“I miss the decade of peace we had,” I tell him honestly, rubbing my hand across my full beard. Chaos looks over at Saige, who’s in a deep conversation with Malice, with remorse, his eyes full of love and longing. But the one most prominent? Guilt.
“Yeah, but she didn’t. And that’s my fault.”
“You can’t blame yourself anymore. Let it all go and live in the moment. You both are alive, she’s yours, just move on.”
“Easier said than done, brother, but I’ll get there. Let’s get through this shit and make sure the people who were financing the Widowmakers are gone for good. I want to cut off any other heads before they can get a stronghold again with other clubs.”
“We’ll get it done, and it starts with this bullshit right here, finding out where the money was coming from. Money always talks.” Shifting around with Mr. Bun-Buns in my arm, Chaos and I look out at the large room sprawled out in front of us. Members and patch bunnies have started to filter in, the sun starting to slowly dip behind the mountains, signaling it’s time to party. The room smells of cigarette smoke and the earthy scent of marijuana. A prospect slips behind the bar to hand out beers and pour drinks.
“Queenie would be proud,” I tell him honestly.
“Yeah? I bet your mom is, too.”
“She tells me every chance she gets.”
A beat of silence passes between us before he speaks again. “Have you been to see him lately?” he asks, a spike of annoyance stabbing at the base of my neck.
“Nope. Been a bit busy with all the shit that keeps falling in our lap. Saige know?”
“That instead of dying like everyone thinks he did, we’ve got your dad—the former Vice President of Hell’s Heathens MC—locked up in the basement of one of our houses on the property?” Chaos shakes his head slightly, his palm rubbing over his chin. “Nah. She doesn’t know . . . yet. It’s not relevant until it is.”
“Didn’t peg you for one to keep secrets from your woman, brother.”
“She’s my woman, Rhys, but you’re my brother. And that shit isn’t club business, it’s personal. I’m going to protect you and your shit for as long as I can.” The use of my legal name gives me pause, letting his words really sink in. Camden loves Saige more than anything in the world, but he’s openly admitting to keeping my secrets for me. Secrets that could change the way the members view me. At the end of the day, we all have to live with our choices, and I’m living with mine just fine.
“Speaking of, I should probably go see him, check on things.”
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“You got it. We’ll get this shit sorted. Let me know what Otto finds, if he finds it,” I say with a smirk. Standing, I pet Mr. Bun-Buns and head upstairs to my bedroom to put him in his enclosure for a bit. It’s huge, about a quarter of the size of my room, but I wanted to make sure there was enough room to stretch a bit if he feels like it.
“Be back, sweet boy,” I coo, giving him a kiss to the top of his head before plopping him inside. After locking up in my room, I take the stairs and sneak out the side door of the kitchen. The sun has almost completely set, with red, orange, and yellow hues stretching across the horizon. Starting up my bike, I take the short drive up the winding dirt road to the few private houses Chaos and I keep on the property.
The hard exterior I put up when I have to see this man slams into place, all the anger and resentment I still hold toward the man who created me, so I don’t accidentally kill him.
The house sits off in the distance, an inconspicuous cookie-cutter two-story with a front porch and sprawling yard. It backs up to a gorgeous tree line, the club property going on for acres and acres. It’s sad that a house is sitting vacant because of the shitty-ass memories inside. I’d love to burn it to the ground, if only the basement wasn’t currently occupied with the filth of the earth.
Parking my bike out front, I steady myself and flip down the kickstand before stepping off. I take a moment to look up at the sky and steady my breathing. I always have to mentally prepare myself for meetings with him. I try to avoid them at all costs, but I can’t keep banking on Chaos doing it.
As I walk through the house, I keep my eyes averted, not wanting to see the reminders of all the shit that happened here.
When I reach the basement, I take the steps one at a time, the smell of shit and decay permeating the air. I’ve smelled worse, but this is still potent, my stomach rebelling against the inhalation, rolling with nausea.
A low light illuminates his aging body from where he sits inside his cell. His back is facing me, his grey hair hanging long and stringy around his shoulders, which are hunched over and rounded.
It should make me sad to see my own flesh and blood so frail, but I feel nothing but bitter contempt and anger for what he did. He’s shirtless, his skin dusted with age spots, probably from his liver going out, every ridge of his spine visible.
“Been a while, Rhys.” My dad’s voice is hoarse, probably from not using it often since he’s in isolation and has been here for a long-ass time.
“Needed to make sure your corpse wasn’t rotting away down here. Scents travel, and no one needs to be breathing in your decaying, evil flesh.”
Victor Hudson was once a man people respected, looked up to. He was the vice president of our notorious motorcycle club and Queenie’s right hand; they led together for years. But behind closed doors, he was a fucking monster.
“You’re going to die down here. Slowly. Painfully. Your body will give out long before your mind will. Or perhaps it’ll be the other way around, the isolation and lack of human connection will rot your mind before your body is ready for it to. We both know how much you enjoy human connection.”
He hums in response.
“Even after you leave this plane, there is no god that will forgive you, nowhere you’ll go that you’ll feel free. You’ll never be absolved of your crimes, Victor.”
