by Wendy Cole
Bard ignored him. He exuded absolute calm as he walked into the trees and took his time picking a stick from the shrubbery. He found one, held it firm, tested the weight, then turned and locked his eyes with mine. They bore into me, conveying through their depths what words could never accomplish.
“Rip his shirt,” he directed Boe, his voice rough and his eyes never leaving mine.
“Hey, now! This is a nice shirt! Tell him, sweetheart. I didn’t rip your shirt. I just pulled it up a little.”
Boe grabbed the shirt, jerked it down the center, and the material came apart with a sound that seemed to echo across the open field.
Bard’s eyes stayed with mine for another long moment. He held the stick out to his side and ignored the taunts coming from the man behind him. It was just me and him; us and every memory we’d fought so hard to forget.
Drake pulled at his bindings and twisted to get a look at me. “Jessie!” He swung back and forth. “Are you watching? Pay attention. I’m going to show you how it’s done.”
Bard’s eyes hardened. He turned with momentum. His arm lifted, whole body twisted, and the blow he landed was so forceful, blood burst free and ran down in rivulets. It was like a waterfall. Flesh split and dark red billowed out.
Drake grunted then laughed. “Damn you hit hard! Jessie, you really outdid yourself this time! A few years, and he’ll probably be beating you better than I ever could!”
It felt amazing to watch. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, but I didn’t care. Seeing Bard beat him, seeing Drake suffer the way he’d made me suffer, purified me. Every memory was drowned out by this one moment. This massive event was left to forever stand out in my mind as the day he got what he deserved; the day Bard made him pay.
Bard didn’t pause. He swung again at the same spot, ignoring the cries for mercy that erupted from Drake’s lips; the screams of agony that burst from his strangled lungs. Two hits were all it took to break him.
He was nothing, less than nothing.
I was more.
Bard was merciless. He beat away at Drake faster and harder than what should have been possible. He didn’t pause to catch his breath, didn’t stop to rest his arm. Each hit happened in quick succession; left, right, left, right. His muscles bulged with each swing. The world was forgotten to him. Nothing existed except for the man before him and the branch in his hand.
Even long after Drake fell limp, and his screams silenced, Bard didn’t stop. He beat away over and over until sweat beaded his skin and roars of anguish ripped past his lungs to add fuel to the force of each blow.
“He’s unconscious, son,” Zeke called out in a soothing tone.
Bard stumbled back and took a few paces away. I waited for him. I was sure he was done. I expected him to keep walking and go somewhere to cool off.
But he didn’t.
He made it five steps before he spun on his heels and stormed back. With a roar of outrage, he gripped Drake’s skull, pulled it back, and slammed his face into the tree. Then again. Over and over. Blood flowed free and covered the bark, ran down his arm, and blanketed the ground.
Boe cautiously placed a hand to his shoulder and tried to coax him away, but Bard shoved him back.
“I’m not done.” He snatched a knife from his pocket and cut the rope.
Drake flopped to the ground.
Bard circled him, his eyes blazing. He stared down at Drake with a look more befitting a predator. “You should never have come here,” he said. “You should have never touched her.” He kicked his stomach then his head.
“Bard,” Zeke called again, his voice overly soft.
He didn’t stop. He kicked again, then stomped his stomach and his face over and over until Drake’s skull was crushed and completely unrecognizable.
Only then did he finally take a step back. He stared down at the lifeless pile with his shoulders heaving and hands fisted. “You think he’s dead?” he asked, jaw clenched. His leg moved one last time to kick the body then he spit at the ground and turned to lock eyes with mine.
He headed straight towards me, his steps long and sure. The moment I was within reach, he carefully lifted me into his arms, and turned to Zeke. “Burn him.”
“Where are you going?” Zeke asked.
“I’m getting her the fuck out of here.” His face stayed forward, completely focused. He didn’t jar me despite the obvious aggression rolling off him. Bard held me gently, making as little contact with my back as possible.
“Wait!” I called out. “I need to check on Fred!”
Bard looked down at me then turned back to Zeke. “Check on Jessie’s friend. I’m taking her home.”
Zeke nodded, and his eyes darted to the old man still laying on the ground.
I bit my lip, torn on what to do. I wanted to check for myself, to make sure that he was okay, but one look at Bard’s stern features let me know that wasn’t an option.
As if he had read my mind, Bard said, “Zeke and Boe will take care of him.” His eyes stayed glued to the space in front of him. His pace was quick and determined.
I nodded my agreement even though he wasn’t looking then rested my head against his shoulder.
“How did you get Zeke and Boe out here?” I asked, my voice quiet.
Bard focused on his steps, dipped beneath branches and dodged holes easily as if I were weightless. “They came out to check on you and saw the bikes. They tracked us.” His jaw twitched. “It’s a good thing they did. They found me washed up by the river, damn near frozen to death. If they hadn’t…” He let the sentence drop.
Karma...
“I don’t deserve you.” He shook his head and refused to look at me. “I promised you he’d never touch you again, and I let…”
“No!” I gripped his beard and pulled his face to mine.
Bard stopped walking. He looked at me, his eyes full of guilt and his expression tight.
“You saved me, Bard. You saved me, and you dealt with him.”
It was over. Drake was dead. He wasn’t hiding around some corner or lurking in the shadows. For the first time in years, I could breathe. Each gulp of air came fresh and cool into my deprived lungs, and relief coursed through my body in waves.
I sighed and lifted a hand up to cup Bard’s neck. It was over. “I never believed you. You told me more than once. You said you’d kill him. You said you’d protect me. But it had seemed so fucking absurd to even think it.”
I squeezed his shoulder and smiled. Moisture filled my eyes and blurred my vision. “But you did.” My voice broke. A half sob, half laugh broke free. “You did it. It’s over. He can’t…”
Bard pulled me closer, buried his face into my hair, and we stood. We just stood there, surrounded by nature, broken but alive, and I was free.
“I love you so much,” he said, his voice harsh. He sucked in a breath, kissed my temple, then turned back to the task of getting me home with renewed purpose.
He carried me all the way for miles, and when the cabin came into view, he didn’t stop until we were inside and he’d laid my body belly down onto the bed.
“Don’t move. I’m going to get the first aid kit.”
I nodded, but he’d already rushed out of the room.
When he came back, Bard cleaned my wounds and bandaged each one gently, so carefully. It reminded me of the time he’d stitched my hand, and I couldn’t believe what had come from that. I couldn’t believe how much had changed.
Each time I hissed, he’d pause, caress my hair, and utter sweet words in a soothing tone. “It’s over. I got you.”
When the task was complete, he took the space beside me, wrapped an arm around my waist, and put his eyes level with mine.
I lifted a hand and laid it across his cheek. It felt as if I’d died in those woods, and this was heaven.
“It’s over.” Tears pooled in my eyes again as I spoke the words out loud. “It’s really over.”
Bard’s expression softened. His gaze ran over my face, my hai
rline, and my cheeks, drinking me in before meeting my eyes again. “No, Tequila. This is just the beginning. Our memories have barely begun.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
Almost a week ago, Zeke and Boe carried an unconscious and battered Fred out of the woods and into the cabin. It had taken a day and a half for the old man to wake, and with the threat of a serious concussion, I sat on pins and needles the whole time. But he eventually did, and after days upon days of helping him, he was finally well enough to leave.
A question had burned in my mind since the day Drake left this earth, but despite all the opportunities I’d had to do so, I still hadn’t asked it.
It was over. Drake was gone.
But what would the club do?
Bard killed their leader, and for as much of a dick Drake was, retribution would need to be made. An attack on Drake was an attack on The Onyx Eagles.
Fred never brought it up, and neither did Bard. The two men had kept a respectful distance. Zeke and Boe had left soon after they’d brought Fred in. I didn’t know what they’d gone to do, but I could imagine it had to something to do with disposing of certain…things. When they didn’t come back, however, I asked Bard.
“I told them to head back to the shop in case anyone shows up there,” he’d said, his eyes cutting over to the old man, who at the time, was still unconscious on the living room sofa.
The fact that Bard didn’t trust Fred was no secret. He’d made it clear since the moment they’d brought the man inside, but he tolerated him. For me. He kept his eyes peeled and his muscles tensed. He looked ready to take the old man out if he so much as sneezed, and I couldn’t blame him.
Uncle Fred noticed, but it didn’t seem to bother him. If anything, he looked pleased. He’d meet my eyes, and I swear I’d see admiration there. He respected him.
That would go a long way.
The sun was just starting to rise on the morning he was set to leave when I decided to ask him the question I couldn’t get out of my head. I needed to see him off and find out where it all stood. If he planned to give us up and alert the club, I didn’t know what I’d do. He was like family to me.
I looked in the bathroom mirror and took note of my drawn and tired face. I hadn’t slept. My nerves kept me up like an incessant tapping in my skull, and dread about what would happen made my chest tight.
Once Fred left, the club could find out, and his failure to bring up the subject made me even more reluctant about the situation.
I heard the front door swing shut and hurried to catch up to him.
I found him standing on the front porch. “I wondered if you’d say goodbye,” he said, turning a small smile towards me.
I grinned in return. “Of course, I would.”
I stared at him; at his white hair and matching beard, and the laugh lines around his eyes. It was so familiar. Uncle Fred was the only good memory I had of the club. He’d always been good to me. He’d done what he could and had taken the time to teach me things like how to flick a bottle cap. My smile widened at the thought.
How to handle a tense situation. How to be strong. I doubt I would have survived the years with Drake if it hadn’t been for him.
“Jessie.” Fred laid a hand onto my shoulder. “If I’d ever had a daughter, I can imagine she’d be a lot like you. If she was, I can imagine I’d be real proud of her.”
My throat constricted. I couldn’t speak. This was the last time I’d ever see him. I knew that with every fiber of my being, and it bothered me more than it should have.
Fred was family.
“What’s gonna happen, now?” I asked, my voice barely audible. This was it, the moment of truth.
Fred knew what I meant, and his eyes softened. “As Vice President, the club falls to me now.”
I nodded and waited, my breath held and heart pounding.
“It’s a shame about Drake.” He met my gaze and gave a slow nod. “Bears are dangerous animals.”
My brows shot up towards my hairline.
Bears…A bear killed Drake.
“These are good people here, Jessie girl. You take care of yourself.” His arms engulfed me in a tight hug, but he was careful of my back even though the wounds had already scabbed over. “I’m gonna miss you, but I’d be lying if I said I hope I ever see you again. You’ve never belonged in my world. You belong here.” He leaned back and looked at me. “Be happy, and I’ll be happy knowing that you are.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears that rolled down my cheeks. “Dammit, Fred! You’re gonna make me cry!”
He laughed, pulled me in for one last hug, then turned and started across the yard. “I swear, I won’t tell a soul!” he called back to me, still smiling. “You be good, kid.”
“Uncle Fred?”
He looked over at me.
“I think if I’d ever had a dad, he would be just like you.” I paused. “I…I think I’d be proud, too.”
He waved me off, but I saw it, a moisture in his eyes. He shook his head and climbed onto his Harley.
“Well, you always had strange opinions about things.” That was the last thing he said to me. He revved the bike and took off, leaving a group of others behind for us to do god knows what with.
The roar of his engine ended any more goodbyes that could have been spoken, and it wasn’t long after he disappeared completely.
It was over. The club wasn’t coming. Drake was gone.
I was free.
I turned on my heels, eager to find Bard and tell him, to hug him, and press my lips to his, to celebrate.
He was gone when I woke up, probably off working on one thing or another. I’d never questioned him about it, figuring it must be hard for him to deal with a club member being in his house. I understood and loved him even more for being so understanding.
When I made it through the door, however, I froze. A wildflower laid on the floor, and in my hurry to find him, I almost stepped on it.
My eyes travelled, finding more. They created a path towards the kitchen, and I followed, continuing out the back door as I trailed them.
When I stepped out, they continued, ending at the training area where Bard stood with a serious expression.
“What’s this?” I asked with a smile.
The very corner of his lip twitched, but it was so small, anyone else but me wouldn’t have noticed at all. “I’ve got a bet for you,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. It echoed across the yard and met my ears like a caress.
“Oh yeah? And what would that be?”
Bard motioned around him. “A fight. If you win, I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Really?” I laughed. “Is that so? What if I want you to wear a dress and sing I’m a Little Teapot?”
He grimaced. “That’s evil, Jessie.”
“Well, that’s the deal. You want to bet? That’s it.”
His lip twitched again. “Fine.”
I walked over and stood in front of him. “You still haven’t told me what you get if you win.”
Bard stepped closer, placed a hand against my hip, and pulled me into him. His breath tickled the hair on the top of my head. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke. “If I win, I get you.”
I smirked. “You already have me, Bard.”
“I don’t…not until I marry you.”
My heart clenched, and I jerked my eyes up to his. “Marry?”
Bard swallowed hard. His eyes sharpened and cut, just like they always did, searching, probing. “If I win, I get to have you be my wife. You’ll have to stay with me forever…and eventually give me little baby girls that are just like you.”
Warmth filled my chest to the point it could split open. I’d found my life―a normal life, and I was looking at him. “Deal.”
We each got into stance, and Bard looked more determined than I’d ever seen him. When he lunged forward, I threw my hands up and let him take me with him to the ground. He twisted just in time to protect my back from the impact and landed with me pressed
against his chest.
“You win.” I stared down into those intense eyes of his and laughed.
Bard smiled that blinding smile that lit my whole world. He cupped the back of my head and pulled my lips to his. He kissed me with enough emotion to make my eyes well up with tears.
“I sure did,” he murmured against my mouth.
And as we laid there, loving each other, making promises of a future neither one of us thought we’d ever have…
Karma smiled at us.
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Here is a sample from another story you may enjoy:
PROLOGUE
Pediatric Mental Health Institute
Redbird Falls, Michigan
March 13, 1993
“Hello, Amelia.” His expression was soft, his movements slow. “I’m Doctor Sam. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions. Do you think that would be okay?” His eyes roamed over the young girl’s face. He’d read over the case files; he’d known about the night terrors, the multiple police visits, but he hadn’t expected a five-year-old to look so . . . worn out. The circles beneath her bloodshot eyes were dark, darker than his own. On top of that, she looked terrified.
“Amelia? Do you think that would be okay? We don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. This is a safe place.”
She eyed the room as if fact-checking his statement. “Okay.” The solitary word came out tired, making her sound more like a soldier fresh out of combat than a child just learning her alphabet.
Dr. Sam reached into his desk drawer and grabbed a piece of paper and some crayons. “Would you like to color me a picture while we talk?”
She nodded robotically as he placed the paper before her.
“I heard about your nightmares. I’d like to help them go away.”