Pixie, First Daughter of Anarchy: Book 2

Renewed Hope

WARNING: Mention of Dead Bodies and Blood.

Tig lay on his back on the thin mattress of the prison bunk he was in. They'd just had their six-thirty wake-up call and that up had been harder on him than he'd ever anticipated. Tig had automatically reached to the left side of the bed for his girl, only to open his eyes and see nothing but a grey mattress. He should be home, he should be in his comfy four-poster king-size, snuggling and kissing his baby and listening to her sweet giggles and the funny way she spoke with that west Lancashire accent of hers that just made everything sound so much more interesting. But Tig wasn't home. He wasn't with Pixie and this was the second night he hadn't slept beside her because Pixie had been at the hospital and he'd missed his chance to make everything right again before it went so, so wrong. Tig was kicking himself mentally for not making it up to Pixie sooner and not listening to her warnings. The look of desperation and despair on Pixie's face that Tig had seen in the van's wing mirror as they'd driven off to Morada was haunting him. The way Pixie had lurched up from the bench, half reaching for the van had killed Tig and every time he saw that scene in his head, it felt like someone was twisting the knife in his heart. Lowell had had to put his arms around Pixie and tug her back down on the bench, cradling her as she'd broken down against him and Tig wished he'd stopped the van and run back to her side, refusing to go through with Clay's half-cocked plan. But wishing for shit, wasn't going to get shit done. Clay slipped off the bunk above Tig, landing unsteadily on his feet before stretching and Tig was glad Clay's back was to him, so he was able to compose his face before Clay saw the brief murderous expression that had formed there.

"We gotta find the guys when we get out in the pen, make sure everyone's whole." Clay grumbled as he went to the sink and washed his face and ran his damp fingers through his grey curls.

"Didn't the guard say we were under BGF now?" Tig questioned as he pulled himself into a seating position, his bones aching from sleeping on the flimsy mattress.

"I don't trust that. We need to figure it out." Clay responded in a low growl, pulling on the orange smock of the prison uniform and sliding his feet into the white plimsolls he'd been given.

I do. "We will, they'll send us out soon." Tig replied as he stood up and winced at his knee. His stitches itched which was a good indication they were ready to come out, but the muscle was sore from being in a cramp position as Tig hadn't been able to relax enough to sleep in a position that wasn't semi-crouched just in case of an attack in the night as that position meant he would have been able to launch himself from his bunk and go for whoever was after him or Clay. Tig went to the sink to get ready for when the guards took them to the washrooms and then out to the exercise area where they'd be able to track down the others, as they'd all been divided up when they'd been booked into the prison last night. As Tig washed his face, he caught his crow tattoo in the chrome of the sink and toilet unit and paused his task as his heart ached. Pixie had trusted him enough to give him her crow that she'd worn since she patched in at sixteen and Tig knew he would never stop feeling honoured over that fact and it made him miss Pixie even more.

Clay saw his old friend pause and softly stroke his crow tattoo over his heart, Tig's face a picture of pure longing and distress and Clay felt a sense of regret, emotions conflicting internally before he came to the conclusion he needed to pull Tig back to him before he lost him. "I'm sorry." Clay said quietly, voice barely above a low whisper. Tig's head turned slowly, looking at him with an unreadable expression, but his eyes were icicle cold.

"What?" Tig asked him, pulling on his orange top, mouth moving to a frown under his brown moustache and goatee.

"I'm sorry." Clay repeated. "Zobelle was just one step ahead of us." He added as Tig came closer to him, Tig was only slightly taller than Clay, but at that moment, Tig seemed to tower over him.