Jamie’s watching me with that damn unreadable expression, and if Jester weren’t my best friend, I’d rip out his goddamn vocal cords. Hell, I might do it anyway. I’d probably get a standing ovation from half of Mayhem if I did, because he always gets someone in trouble when he runs his mouth.
Not that it’s any of her business who, or how many women, I fucked over the years. It’s like Malice said. She cut and ran. Jamie can lie to herself and use her arrest as an excuse, but the truth is, she ran by staying away.
And she didn’t just stay away from Mayhem.
She stayed away from me, and that shit hurt.
Yeah, I said I wouldn’t force Jamie to stay with me, but that’s bullshit. I’m not letting her go because I won’t lose her twice.
The dungeon tore me apart and put me back together wrong, but I’ve always been a little bit off in the head. Slightly deranged. Normal men don’t aspire to become Unholy. And you sure as hell don’t rise to my rank and reputation without doing a whole lot of sick shit to a whole lot of bad people. Truth is, to love Jamie would ruin her. To let her go would be merciful.
I’m not a merciful man.
If she gets ruined, that’s on her.
Because Jamie made her choice when she entered Elite. If she wanted to be gone, she should have stayed gone and let her husband kill me.
11
Jamie
Inever thought I’d be relieved to see Mayhem, but here I am, comforted at the sight of the welcome sign.
Rather, theunwelcome sign.
After all the years I’ve been away, theunis still spray-painted in front ofwelcomeon the sign marking the edge of town on Route 191. Seems about right. Mayhem may thrive on the tourism its brothels and strip clubs generate, but the Unholy are notoriously inhospitable to strangers. They’re as loyal to their territory as they are to the members of their gang. If Malice’s hostility is anything to go on, I doubt they’ll be a red carpet rolled out for me.
For a tiny town nestled in a valley of the Appalachian Mountains, Mayhem is as intimidating as Gomorrah. But where David constructed his kingdom with an eye for luxury, Mayhem is the decayed remains of a once-cozy hamlet thirty miles northeast of Scranton. When the Unholy took over, they demolished the abandoned Walmart and erected an imposing, single-story, black Gothic clubhouse in its footprint and christened it Sanctum.
And like the Coliseum, Sanctum is this town’s beating heart.
More than the Unholy’s hangout, it’s their haven.
Growing up, I’d avoided it like the plague. Sanctum straight up scared me. There were always these huge, burly men coming and going. Men who looked like they ate the hearts of little kids for dinner. But I grew less scared of them once Wraith and I got close and he set me straight on what was rumor and what was fact about the Unholy. Not that what I learned about them was any less terrifying than fiction, but the more comfortable I was around Wraith, the less intimidating the Unholy seemed.
But then everything went wrong, and well, here I am. Back home peeking out the window as we drive down Main Street. Past the red-light district, where neon signs ignite the north end of town. Pinks. Blues. Greens. Yellows. They flare off brick buildings painted equally bright colors. All except one—Devil’s Den. It’s a red-and-black standout among a vibrant hedonistic paradise. It’s also the Unholy’s second home and dominates this area of Mayhem the way Sanctum commands the Southside.
“Things look the same as when you left?”
It’s early by Mayhem’s standards, with the sidewalks teeming with life. I keep my gaze fixed out the rectangular window, watching the activity when I answer Wraith. “Yes, everything is exactly as I remember.”
A bit farther down and Main Street thins, with more breathing room between the buildings. We pass mom-and-pop shops, a Powersports showroom, and Blanche’s Diner—a staple since forever. When we reach the town square, I see a new white gazebo where the old, dilapidated one once stood. The supermarket and gas station seem newish, too. Nothing else has changed, though. It’s as if the world marched forward everywhere but here.
With Jester at the wheel, Malice palms his cell. “Hey. We’re five minutes out.” There’s a pause before he adds, “Uneventful.” Pause. “Strung out and tired. Could use food.” Brief pause. “Yeah. Okay.” He hangs up and stuffs his phone in his jacket pocket.
“What’d Crow say?” Jester asks.
“He’s got pizza waiting for us.”
“Thank fucking God,” Jester groans. “I’m starving.”
“Come here.” Wraith is holding his arms out.
I crawl over to him, having moved across the van to get a better view of Mayhem. “What?”
He folds me into his embrace. “This is the calm before the storm.”
“I know.” I trace my finger over his lower lip before I lean in for a quick kiss.
