Page 6 of Injustice and Absolution

I can’t fill that void for her.

Movement in front of the trailer brings my attention back to the matter at hand. I lock eyes on him through my binoculars as he steps out onto the front porch of the trailer, and my anger flares.

There’s a young woman located at the trailer across from his. He calls out to her, and she joins him for a cigarette. A second later, a little girl runs over and grabs the woman around her waist. She can’t be older than seven or eight.

The same age Delilah was when he started abusing her.

When he tickles a finger under her chin, letting it linger a little too long, it takes every ounce of energy I have to stay put.

And not to take this vile, disgusting, no good, excuse of a man out this moment.

No. I’ll come back tonight and deal with him properly.

I’m certainly no father-of-the-year, but I’m a fucking saint compared to that piece of shit.

* * *

“Unless anyone has any other business, we’ll adjourn for the evening.” I look around the table at my brothers...

Atticus, our sergeant at arms. Nicknamed after the masked poet because he’s into shit like that.

Zephyr, our road captain. Every time we ride, he looks like a dog with its head out the window, enjoying the breeze with a big goofy grin on his face.

Toga, our treasurer. As part of his initiation hazing, we made him wear a toga for a week, and it just stuck.

Chubbs, our secretary. That’s the name you get when you’re dared to take a Viagra, and it leaves you with the biggest chubby of your life for the next seventy-two hours.

Crew, our tail-gunner. When he was in the army, he was responsible for an entire crew of tank assault men, so it was only fitting.

Saxon, our enforcer. He hails from England. We’re still unclear how or why he ended up in the States, but we’ve adopted him, so he’s our problem now.

Ronin, the prospect who will be the fucking death of me. He’s the son of our former club president who was killed by a member of a rival club a few years ago and the biggest thorn in my side.

And finally, Draven, my VP. This motherfucker is the spitting image of Ericfrom the movieThe Crow. He’s also the closest friend I have. I swear, he has psychic abilities; he can read my mind like no one else and knows what I’m thinking sometimes even before I do.

In addition to the brothers currently around my table, we also have several nomads who come and go as they please. We call upon them from time to time such as when we need to vote on something, or when we’re in need of more manpower for a fight.

When no one speaks, I bring my fist down on the hard surface of the table, adjourning tonight’s session of Church.

“You’re all free to go except Draven. I need to talk to you.” His eyes catch mine when I call his name, and he nods.

It takes a few minutes for the room to clear out. Ronin is the last to leave, shutting the door behind him.

“I need your help,” I begin, turning my attention back to my VP. “Maggie’s friend, Delilah, was here today, and I found out some information regarding her dirtbag father. I’d like you to come with me while I handle it.”

“What’s going on?”

I go through a basic summarization of what Delilah told me earlier. No need to divulge all the sordid details. Draven is ride-or-die. Hewon’t require much information before agreeing to help me, and he also doesn’t need to know specifics.

Plus, the thought of others knowing what I know about her ignites a sense of proprietorship that I don’t quite understand.

“When do we leave?” he asks, his fury matching mine when I finish explaining the situation.

I purse my lips, thinking carefully.

“I think this would be a job better taken care of late and under the cover of darkness. Be ready to leave in three hours.”

“You’ve got it,” he promises.

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