“Rachel!” I said, shooting up.
Last I’d seen her, she’d headbutted Eduardo. She’d given me a window. We’d scrambled. And then…
“She’s safe.”
I looked over, still in a panic. Brock sat there. I was on a small bed in one of the smaller rooms. I had bandages and treatment on my foot.
“I sent over Justine to her place to provide some medical care. Obviously, her foot will need time to heal, but she’s safe.”
“And the fucking Bandits?”
Brock nodded with grim satisfaction.
“We won, Mason,” he said. “They’re fucking gone.”
I felt all the tension go out of my body. I collapsed back onto the cot. I drew a couple of deep breaths.
Everything that I’d fought for over the years was finally fulfilled. The Bandits were gone. Rachel was safe. Santa Maria was safe. We’d probably have a few pesky officials on our ass serving us subpoenas and shit, but appearing before a judge over some minor charge was a hell of a lot easier than worrying if I’d get shot getting groceries.
“Nice,” I said, a bit too tired to say anything more eloquent.
“I know,” Brock said with an equally weary chuckle. “You should go see her at some point.”
“Who?” I said, even though I knew full well who.
“Rachel, dumbass,” Brock said, giving a light chuckle. “What did you think I was going to say, the First Lady?”
I groaned. As nice as the idea was, I clearly hadn’t been the one to save her. Eduardo had won our brawl. Whatever had happened after had not been by my hand.
“I lost.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Mason, don’t you dare fucking throw this pity party for yourself,” he said. “I ran away when I failed a decade ago. Yes, it’s all worked out, but only after a decade of misery, nightmares, and feeling like a failure. Don’t you dare make the same mistake. Most especially when the Bandits are gone.”
I mean, that sounded nice in theory. And I suppose Brock had a point. I’d probably come around to him sooner rather than later.
But, fuck. I really did feel like a failure. Yes, I knew I couldn’t do it all by myself. But I only had to knock him out before I could shoot him, and…
“Besides, I already promised her you’d see her again, and I can’t break that promise.”
“Are you fucking shitting me?” I groaned, putting my hand to my head. “After that debacle?”
Brock shrugged so casually, I wanted to punch him in that smug mug of his.
“I think you’ll find it in you to forgive me at some point,” he said, “and besides, you know it’s the right thing to do. She didn’t tell me everything, but she echoed what you said. What you guys have…it seems real enough to pursue.”
I sighed. I knew he was right. I was just caught up in the fucking circle of blaming myself for something I didn’t need to. Fucking stupid, but it was what I was used to since my parents’…
Yeah, since that.
“In any case, get some rest,” Brock said. “We’re taking off the rest of the night in case anything rears its ugly head, but we’re going to fucking rage tomorrow at Buckhead Saloon. I hear alcohol is a great treatment for gunshot wounds.”
“Ha ha ha,” I laughed slowly and sarcastically. “Maybe I’ll also invite Rachel just to make you doubly happy.”
“Why not?” Brock said. “It’s an open invitation to anyone associated with the club. To be honest, I don’t think many women will come, they know how we can get as a group of guys, but if anyone deserves to come, it’s her.”
If anyone deserves anything in the world, it’s her.
And of all the things in the world she wants, it’s…
