed behind her all the way to the clubhouse, watching.  She knew there were charters and friends coming in from all over, but that knowledge hadn’t prepared her for the glinting sea of Harleys, spotted with a few cars, that had flooded the space in front of the clubhouse.  She could see, though, that space had been left for her vehicle and Paul’s bike.

She stopped dead at the clubhouse door.  Her brother was inside, or at least the shell that had housed his spirit was.  If she didn’t go in she could maintain the illusion, keep the hope that he might walk through the door one day.  If she went through the door, if she followed the day on its course, Dean would be gone irrevocably.  There would be no denying it after this.  Paul’s hand at the small of her back reminded her that standing still was not an option.

He pushed open the door for her and maintained the firm pressure that forced her, and gave her the strength to walk forward.  Not a great lover of being the center of attention at the best of times, Ashleigh nearly bolted when a hush fell over the room and every head turned in her direction.  Not knowing how else to proceed, she scanned the room, looking for her parents.  Paul gave her a small nudge in the right direction, towards the Chapel.

The room was crowded and heavy with people, but they parted as one to allow her through.  Her mother and father were stood in the Chapel with the casket, with... she didn’t want to think it... with... Dean’s casket.  Her mother looked, to her familiar eye, brittle.  She was pale and drawn, but every inch the first amongst the Old Ladies.  Her hair was neat, her spine was straight, and careful makeup was hiding the ravages of her grief.  Her father seemed to have visibly aged years in the past few days; his hair seemed a little greyer, the lines on his weatherworn face a little deeper.  He had lost some of the spark of vitality that had always lit up any room he’d walked into.

She was sure that her mother and father had done their wailing and crying, but they had done it where no one could see.  They weren’t the kind of people who tamped their emotions down, but neither did they believe in making an exhibition of their feelings.

Dolly was standing next to her mother, and Terry next to her father.  Dolly’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she was twisting a fabric handkerchief around her fingers.  If Ashleigh’s heart hadn’t been numb, it would have gone out to Dolly and Terry.   They hadn’t been able to have children of their own, and Ashleigh knew that they had considered her and Dean their offspring as much as her own parents did.

The rest of the club members were arrayed beyond Terry in a familiar order, Dizzy, Kong, Fletch, Chiz, Tag, Crash, Sinatra and Morse.  She wondered where Geoff was, but she didn’t look for him.  Fletch was leaning heavily on a cane.  Chiz looked somewhat lost without his crutches, she’d become so used to seeing them.  He was favoring his right leg, but otherwise upright by his own power.  Morse looked pale and tired, even so early in the day, but he was there.  It was a somber Guard of Honor.

Ashleigh went to her father first.  She could tell by the stiff way that he leaned down to kiss her cheek, by the way that he didn’t even attempt to hold her, that he had made a tight fist around his emotions.  She didn’t resent that, she was secure in his love and ready to support him in whatever he needed to do to get through this day.  Her mother’s lips twisted into a sort of smile before she too kissed Ashleigh on the cheek.  Her mother hadn’t been sure that she would come and was glad that she had.

She allowed Paul to guide her over to the casket.  She knew he felt the reluctance in her steps as they approached the long, black lacquered box resting on the massive table.  She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had entered this room, but she new the table was usually surrounded by chairs, which she could see had been pushed back along the walls.

She hadn’t seen her brother’s body since the accident that had claimed his life.  The last time she had seen him had been the Friday night before the accident.  They had played a couple of games of pool before he’d disappeared into his dorm room with Tricia and Katie.  It had appeared that he’d been coming around to her and Paul being a couple, even though he’d advised them both against it.  He’d laughed and joked with them, although she noticed that he wasn’t completely relaxed.  She’d put it down to brotherly petulance at having his advice ignored.

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. She’d been trying not to think about it.  But she was almost as shocked by the fact that he looked as though he was asleep than if he’d been gruesomely injured.  Paul had told her that Dean’s neck had been broken.  She knew what a broken neck looked like, she’d seen her fair share of animals that had come off worse in an argument with a vehicle, but there was no evidence of that looseness or the awkward angle that was so telling.  There wasn’t even a graze on her brother’s handsome face, she supposed his helmet must have been to thank for that, or maybe Little Mark. 

Little Mark was the owner and manager of Green Pastures Funeral Home and a friend to the club, being a distant relative of Kong’s.  She had spotted him as he stood to one side of the main room.  It was hard to miss him, even among the blurred sea of faces; he was anything but what his name suggested.  He was possibly the only person in the room to truly rival Paul’s size, but his paunch followed Kong’s genetic line.  He had played college football and had a bright future until a shoulder injury had forced him into the family business.

Ashleigh felt awkward.  Were people expecting her to throw herself over the coffin wailing and tearing her hair?  Would they think she hadn’t loved her brother enough if she didn’t?  Any gesture of affection she might have made, any word she might have said, she would not do or say with a room full of people watching and listening.  She squeezed her hands into fists, every fiber of her being demanding that she turn and run.  It was too hard to say goodbye.  Just. Too. Hard.  She couldn’t do it.  She couldn’t sit through the service and be composed and dignified, it was too big an ask.  She needed air...

Paul’s hand moved from the small of her back and slipped around her waist as he pulled her into his side and tucked her against his body.  She turned into his warmth and breathed deeply of his scent rather than look at what had been her affectionate, protective, vivacious, life-loving brother.  She bit her lip until she tasted blood as she fought a private war with her tears, but she was victorious.  As she relaxed marginally, Paul helped her to step away from the casket and walked her back to her mother and Dolly.  He released her to stand between the two older women and went to take his place in line with his brothers.

Someone must have made a motion, but she didn’t see who or what.  She only knew that the people from the main room began to file through, each stopping a moment at the casket.  Some bowed their heads silently, some mumbled a few words, some touched Dean’s hands where they lay folded over his stomach.  Ashleigh tuned out.  She didn’t want to intrude on other people’s mourning as she didn’t want people to intrude on hers.  She recognized the patches of Paul’s former club when those members entered.  The sight of the club girls, their mascara already streaked, made Ashleigh feel sad in a desolate way.  They reminded her that, to the best of her knowledge, her brother had never known true love, and now he never would, and that was such a bleak thought. 

An age passed before everyone else had paid their respects.  She followed her mother out of the room because now it was the turn of the club, his brothers, to say their final goodbyes, and that would be done privately.  She knew they would each lay a keepsake in the casket before they closed the lid.  Crash closed the door behind them.  Ashleigh, her mother and Dolly made their way to the main door to wait.

Eventually the Chapel doors opened and the casket came out, borne on the shoulders of the members.  A reverent hush fell, ending the muted conversations that had been rippling around the room.  The crowd parted to allow them through.  In silence they bore her brother through the room to the waiting hearse.  As the last member stepped out of the building, Moira, Ashleigh and Dolly stepped out too.  The blinding sunshine was somehow offensive, as if the heavens themselves were being disrespectfully bright.