* * *
By the time we land,I’m awake again. It was a short but very welcome nap. It’s dark out when we disembark, and Cathal greets someone who tells us there’s still a few hours before my mother’s flight arrives. I really want to go back to my London home and get some of my things, but I also can’t leave them here.
I doubt he’ll even allow me to go. Cathal made it clear what we are here to do, and if I run off, he may think I’m trying to escape. I’ve never been a prisoner at the clubhouse, but there was an understanding I had to stay there so they could look after me.
So far, I’m still alive. That’s a good thing. We move into the hangar where there are a few cots set up for us to sleep on. I’m exhausted, but the moment I lie down, I’m wide awake. My mind won’t shut off. Even when I force myself to close my eyes and block out the light and noise, it doesn’t help.
I toss and turn a few times before I hear a squeak on the smooth concrete. Cathal drags his cot over to mine, then he lies down on his mattress and stares up at the roof of the enormous building.
He doesn’t speak for a long time, and I’m sure he’s fallen asleep. But then he says, “When my ma died, I sat with her body bleeding out in the road. I cried that day. Since then, I haven’t shed a tear. She was the only person in my life that I loved. I didn’t even consider myself worthy of living when she wasn’t.”
His sadness seeps into my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I don’t know what to say to him. I’m not sure why he’s telling me this, but I allow the silence to offer a calm for him.
“She was a good woman.” He turns his head to me. “Ye know? Like, deep down, her soul was pure.”
When I look at him, I see the love in his eyes. He clearly still feels the pain of her loss. It’s been years since she was killed, and yet, the teenage boy who lost his mum is still so evident in the man next to me.
“There aren’t many people like that left in the world,” I finally speak. “I thought for a long time I was good. I thought my mother was good. It seems I was mistaken.”
His dark brows furrow at my words. “Why aren’t ye good?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I thought the degree I studied would let me help people, and then I find out I’m more messed up than some of my clients would be. How am I meant to help others when I don’t even know how to fix myself?”
Even I can hear the woeful tone in my voice. When I walked off the stage with my degree in hand, I thought life was perfect. I believed it. I just don’t know if I do anymore.
“One thing I did learn from Ma is that ye can’t allow others to define ye. Ye’re the only person who can decide what ye want to be. If you want to be like yer folks, then so be it. But ye have that choice. Not them. Not me. Nobody else.”
I can’t help but smile. “You know, for a biker you’re quite philosophical.”
Monster chuckles and shakes his head. “It’s Ma. She taught me all these things. At the time, I was convinced she was going crazy. But now, I realise she was right all along. I chose to run the club in my own way. I could have taken after my Da, but I vowed not to. And I don’t. Not now, not ever. And I will never be like he was.”
I nod slowly, understanding dawning on me. ‘Thank you.”
“Fer what?” he asks me.
I shake my head and turn away from his dark gaze. I don’t know what to say.Thank you for saving me, for keeping me safe, for making me feel. For showing me that I can be a good person.Not one of those can encapsulate what I’m feeling right now. So, I opt for a simple answer. “For being you.”
“There’s nobody else to be,” he tells me. “For a long time, I didn’t want to admit that when I enjoyed killin’. But someone pointed out it was thewhonot thewhat.We work with a few detectives at Scotland Yard who give us names, and we finish the jobs they can’t.”
“What do you mean? Surely that’s illegal. Being a vigilante doesn’t make it right.”
Monster turns to me and pierces me with his dark stare. “We’ve taken the lives of men who do very bad things. There’s a lot of evil in the world. With Tye’s skills, we’re able to find them before law enforcement.”
“And now they’re all dead.”
“Aye,” he confirms. “Because they feckin’ deserved it. When we go to their hideouts, we find the women and children they’ve taken, kept prisoner.”
A cold shiver trickles down my spine at his words. Those are horror stories you read about, or hear about on television, not learn about in real life.
“Then why do they call you Monster?” I ask genuinely curious. “I mean, you don’t scare me. And it sounds like you do a lot of good. It doesn’t make sense.”
This causes him to chuckle. “When I was younger, I was a handful. When Da told me not to do somethin’, I’d go out and do it.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes then.
“Aye, ye were a cheeky wee bastard,” Rebel cuts in. “Fecker almost took my eye out when we were out on the piss one night.” He laughs when he tells the story. “I was two sheets to the wind when Monster here walked into the pub. I’d started early that day,” he recollects. “Lost me job, was feckin’ pissed about it. Probably had ten pints in me by the time this arsehole walks in.”
“Aye, you’d been hitting on a poor girl who was out with her mates,” Monster throws back. “I was savin’ ye from yerself,” he tells Rebel. “Fuckin’ pain in my arse.”
“Takes one to know one,” the VP retorts, and both men laugh.