BRISTOL
“So, Rhys gave you the ugly details, huh?” I ask, trying to break the ice right off the bat so there isn’t any awkwardness. I’ve thought about meeting this woman, the one who raised Rhys into such a sweet, incredible man, the one who survived such terrible abuse at the hands of her husband and saw the other side of it. Rhys holds her in such high regard; I loved her from afar, just from his words and stories. Never did I imagine this would be the circumstances we meet in, but here we are.
“He did. I hate that you’ve been through any type of pain, Bristol. No one deserves it, especially not from someone who has vowed to love, protect, honor, and care for you.”
“How did you move on from it, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I figured Rhys would also share with you. I don’t know if anyone can fully move on from it completely. But changing my mindset helped. I don’t like the word victim. Personally, I prefer survivor. The abuse was something that happened tome, and it was no fault of my own. I got away from him, so why would I continue to let him have control over my life now that I’m free? I have a word that I live by, it’sintention. I wake up every morning with the intention to live life to the fullest, to feel the sun on my skin, to give my loved ones all the love I can. I am intentional about my time, my worth, my ability, my tasks, and who I give access to me. By doing that, I have nothing to complain about. I’m walking and breathing, and it’s proof that I survived.”
“You’ll be able to move on, too. It doesn’t matter if it’s one time or a hundred; abuse is abuse, and it does take time to heal from it. Some people are never able to fully let it go, and that’s okay, too. Everyone handles what they’ve been through differently. Therapy helped, support groups helped—it’s where I met the love of my life.”
“I’m so glad you found that. You deserve it.”
“Looks like you found it in my son.”
I blush, my face flaming with heat.
“Rhys said his dad was also the vice president of the same club? How do you handle knowing what Rhys does? I love him. I think I fell in love with him the moment I saw him. But I’m scared. I’ve never been around any type of violence until my ex put his hands on me. Rhys is so gentle, so tender and sweet, I can’t imagine him . . .hurtingothers.”
“This is a hard one, and I can’t answer it for you because everyone has to make their own decisions about what they’re okay with. But I will tell you, from experience, that there are very, very bad men out there. And the justice system, the majority of them, are a bunch of shmucks. The club doesn’t go looking for trouble, Bristol, but if it comes knocking, theyhandle it the way they know how. And sweetie, that’s not waiting for the police.”
I think about that, trying to find a logical reason that I can defend and understand in my head. I just hate violence so much. I keep telling myself that fact, but the thought keeps circling, turning over and over in my mind. I’ve never believed you could solve anything with violence or fighting, and the thought of causing anyone or anything harm makes my stomach tighten in knots.
But then there are moments like this, when standing still and doing nothing could mean letting someone get hurt. I keep trying to reason through it, to frame it as a necessity rather than a cruelty, while acknowledging that that reality doesn’t make me broken or lack empathy. But I’m struggling to accept it all, struggling to imagine Rhys crossing that line. That my big, sweet, gentle giant is capable of ending someone’s life.
“I can see your brain working overtime, you don’t need to justify it for him. Rhys, hell, all the Heathens have made their peace with their actions the day they took the oath. You don’t need to pray for his soul; you don’t need to worry. They do what they do, and you have to trust that it will always be in the name of protecting the innocent, in the name of justice. They’re just balancing the tides. If you love him, then do it without condition, trust him with everything you’ve got, you’re going to be okay.”
Balancing the tides. Hell’s Heathens, here on Earth to send the evil back where it belongs. The more I think about that, the more I’m okay with it. It’s just a different type of justice.
Chapter Thirty-Four
RHYS
Pulling up outside of Hell’s Asylum hurts like a bitch. The Amberwood Fire Department is already on scene, hosing down the blaze that stretches up toward the sky. The smoke stings my eyes, the accelerant smell still clinging to the air, sharp and assaulting. We all know this was no accident, even if the police report will say it is after Chaos speaks with Police Chief Edwards. I look through the crowd for my crew, finding Chaos standing with a few others in the middle of two police cars. A burning beam collapses with a roar, sparks flying out everywhere.
I feel like my legs belong to someone else as I stomp over to Chaos, at a loss for words. All we can do is watch, my fists clenched at my sides, blunt nails digging into my palms. We’ve had this building for more than two decades, and now it’s about to be reduced to ash and rubble.
“Was anyone inside?”
“No, thank fuck.”
“So just the building, then.”
“Queenie built this way before he took me and Lucas in. But we spent so much time here, even though I started out cleaning toilets and mopping floors.” Chaos’ voice is quiet, lethal, and far more dangerous than fire. This hurts him more than anyone else. But goddamn does it hurt me, too.
“We’ll find them.”
“I want him brought in. Now. No one sleeps until we do.”
We all head to our bikes, riding in formation back to the clubhouse. There’s a heady mix of rage and turmoil bleeding and blending through our ranks. As if this wasn’t already personal, they just took something from us that is equivalent to a life.
The engine roars under me, loud and angry, like it can feel the fury rolling off my skin in waves. Even with my brothers in formation around me, that lonely feeling starts to creep back in. Caged. Contained. Every mile back to the clubhouse just winding that coil in my gut tighter and tighter.
I keep seeing the flames behind my eyelids every time I blink. How much time we all spent in there, especially as teenagers and prospects. They torched a piece of who we are, and we have never been the kind of club that lets something like this slide.
The tension thrums through each of us, the air crackling with the same need burning in our guts. Revenge. Justice. Blood. As their vice president—as Sin—I’ve always been the one to swerve into the darkness, the one to do whatever it takes to seek retaliation, or right the scales. But right now, as Bristolslips into mind like she always does, her soft voice, her beautiful hazel eyes, her sweet, gentle smile, for the first time since becoming Sin, I don’t want to be that man.
She hates violence, and I can see it in her eyes that she hates the death and destruction that surrounds the club life. Bristol loves all the pieces of me that I’ve spent years trying to keep hidden. She’s given me exactly what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve been wanting. She seesme.
