Page 29 of Paladin's Hell

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks again. “I knew Blackie was bad. Just didn’t know I was the result of a rape.”

“Dave, Demon…”

“Not now, not now Mom. I’ve got to have time to process this. Tell Hell I’ll be gone for a few days.”

I open my mouth to tell him Hell’s his father in all the ways that matter, but before I can get out another word, he’s already turned his back on me and is striding out of the room. Within seconds I hear his bike fire up, then the sound rapidly fading into the distance.

I sink to the floor, my head in my hands. The day I never expected, would have wished never to arrive, had come. Demon might be a full-grown man, thirty-five years of age, but he’ll never stop being my little boy. If I could have saved him this pain, I would have.

My tears falling freely, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, saying only when it’s answered, “Hell, come home.”

He might have taken minutes; it might have been hours. I’m in the same position when Hell comes running through the door and finds me sitting on the floor, a hundred used tissues beside me, my eyes red and swollen.

“Darlin’,” he yells when he sees me. Throwing his bike key on the counter, he hunches down beside me. “What’s wrong?” he demands. “Are you hurt? What the fuck happened? Talk to me, woman! Moira, talk to me!”

He’s beside himself. There’s only been one time when he’s seen me anything close to this distraught before. Ironically that was the day he came up with a solution to my problems, the day he asked me to marry him.

“Demon.” I manage to stammer out. “It’s Demon.”

Hell’s face grows dark. “What the fuck has he done?” He swipes his grey hair back, then his hand reaches out and hesitantly touches my face. “Did he hurt you?” He sounds incredulous, and so he should be. Demon’s never raised a hand to me, or any woman.

“No.” My voice is stronger as I deny it adamantly.

“Fuckin’ tell me, Mo. Never seen you like this. You’re scarin’ me, woman.”

I swallow, wipe the tears, which I can’t seem to stop, away from my eyes, then try to get out the words which are going to destroy him. “Hell, he knows. He knows.”

Hellfire goes completely still. The blood drains from his face. His eyes, wide and wild, burn into me. “He knows… what?” He speaks slowly and carefully, enunciating each word precisely as though speaking to a child. But he already understands what I’m alluding to. Just needs me to confirm it.

I point to the discarded club record book, lying, spine broken, on the floor. “He knows, everything. He knows he’s Blackie’s son.”

Hell throws his head back and roars, both hands tearing at his hair. “No, Mo. No.” Rocking on his heels, he tries to gather himself together. After a few minutes when the implications set in, he asks the next question. “How?” But when he picks up the record book, he immediately understands.

“I didn’t know,” I start in a whisper. “He wanted to check some old records. I didn’t know, Hell. Didn’t realise how far back he was looking. Didn’t see anything wrong. How could I have told him he couldn’t search through old club business? He’s done it before. He’s the VP, how could I challenge him?”

Suddenly Hell’s arms are around me, pulling me to him. “You couldn’t have known, darlin’.” His hands start stroking my hair, and now we’re both swaying back and forth. “I brought the books home so he wouldn’t stumble across them. Said we needed space at the club, no one saw anything wrong in that. We keep the last ten years’ records at the clubhouse, anything older than that, I keep in the safe.” He pauses, and his arms hold me tighter. “You’re right, as VP, he can’t be prevented access to any of the paperwork. Just never expected he’d need to search things that happened thirty-six years ago.”

“He hadn’t a clue, Hell. I know he hadn’t gone looking for what he found. I don’t know what led him to those records. He was so shocked.”

“I should have destroyed them.” Hell looks distraught and annoyed with himself.

“You couldn’t, Hell. They’re the official records.”

He takes a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. It’s only then I notice tears are leaking from his eyes, leaving a trail down his cheeks. “How did he react?” His voice now quiet, full of emotion. “How the fuck did my son react to finding out his real father was a rapist?”

“He was upset.” My words are an obvious understatement. “He took off, Hell. Told me he needed to get his head around it. Said to tell you he’d be gone for a while.”

“Any idea where?” he asks in clipped tones.

“No.” I think for a moment. “Have you?” I can feel him shaking, this is one situation he can’t control.

“No. Demon has problems; he’d normally come to me. But this? I’m the last person he’d want to talk to. Huh, I’m the man who lied to him all his fuckin’ life.”

And I’m the woman who lived the lie.

We sit, on the floor, huddled together as the world we’d so carefully built comes crashing down around us. Demon, our son for all intents and purposes, is out there alone, hurting. There’s nothing either of us can do about it. How he’ll cope, how he’ll want to proceed from now on, a mystery neither of us can solve. Until Demon reappears. If he ever does.

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