Chapter Twenty-Eight

Priest

It was late by the time I pulled into Gunner's driveway.

I tried to get Phoebe to stay at the clubhouse, but she insisted on heading home. While I wasn't thrilled, I understood.

Shutting off the engine, I sat there with her arms still wrapped around me, looking at the log cabin, wondering if she would ever forgive me. Everything I'd done and said to her still rattled around in my head, like a broken record. I knew I couldn't take any of it back and I worried that I'd already done too much damage.

"Phoebe?"

"Yeah, Shaw."

"I want to tell you that whatever you decide, I will always love you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. There is no excuse I can give you. I just want you to know that is my biggest regret."

"We all make mistakes, Shaw. It's what we do moving forward that shows the people we love the most our true nature."

"Guess I showed everyone what a selfish ass I was then, huh?"

"No," she said, climbing off my bike to stand next to me. "You were in pain, Shaw. You held on so tightly to your grief that it consumed you until that was all you knew. Now that you are moving past it, you are slowly letting others see you for who you really are."

"That doesn't make me feel better, Pheebs. Everyone thinks I'm a dick and an asshole for abandoning you. Maybe I am, but I want to be better. Better for you."

"Shaw, this isn't about me. Be who the universe intended you to be."

"I don't know who I am without you."

"Yes, you do. You've always known. All you have to do is think. The real you has been inside you this whole time, just waiting to come out and show the world. I've seen glimpses of the real you and he is beautiful. The most amazing man I've ever met."

"What if I can't find him again?"

"You don't have to look hard, Shaw. He's right here." She smiled, placing her hand over my heart.

Placing my hand over hers, I leaned forward, laying my head against her chest, listening to her heartbeat.

"You know sometimes, what you seek is so close, you overlook it, thinking it doesn't matter. When, in fact, it's the only thing that matters. Trust yourself again, Shaw, and you will find what you are looking for. I believe in you. Now, walk me to the front door."

Smiling, I slipped off my bike and escorted her a few feet to the door, only to stop when I saw the front door was cracked open. Slowly moving her behind me, I reached for my gun.

"Shaw?"

"Stay here, Phoebe. I mean it," I ordered, walking up onto the porch before slowly opening the door the rest of the way. Entering Gunner's cabin, I flipped on the lights and stood there, looking at the damage.

My brother's home was destroyed. Whoever had broken in had spray-painted the words tramp, whore, and slut all over the cypress walls in red paint. The furniture was turned over and broken. The cushions ripped open. Gunner's prized television lay on the floor, shattered. Carefully moving deeper into the house, I stopped when I got to the bedroom Phoebe had been sleeping in and cursed. All of her clothes lay shredded in a pile on the bed, and black and white pictures of her were thrown everywhere.

"Shaw?"

Leaving the way I came in, I secured my gun before reaching for my phone as Phoebe rushed over to me.

"Shaw? What's wrong?"

Wrapping my arm around her, I walked her back to my bike and simply said, "Someone's been here."

"What?" she gasped.

"Gunner, it's me. Someone broke into your cabin. It's bad, brother. Yeah, she's with me. Sure. No problem," I confirmed, disconnecting the call before turning to Phoebe. "Babe, you're going to need to stay at the clubhouse."

She stood there shaking her head, not moving.

Grabbing her, I held her tight as I looked around the place. "Baby, listen to me. I don't know what's going on, but I am going to find out and fix it. I promise."

Not even fifteen minutes later, a thundering horde of Harleys pulled into the drive and Mike Brewer pulled in behind them. As late as it was, I wasn't shocked when Mike showed up in jeans and a hoodie.

The second Gunner parked his bike, he was off it and heading toward his cabin, only to stop dead in his tracks before entering.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" he roared. "My TV!"

"At least we know where his priorities are at," King scoffed, rolling his eyes as he pulled Phoebe from my arms, hugging her. "How are you doing, Phoebe?"

"Not so good."

"Well, don't worry. Whoever broke into Gunner's house, picked the wrong house."

"What do you mean?"

"Gunner has one of the best security systems around. When Sarah started coming here after the triplets were born for an hour or two of relaxation, Gunner hired Harbor Security to retrofit his entire property. Brother wasn't taking any chances with his wife."

Banks walked over, muttering, "King. Phoebe can't stay here. It's bad in there."

"Already told her that." I frowned, glaring at Banks. Did he think I was new around here? No way was I allowing my wife anywhere near that damn cabin.

"But I need my clothes."

Before I could utter a word, Banks spoke up, "Sorry, babe. Everything is toast."

"Banks, why don't you take Phoebe back to the clubhouse? I'm sure one of the girls will have something she can wear tonight. Tomorrow, I'll have some of the girls go into town with her to replace her belongings."

"Sure thing." Banks nodded. "Come on, honey. Let's get you to the clubhouse."

"Touch my wife and I will rip your arm off and beat you with it."

"Shaw, it's okay. I don't mind."

Taking my wife from King, I sneered, "I mind. You are my wife and the only bike you will ride on is mine. I will take you back, and tomorrow, I will replace your things."

"I'm hurt, Priest." Banks smirked. "You don't trust me?"

"I don't trust anyone where my wife is concerned."

"That hurts, brother." Banks pouted, walking off. "Hurts bad!"

"Shaw, I'm sure one of the girls will let me borrow something of theirs." She sighed, sitting on my bed while I rummaged through my drawers.

Not bloody likely.

Nope. She was wearing my clothes or nothing at all.

Though, I wouldn't mind sleeping next to the latter.

Grabbing a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, I handed them to her. "Take this, babe. Go shower and get some sleep. I need to head to church for a bit, but I'll be back."

"You want me to sleep in here? With you?"

I nodded. "I know nothing's changed, but just for tonight. Please, baby. After what I saw, I need you next to me. Please?"

"All right, Shaw," she muttered, standing. "Just for tonight."

The second she closed my bathroom door, I headed downstairs to find my brothers all gathered in church.

"She settled?" King asked.

"Not that it's any of your concern, but yes. She's taking a shower and staying in my room tonight."

"Sure that's a good idea?" Scribe whispered, glaring at me. "Don't want my sister getting any mixed signals, Priest. Got love for you, but even you have to admit, your head's been all over the place lately."

"What exactly are you saying, Scribe?"

"Not sure I want my sister with someone who only cares about his needs."

Slamming my hands down on the table, I roared, "I love my wife!"

"Sit down, Priest." King sighed. "We need to talk."

Doing as King asked, I muttered, "About what?"

"You and Phoebe."

"Said it already. My marriage is my business."

"This isn't working," King began. "I thought that beat down I gave you would have woken you the fuck up, but it hasn't. You are still making all the same mistakes."

Confused, I turned to Scribe.

"What the fuck is he talking about?"

Scribe leaned forward, shaking his head. "Priest, I've known you a very long time. We served together. There isn't anything I won't do for you, any of us won't do, but, brother, you have to let us in. All of us have made ourselves available to you. Even the women. But nothing. We thought knocking some sense into your head would wake you the fuck up, but you are still closed off. We want you to be happy. Hell, I want my sister happy, but if we let this shit continue, that's not going to happen."

"Thought when you asked for my help with the case, you would talk. But you never did," Frank muttered. "The whole time you were closed off, single-minded, and driven. You let nothing distract you. I tried talking to you, but you never heard me."

That shocked me. Frank never initiated a conversation.

"You did?"

"Twice," the lovable teddy bear of the club stated. "Each time you were so deep in your head, you didn't hear me. Don't even think you realized I was in the room. You were so focused on the case, you saw and heard nothing around you. Until Phoebe showed up. That's when I noticed you woke up."

"She needed me."

"I know that, which is why I told King that I don't think working these types of cases is beneficial to you. I think you need to remove yourself from them entirely. Let someone else figure it out."

"I can't just walk away."

"Yes, you can, Priest," King said. "I've already called Detective Calloway. She agrees. Frank wrote up his report, and with your notes, Detective Calloway has everything she needs to find this killer."

"Phoebe recognized the mark, King."

"I know," King muttered. "I overheard. I was standing outside the door. I made sure Frank put it in the report as a reminder. Priest, before things get out of hand here, I want you to know that I did as you asked. I called Sypher, and he got the information on Quincy. We will talk about that fucker later. But what you also need to know is I also asked Sypher to look into your past."

I stiffened.

I didn't want to talk about that shit.

It was done.

Over with.

Opening a folder, he started speaking. "Want to tell me how you hid that fact that you were institutionalized after your mother's death? Because the military would have never allowed you to sign up if they knew."

"Not talking about her."

"You were sixteen when she was murdered."

"Shut up."

"You witnessed your father killing her."

"Stop it."

"Your father tried to kill you, too."

"Please stop."

"After killing her, your father locked you in the basement. He tortured you for hours before he left you alone, giving you the time to escape. When asked how you escaped, you kept repeating your wife told you to run."

"Enough."

"Sypher was able to get his hands on your medical paperwork from the hospital you were at. Want to explain these to us?"

Before I could stop him, King threw several drawings of Phoebe on the table.

Scribe flinched, sitting up straighter as he reached for one.

"Priest, you were sixteen when your mother died. You didn't marry Phoebe until your senior year in college. You grew up in New York City. Phoebe in Texas. How are those drawings possible?"

Shaking my head, I refused to answer.

It was stupid. None of them would believe me. Hell, that's why child services had me committed. No matter what I said, they never understood. They wouldn't understand that I heard Phoebe's voice long before I met her. It was only once, but it was enough to know that she was mine. I dreamed of her for years afterward. Seeing her in my dreams got me through some of the toughest times in my life.

None of this shit made sense and I spent years trying to understand. For years, I read everything I could to explain how I heard her voice, saw her in my dreams. In the end, I chalked it up to a childhood fantasy.

That I'd imagined her.

But that day, the day I met her, I knew I hadn't dreamed her up.

She was real.

"I talked with Stevie about this. She told me that there are documented cases of people who suffer tremendous torture, to survive the horror they were in, they dreamed, actualized people to get them through their trauma only to come across those people later on in life. She also told me that some people are deeply in tune with the universe. I've never been a believer in that stuff, but seeing those drawings, it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Holy shit," Scribe muttered, looking at the drawings. "My nana was right. All this time, I never believed it. I thought she was just a kooky old woman who smelled like herbs and made the best snickerdoodles on the planet. But she was right. Fate will always find a way."

"I don't believe in fate."

"Yes, you do," Frank spoke up. "You believe in God. God, fate, mother nature, a higher power, call it whatever you want. It's all faith, Priest. Believing in something greater than yourself. Doesn't matter how you dress it up, it's all the same. When you were in that basement, you needed to believe in something, anything, to get you through the horror of your father. Your mother was devout, wasn't she?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Priest, I'm not sure I believe in all of this, but I believe in you, brother," Gunner said. "You can't keep this all bottled up anymore. It will only destroy you and Phoebe. Your wife loves you, brother. For ten years, she gave you the space you needed to come to grips with everything that happened. It's time to let it all go, brother. You are not responsible for what happened to your mother."

That was just it.

I had no idea how to let it all go when my mother's face appeared in my head constantly. God, she was so beautiful. She had her whole life ahead of her. She was an amazing mother and a world-class dancer. My mom believed that dancing fixed everything. She even taught me everything she knew. From a young age, I would spend hours with her as she danced me around her studio. They were some of the best moments of my life.