The unease won’t leave me. It’s tangled deep in my bones, a raw ache that won’t fade.
Tessa’s taillights blaze red as she slows at the compound gate. My eyes linger, something instinctive tugging at my chest. Just as she turns onto the road, the world shatters.
The explosion splits the air with a deafening roar, flames erupting violently, ripping her car apart. The ground shakes beneath my boots as smoke billows upward, twisted metal raining down in glowing embers.
My heart stops.
“Tessa!” Her name tears from my throat, raw and guttural. Before anyone can stop me, I’m sprinting, boots pounding the pavement as flames consume what's left of her car.
Rev’s voice echoes behind me. “Blade! Wait, ”
I don't. Can’t. Heat scorches my face, smoke choking me, but all I see is her shattered windshield, mangled metal, the burning wreckage of everything good I'd ever allowed myself to touch.
Hands grab me from behind, dragging me away as I scream her name again, voice breaking, splintering under the weight of loss.
“No,” I roar, fighting against Rev’s hold. “Tessa!”
But there's no answer, just fire crackling like bitter laughter. I collapse to my knees, gravel biting into my skin, pain ripping through me so deep I can't breathe. I failed her. The realization hits me hard, cruel and undeniable. This is why I never gave her more. This is what I was afraid of, what I knew would happen if I let her in.
Mason’s voice is grim, quiet behind me. “Get him up. We need to handle this.”
But nothing he says matters. All I hear is the silence where Tessa should be. I know the truth, someone like me doesn’t get to love. My world isn’t made for it and it never will be.
Church’s loud tonight.The kind of loud that usually sets me at ease. The chapel room’s filled with boots on concrete, laughter bouncing off the walls, and a whole lot of attitude that only comes when the club’s comfortable and the week hasn’t gone to complete shit yet.
I sit near the end of the table, beer sweating in my hand, but I’m not drinking it. I keep staring at the wood grain like it’s trying to tell me something.
“Earth to Blade.” Rev elbows me in the side, grinning. “Where the fuck’d you go?”
I grunt, barely lifting my eyes. “Nowhere good.”
Rev laughs because he knows exactly what that means. Ten years. Same night every damn year. I don’t need a calendar to know when it’s coming. My memories make sure of that.
Mason sits at the head of the table, calm as always. The man could be running a war or a church bake sale and his face wouldn’t give away a thing. Dagger’s to his right, built to take a door off its hinges with his shoulder. Next to him is Piston, cracking up at something Tank said. Tank’s our Sergeant-at-Arms. Quiet. Steady. Willing to ruin lives if he has to. Mason’s left side is Switch, our Road Captain, the guy who spends more time thinking about routes and risk than eating. And thenthere’s Rev, our Secretary, trying not to look as amused by everything as he always is.
Me? I’m the Tail Gunner. Last bike in the line. First one to take the hit if shit goes sideways. I’m good at watching the club’s back because I never expect anyone to watch mine.
Church moves fast. Routes. Business. Money. Boring administrative shit layered over the threat of violence like a pretty tablecloth. It’s muscle memory at this point.
Mason wraps the meeting and half the guys head home. Rev and I stick around because Mason wants bodies at Perdition tonight. Something about keeping eyes open. Checking the temperature of the town. Whatever.
We take the back way into Perdition, the bar vibrating with music the second we walk in. The place feels alive, full of leather and smoke and bodies pressed too close. Rev heads straight for the bar like the whiskey is calling his name. I follow because right now I don’t trust myself to go anywhere else.
Rev nods once, sliding his empty glass toward Kimber. She moves toward us, her stride steady and matter-of-fact. Kimber’s pushing fifty, a hardened hangaround who planted roots in Perdition years back and never bothered leaving. Ink wraps up her arms like barbed wire, heavy makeup doing its best to mask the years spent living rough. Her voice is gravel and smoke, clothes chosen for comfort more than appeal. She doesn't flirt, doesn't saunter, just pours drinks and calls bullshit like it is.
“Another round, boys?” she rasps, already grabbing the bottle without waiting for an answer.
“Keep ’em coming,” Rev says.
She eyes me with a look that sees through my shit as she pours heavy-handed. “Drinking to forget ain't exactly working for you.”
I meet her eyes, haunted, tired. “Ain’t drinking to forget. Drinking to live with it.”
She nods slowly, pouring a little extra before moving away.
Rev downs his fresh glass in a single swallow, eyes glossy from liquor. “You ever think about moving past it? Finding something new?”
I shoot him a bitter glance, whiskey burning a hole straight through me. “Everything I touch turns to shit, Rev. Learned that the hard way. Someone new ain’t in the cards.”
