“Tell me what you’re thinkin’,” he demands. I shake my head no. “You scared?” Why I answer that is beyond me, but I do. Slowly, I nod my head, and his grip loosens a little. I start to pull away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he shoves the girl off him and turns to face me fully.
“Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong, and once I say it out loud, I can’t take it back,” I admit to him. His eyes are locked with mine, and unease slides through me. After everything we’ve been through, you would think it would be easier than this between us. You would think that it would have pulled us closer together, but it hasn’t.
“I need to hear it, Anika. I need to hear what you’re thinkin’.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know what I’m feelin’ isn’t wrong.” What? What the hell does that mean?
“What are you feeling?” I ask, gazing up at him. His free hand comes up to rest on my cheek, and everything else seems to fade.Could he possibly feel the same way? Am I imagining the look in his eyes right now?
“Tell me. Please.” His words are my undoing. The way he said please. Emotions run wild inside me as I lick my suddenly dry lips.
“I care about you. I know I get attached to people easily, but I really do care about you, Patch.” He nods his head, his hand still lingering on my cheek.
“I need to show you somethin’.” I nod my head, although I have no idea what I just agreed to. Patch takes my hand in his and leads me out the side door and around to the back of the property. I’ve never been back here, and I don’t know what to expect.
We walk for a minute when I see tiny crosses sticking out of the ground.
“What is this?”
“We keep our guys close. Unless they have family that wants them buried somewhere else, this is it.” I look around at the tiny crosses, and my heart immediately hurts for him.
“You buried your friends?”
“A few. Most passed before I was old enough to realize what was happenin’.”
He leads us around a few of them before stopping at one. For a long minute, I don’t know what I’m looking at. There are names inscribed on each one of them, but it doesn’t fully hit me at first.
“You couldn’t find your brother. I had the guys check into you,” he tells me.
“What does that mean?”
“I know where your brother is,” he says softly, his eyes lowering to the cross. Rafe is inscribed on this one. It didn’t hit me until just now. My brother’s dead.
“That can’t be him.”
“Rafael. We called him Rafe. He was a prospect when he was killed.”
“No.”
“He was a good guy. Very respected around here, which is why he’s buried back here with the other patched members,” he tells me. Tears slowly begin to leak down my cheeks as I drop to my knees and run my fingers over his name. Sobs rip from my chest.
“How long ago?”
“Months ago. He was shot,” he tells me, his voice hitching as he does.
“I’ve been looking for him. That’s why I came here,” I admit.
“What do you mean?”
“That’s why I was fucking with you! To find him. I heard he was hanging around with the club. God, Patch. I was so stupid.”
