“Yes.” Paul made sure that his voice held steady and strong before he gritted his teeth. There was no way to prepare for this.
“Proceed.” Samuel nodded over Paul’s shoulder.
He heard the whoosh and the hiss as Dizzy fired the blowtorch up. In his mind’s eye he could see the blue flame heating the brand that Crash had fashioned by engraving a cross into a piston head. Seconds ticked by, Dizzy would be holding the flame to the metal until it began to glow.
The sound ceased and immediately there was pain. From the meat of the muscles that lay over his shoulder blade, from the middle of the blacked-out patch that had once been the ink that signified his membership of the Rabid Dogs MC, it rushed out across his back and through his whole body, filling every limb, every extremity with agony. From his fingertips to his toes he felt so full of the pain that he might burst.
He kept the strangled scream trapped behind his clenched jaw. The stench of cooking flesh filled his nostrils as his mind rebelled against the knowledge that it was his own flesh.
It lasted an eternity, but it was over in a span of seconds. Dizzy pulled the brand away. Paul knew that the scorching metal had only touched his shoulder, but his whole back, his whole body, was a knot of residual agony. Every nerve was screaming from the assault.
Dizzy released the chains at his wrists. Paul locked his knees. He would not fall, he would not stumble. By sheer will he locked his body in place so that he could stand and face his brothers. He had paid the price for his betrayal straight from his flesh. His brothers had deemed that this penalty, seared into his skin, would be enough. He didn’t know if he would ever have their full trust again, but he would do everything in his power to earn it; he would earn it every goddamn day.
Knowing that he’d lost Ashleigh hurt worse than anything his brothers could have demanded. The agony in his back paled into insignificance against the misery that had made its home in his heart. He looked up and caught her eye. He face was carefully blank, but she was pale and her eyes were wide.
When Samuel stepped forward again, Paul turned to face him.
“It’s done.”
He pulled Paul into a hug and even though he was careful not to touch the fresh burn, it felt like he had. Paul defied the urge to flinch. He blocked out the fresh wave of pain that tore through him as he lifted his arms, stretching and pulling at the burn, to return the gesture. The agony was repeated for each of his brothers, but Paul would not cry out. He would not show weakness. By the time it was over, the only sign that he felt the pain at all was the sheen of sweat that covered him. His body’s own salt added to the torture.
Moira and Dolly remained impassively in place by the wall, Ashleigh by her mother’s side. They hadn’t moved an inch. They continued to stand and stare as Paul followed his brothers out of the garage and into the clubhouse.
Inside, Scrat, the new Prospect, had shots of tequila lined up on the bar, but there was something more to be endured before he could gulp down the anesthetizing liquor. Samuel fetched Paul’s kutte from the chapel and held it out as Paul slipped his arms into it. As the heavy leather hit the wound on his back the waves of soreness lapped a little harder; and a little harder still as he reached for the glass and finally, gratefully, swallowed the clear liquid which added its own fresh burn to his throat.
A movement caught the corner of his eye. Samuel was nodding, when Paul turned to see at whom, he was surprise to see Ashleigh there. He glanced around, but it didn’t appear that Moira and Dolly had followed her in. Then her delicate, cool hand slipped into his and she was tugging him. Even that small touch soothed him as she led him away from the other men. He followed her blindly, mutely, out of the main room and into one of the dorm rooms.
He didn’t know what to think, his thoughts were sluggish, slowed by pain, physical and emotional. He allowed her to push him to sit on the bed and watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. When she came back out she was carrying a dampened towel. She braced one knee on the mattress next to him and leaned over his shoulder so that she could dab the cold cloth against the burnt skin. It was blessed relief that caused his abused nerves to scream afresh.
He thought that maybe she intended to care for him without speaking a word until she sagged with a heavy sigh.
“Paul... you should know...”
She stopped speaking. He needed her to carry on, needed to hear her voice, even if she was planning on cursing him a blue streak. “What. What’s up, beauty?” His voice was raspy, hoarse from swallowing the urge to cry out.
“I’m pregnant.”