She nodded. “You guys go talk to Bull. We’ll handle it here.” We left them and headed over. Bear was quiet the whole way. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t know what to say. When we got to the clubhouse, a couple of the guys were there. They watched as we came in without saying a word. We went to Bull’s office. He was waiting. We closed the door and sat down.
“Talk to me.”
We went through everything. He knew about the PI but I told him about her waking up and remembering what happened—the argument and how I called Bear. We had no idea she’d called the cops until Scarelli showed up with him. Then we told him what she told us about Mercer. Bull came up out of his chair, roaring. He flipped over the table in his office. He was as bad as we were when it came to shit like this. This is why we’d started Warriors’ Haven—to protect people from men like Mercer. To know one of our own had suffered it made it ten times worse. He sat back down, breathing hard.
“She’s at the house, right? Is she still talking about leaving?” Bull asked softly.
“I didn’t see her this morning. I imagine she is. Why would she stay? She doesn’t trust us. She hates me and Bear. Jesus Christ, Bull, I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you shared your story with her?” he asked me abruptly.
I sat back and frowned.
“Why would I? It’s nothing like hers. She doesn't need to be burdened with my shit right now.”
“Because you’ve been able to talk about it. You told us. She needs to see that people don’t judge you for shit like this. She has to think we’ll look at her differently, treat her differently. She needs to know that we won’t. That what happened to her isn’t what we focus on. Hell, look at Ilara and then Brielle, Wren, and Ashlee in Dublin Falls. She needs to know she has a whole network of people who will love and protect her. There are other women who have suffered like she has, or worse in our club. Tell her your story, Outlaw. I’m going to get Terror to get his chapter here on Saturday. We didn’t go to them at Thanksgiving or Christmas. It’s past time I saw my grandkids. They’ll come and we’ll get her with the other women.”
“Do you think that’ll help? Won’t it be too much on top of this? She doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone,” I said, trying not to get my hopes up.
“It’s the only shot you have, I think, unless you have another idea,” Bull responded.
I shook my head.
“Do it. Get them here. We’ll make sure she stays. If she wants to leave afterward, we’ll let her go. I won’t hold my own daughter hostage. I won’t,” Bear said as he lurched to his feet and slammed out of the office. I got up and shook Bull’s hand.
“Thanks, Bull.”
“You’re welcome. Go see her and tell her.”
I left with a heavy heart. The guys who were in the common room were all looking worried as I passed them. They must have seen Bear storm out. I went outside and saw him walking aimlessly. I went to him. “Bear, I need you to be calm or I’m going to lose it. This is our one shot. Take Ilara and Hope home. Hold them and pray. I’m going to talk to Tarin.”
“Okay, I’ll try. Come on. Might as well do it now.” We walked back to the house. When we got there, both women indicated Tarin hadn’t gotten up yet. I thanked them for staying. Both of them hugged me before they left. As soon as they were gone, I took a deep breath. It was time to tell my woman what my childhood had been like.
I knocked softly on the bedroom door. “Tarin, it’s Damian. Are you awake? I need to talk to you about something. Something that I should have told you a while ago. Will you open up?”
I knew she was awake. I’d heard her moving around before I knocked. For several seconds there was nothing but silence. Shit, she wasn’t going to talk to me. Did I just stand out here and talk through the door, or try again? I knocked again. “Tarin?”
“I heard you. What do you need to tell me that you haven’t, Outlaw? I think we said it all.” Her voice sounded sad and flat, like she didn’t have any energy to talk. I sank down to the floor and leaned back against the door. I guess we’d do it this way. I’d rather be able to see her face, but this would have to do.
“Do you remember the day of the accident, when you found out about Petrillo? I made a remark about knowing what it was like to have a dad who beat you?”
“Yeah, vaguely, why?”
“That’s what I want to tell you. You shared your pain with us. I need to share mine with you. I wasn’t hiding it. Everyone here, or at least the guys, know about it. Let me go back to the beginning. I grew up not far from here. We lived out in the country and there were no neighbors around for miles. It was just me, my mom, and my dad. He was much older than my mom. They met when she was eighteen and he was thirty. They got married three months after they met. She told me she thought she’d met her true love. He was attentive to her, always doing stuff for her. Because of it, she ignored a few warning signs, like how he had to know where she was at all times. She wasn’t allowed to go out with her girlfriends. Things like that.” I heard her move closer to the door.
“He moved her out to the house in the country and she got pregnant with me right away. She said things seemed good. He was excited about having a family. She worked with him on a small farm he had. When I was born, he was even more excited that he had a son. He didn’t want her to work, even though money was tight, so she stayed home with me. When I was four years old, he got hurt on a tractor. He couldn’t farm and she wasn’t physically able to do the work. They were in danger of losing the farm, so she insisted she get a job. They fought about it, but in the end, she got a job. She worked for a guy in town as his secretary.
“Mom ended up doing really well. The guy depended on her and gave her more and more responsibility. She might not have had a college education, but she was smart. Dad didn’t recover all the way, so he couldn't ever farm again. Instead, the more Mom succeeded, the more he drank and wallowed in his misery and self-pity. I was six years old the first time he hit her. She’d come home late from work and he accused her of fooling around on him. She explained where she was and why. He didn’t care or believe her.” I heard her sniff. Was she crying? I didn’t want to make her cry.
“Baby, don’t cry. Just listen. Anyway, after that she was careful not to work late. However, he found other reasons to hit her. She didn’t make his dinner right. The house wasn’t clean enough. She was making me into a sissy. You name it. Nothing she did seemed to be enough. And it was always after he’d been drinking. This went on for a year or so. She kept working, earning the money we needed, and hiding what was happening. I went to school and was told not to say anything. I was eight years old when he went after her one night and I tried to protect her. He ended up beating me instead. After that, it became a wait-and-see game. Sometimes he’d hit one or the other, but most of the time it was both of us. If he went after her when I was around, I'd get between him and my mom.”
“Didn’t anyone at school notice when you came to school with bruises? You had to have bruises if a grown man hit you,” she whispered.
“If they noticed, they ignored it. I knew if anyone came out to investigate, he’d be worse. This continued until I was thirteen. I tried to get her to leave him, but she was scared he’d find us and kill us. She didn’t have anyone to ask for help. He’d alienated her from her old friends. It’s that classic abuser story you hear.”
“What happened when you were thirteen? Did she leave him?”
“No, she came home late from work. There had been an accident on the main road that came up to our road. It was the only way in or out. She told him as soon as she came in the door what had happened. He’d been drinking since before I got home from school. I knew it was going to be one of those nights. He went nuts, screaming at her about cheating on him and that he knew I wasn’t his kid. She’d been cheating since the day she married him. She cried and pleaded with him to believe her. He came after her and I got between them. Except now, I was bigger. We fought, and I punched him.