The Royal Bastards gave me a sense of purpose when I was lost. We may be “criminals” like Lolo said, but we do a lot of good in the local community. More than people know.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to shake off the dream. It’s always the same. The kid. The mission. The shot I should’ve waited to take. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, it still hits like it just happened.
Checking the time, it’s just after six and there’s no point trying to sleep again. Pulling on some sweats, I head out for a run. The late fall air hits hard and I set a fast pace, pushing my legs to outrun the thoughts chasing me.
But they catch up anyway.
Londyn.
Being close to her last night messed with my head. Her voice still rings in my ears. And her mouth… fuck. Watching her talk, watching her drink, watching her breathe. My jeans fit tighter than I’d like to admit, and it wasn’t just the bourbon.
I wanted to kiss her and taste the whiskey on her tongue. Hell, I wanted to do a lot more than that.
It wasn’t just lust. It was memory. History. I knew about the crush she had when we were kids. I ignored it. She was my best friend’s little sister, and way too young.
But last night? That heat between us was real. And I felt it in every part of me.
Still, it can’t happen. Not now. Not with Ty in the crosshairs and Jameson breathing down my neck. She’s trying to save her brother. I’m trying to keep mine from pulling the trigger.
Rounding the last corner, I slow my pace to ease the burn in my lungs. With a busy day ahead, I get back to the house, shower quick, throw together some breakfast, and pour a cup of coffee.
Reaching for my keys, I spot the slip of paper with Striker’s number on it. Mav said he’s been where I am, and I should give him a call.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see if he can help me deal with my past. My head needs to be clear if I’m going to handle what’s coming with Ty. Grabbing my phone, I dial the number. It rings twice before a gravelly voice picks up.
“Striker? This is Nightmare. Got a minute?
“Nightmare, huh? I’ve heard good things about you from Mav. He said you might be calling. What can I help you with?”
I pause, not sure where to start. Opening up’s never been my thing, and asking for help sure as hell isn’t. But this mess has my head twisted, and talking to a shrink ain’t happening.
Last thing I need is some therapist telling me I’m fine when I know I’m not. Feels like all they do is load you up with meds until you’re just numb enough to pretend you’re okay.
“Mav said you might… you know, get where I’m coming from.”
“I’ve been around long enough to know some shit. What’s eating at you?”
Taking a deep breath, I sigh heavily. It doesn’t feel good to dump on a guy I’ve never met, but who else would understand better than a fellow Royal Bastard and ex-Military man?
“Back when I was with the Rangers… there was a mission. Intel was wrong, and I ended up
taking out a civilian. A kid. Wrong place, wrong time type of deal. It’s been years, but that shit still gets me, man. Some days, I can’t even look in the fucking mirror.”
“I hear you, brother. I’ve got my share of ghosts too. Different details, same guilt. You feel like it stains everything you do after, don’t you?”
“Exactly. Even now, being in the Bastards, it feels like I’m just pretending to be something better. Like I’ll never make up for what I’ve done.”
“Listen. You can’t undo it. That’s the hard fucking truth. But you’re not pretending. You’re carrying that weight and still trying to do some good. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah, I get that, but some days it feels like I’m handling things. Other days, it feels like I’m dragging a ball and chain.”
“That’s to be expected. Bad days don’t last forever. On those days, lean on your brothers. You’re not alone in this, and you can’t live like you are.”
“That shit’s not simple. Can’t have them thinking I’m not solid.”
Striker lets out a dry laugh. “You think showing vulnerability makes you less solid? No way, Nightmare. It makes you real. The men respect that more than any front you try to put up.”
“I guess so.” I rub the back of my neck. This feels like a cycle I’ll keep reliving. Striker’s giving me solid advice, but it doesn’t make it easier.
