Prologue (Aretha Franklin’s Ain’t No Way-inspiration for this chapter)

Unknown POV

It had to be the saddest thing I have ever seen.  The day must have known that one it’s warriors was being laid to rest for not a sight of sunshine could be found amongst the clouds.  The dark ominous clouds loomed overhead threatening rain.  The elders said it was the big guy’s way of welcoming one his soldiers home.  Looking around at the grim faces marring the normally rugged smiling faces of my clan, cannot help but think of what life is to be. The casket is led by a roar of 60 motorcycles flanking it almost guarding him as he is to be laid to rest today.  Broken hearts line the church steps watching as he is carried in and placed at the front alter.  The black onyx casket marked with our clans symbol the dark grey silver sliver following the edges joining the crimson seal in the middle.  A somber procession of family and close friends follows; women walking on right side and men on the left, only able to mix once the blessing is spoken.

Inside the church Father Michael steps forward blesses the casket and bids us take our seats not a sound can be heard save for the occasional quiet sniffle.  Those in attendance had been warned not to utter a sorrowful moan or any over the top crying, his soul needed to be lifted without ties.  But looking toward the front row her face captures my attention.  Sitting poised holding the tiny tan skinned hand of the little girl with ribbons in hair next to her.  Her face is covered with a black sheer veil but no one can deny even in grief how stunning she is.  Her lips haven’t uttered a single word since his heart stopped. 

Something in me urged me to sit at the end of the third row keeping watch over her.  ‘She’s going to break, I know it’.  Hell, I fell to me knees when we were told he no longer drew breath, my compadre, my leader, my family was no more.  He was too strong, too full of life, my mind cannot comprehend how he can be taken this way…stolen from us.  The rage in me is building my fists clench at my side.  Father Michael speaks about light triumphing over darkness, ‘the just always falls near the cross, for the Lord lifts them to redemption and light’.  I close my eyes to hold the rage, tamp down my anger for him, for her.

His picture is unveiled next to the casket and she inhales but does not move.  Quiet tears are shed amongst those in attendance, Stack gets up and walks to the back pacing.  He can never deal with grief, his parents passing sealed the deal for him.  Chino stands with him patting him on the back.  It seemed just a minute ago he was laughing heartily at one of Flame’s antics.  Deck gets up and begins speaking about the type of person he was, kind, just, but stern.  Never backing down from a fight. Each member of the MC rises to gift him with words of truth. Most are decked out in black long sleeves and coat with slacks.  God fearing he was so we dress out for him and his faith.  Our clubs’ pins on our lapels, calls on our back. 

The casket is opened for viewing and her head falls almost to her lap.  We tried to persuade her against this. But she stated ‘I want to see his face, I want to look at my love before I let him go forever’.  The back rows are ushered forward first, everyone passing in silence amid Vera’s glare.  She sits next to the little girl who does not quite understand what’s going on she just knows her daddy is sleeping.  My rage builds again and I look away.  Scully stops next to me a firm hand placed on my shoulder, as I look up his face is all knowing.  I nod and face forward.  As our row stands my heart can’t help but question why this had to happen, why any of what’s transpired the last three years had to happen.  As I approach the casket he looks like himself aside from the white line near his left temple where the scar formed.  ‘You bastard, you had to go and be happy, had to let your guard down just once.’  After everyone has viewed his body the family’s row stands, she lets go of the little girl’s hand and looks at her a small corner of her lip turning in what would seem a smile.  The little one looks up doe eyed at her mother, lips quivering and nods.  She waits avoiding the inevitable but the family stops before retaking their seats knowing, waiting to support her, hold her.  Her steps are short and they begin to falter as she approaches.  Father Michael has stepped closer just off to the side of the casket.  I know what’s coming but I cannot tear my eyes from her.  It’s been almost 7 days without a single sound from her. 

Her gloved hand touches the onyx casket examining it, gliding along, caressing the blood seal she placed on it as her people have done before her.  Her face looks on to his and she freezes, not a muscle moving.  After what seems like a lifetime she removes her glove from her hand and touches his face, kisses his face, follows her hands movements along his torso, fixing his lapel.  I see it the first notion that her will breaks, Vera is motioned to pick up the child and move to the back.  She need not see her mother breakdown.  Standing I motion to the rest of them to remain still as the first screams of her cries are heard.  She shakes violently leaning over him almost clutching him.  Looking to his face for permission I step to her and gently hold her arms, “Not like this” I whisper.  Speaking in my native tongue I whisper to her.  “He is your love, let his spirit travel free, do not let him hear his forever’s sorrow, you have him, you know where you have him, do not let him see you like this”.

She turns to me burying her face in my chest barely holding on.  I help her to seat while the final prayers and creed are said.  We bury him in the cemetery out back where our fallen brothers have been laid to rest, each warrior takes a shovel full of dirt covering his casket.  She sits holding the crying little girl in her lap smoothing circles into the girl’s back to calm her.  But her eyes are vacant now, she is with him.  The little one is scooped up away from her mother, her mother getting help to stand.  We must leave him. 

She drops to her knees and Father Michael motions for everyone except her guard to walk away.  She speaks to the cold covered ground whispering to him, her final love thoughts, sweet nothings, angry rants.  We watch, nothing for us to do but watch the sadness of it all wash over her like a hail storm.  Tonight, we will drink receiving a tattoo in his honor.  The sun has set and we are signaled to take her, I step forward and lift her from the ground carrying her to the waiting car.  The rain starts fall hard just as we reached the car.  Our brother, our leader, our friend, our family is no more.