And she had been helping them.
How many more of my brothers had to die because of her?
I lifted my hand in the air, sealing her fate, hating myself. Hating Belle. Hating my brothers. This club. The Italians. This life.
“It’s decided then,” Shooter said. “I’ll be the one to do it.” And he looked me in the eye when he said it, knowing how much it would kill me to do it, but he didn’t understand; Ihadto do it. It had to be me. The burden had to be shared between me and Belle, and no one else.
“I’ve got it,” I said, my voice thick with steel.
“Brother—” Gauge started, but I held a hand up to him, my hard gaze meeting his.
“I said I’ve got it.”
He nodded and Shooter slammed the gavel down, the finality of it a nail in both Belle’s and my coffins. I took another drag on the cigarette as my brothers began to file out of the room, but I stayed where I was, my legs unwilling to hold me up, my muscles feeling like jelly. I felt weaker now than I ever had in that hospital bed.
Everyone left but Rider and Shooter. Both of them sat there watching me, waiting for me to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. The silence went on and on, and they let me sit there, stewing in my own dark thoughts and wishing for something, anything else but this.
But I knew the rules.
I knew what had to happen.
Yet no matter how much I wanted to hate her, I found I couldn’t.
I’d been angry at the world for a long damn time, hating and killing, violence and blood calling to my heart, but now it was Belle calling to it and I knew I’d never be the same after this. Her death was one I’d never recover from.
“If it’s any consolation,” Shooter finally said, “I’m sorry it had to come to this. I trusted her too, and I don’t do that often.”
I looked over at him, my face expressionless as a thousand emotions worked themselves into a frenzy inside of me.
Rider stood up and grabbed some glasses and a bottle of Jack from the sideboard. He poured us all a shot and slid one over to me.
“Belle said I’m not supposed to drink,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
Rider raised an eyebrow at me, and I lifted my glass and threw the whiskey to the back of my throat. The past year had been hell. I’d lost my brother, my friend, I’d lost myself. My body, what little was left of my soul, and at times I’d lost my mind, succumbing to the pain and the rage I’d felt. But I’d come back. I wasn’t the same man I once had been. I don’t think anyone ever could ever be the same after that, but my priorities hadn’t changed—the club was my life, my family, yet I desperately wanted Belle to be a part of that. Yet no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t see how she could ever be a part of this world.
She’d never be forgiven.
She’d never be trusted.
She’d always be in danger.
But I still wanted it. I still wanted her. The dream. The life I’d seen my brothers have. I wanted it even though I knew I couldn’t have it, and that pill wasn’t just bitter to swallow, it was impossible. It was a cement block trying to squeeze down my scorched throat. It was acid poured over my favorite food. It was poison in my whiskey. It was a knife to the back and a kiss on the lips.
I wanted the alternative life I should have had with Belle—the one where we fuck every day and night and I take her for rides on my bike. I’d come home from work and find her baking muffins or some shit in the kitchen, my kid growing in her round belly. I’d put my hand there, feeling those tiny kicks of life within her, and then I’d kiss her, hard and deep, giving her all of me because that would be enough.
But that was just a dream—a fantasy. A fucking mirage, because I knew I wouldn’t ever get the chance to have that life. And I knew that there would be no saving my soul after this, just like there was no saving Belle.
Chapter Fifteen
~ Belle ~
I woke up tired and sore, like I hadn’t slept for hours and like I hadn’t had the best sex of my entire life. Beast wasn’t in the bed, but the scent of him was, and for the first time in weeks I felt safe again. I curled my naked body into a ball and pulled the covers over my head, stewing over Mateo and Carlos and what they’d asked me to do. So far I’d given them as little information as I could—just enough to keep me alive and keep them away from Jenna—but they were getting impatient and I was getting desperate.
I’d never waivered though, sticking to only giving them useless information that wouldn’t harm Beast or the club and didn’t give anything away. That was until I’d come home yesterday and found a mutilated dog on my doorstep, its head missing entirely, and then I’d fallen apart. Hot tears burned my eyes, and for the first time since all of this began I felt angry. I didn’t deserve this. I hadn’t done anything wrong, yet I was being punished and tormented, threatened, hurt… it just wasn’t fair.
So yesterday, after overhearing some of the men talking about a drop earlier in the day, I’d told Mateo and Carlos about it. I knew no one would get hurt because Shooter had said, as I’d listened from around the corner, that the truck was to be parked up and left behind the warehouse. It was being collected later in the day.
I’d told Mateo and Carlos this, leaving out the information on the truck having no Highwaymen in it. I’m not sure why I omitted that part. Maybe it was because I knew more than anything all Mateo and Carlos really cared about was hurting more of the club’s bikers, and that was something I couldn’t stand the thought of.
