I don’t argue. I’m exhausted. Hurting, and want to disappear from the face of the Earth. I am so fucked on so many levels I can’t even begin to think about it.
“Two weeks . . . The clock starts now.”
I lie down on the secondhand, microfiber couch I’ve owned for years as Fender places the frozen broccoli bags over my eyes and face.Ouch.
There’s silence for a few peaceful moments, but I know it isn’t going to last.
“You gonna tell me who did this to you?” he finally probes.
“Nope.” I’m obstinate.
“Break, you gotta tell me. We need to find the guys—”
“I don’t gotta tell you shit,” I cut him off, snatching the bags off my face. “And you’re not going to say a goddamn word to anyone.”
“But, Slash—”
“Fender, I swear to God, if you breathe a word to Slash, I will slit your fucking throat and set your vocal cords on fire.”
“Whoa.” He holds up his hands. “Easy, brother. I’m just concerned. You’re not alone—”
“I know I’m not; that’s why I called you. Don’t make me regret it,” I snap. I’m not fucking around about this. I’m not dragging Slash or the club into my mess. I’ve handled it by myself for this long, I’ll handle it solo till the end.
Fender’s dark, soulful eyes sweep over me. He’s trying to understand. It’s not like me, or any member, to keep things to themselves. We’re brothers. We band together. That’s how this relationship works. We have each other’s backs. And if it were any other situation, I would reach out. I would tell Fender, Slash, and everyone else exactly what was going on. But this? This is too deep, too rooted in secrets already. Pony is dangerous. He’s a killer. And the Bowman was the only one who could keep him at bay. I don’t want to take the entire squad down or start a war with the wrong guy because of bad decisions my father made. They don’t deserve it. Gerard Parish worked his ass off to get out of that life. To build a better club for his son. I refuse to be the reason it goes up in flames. I’ll figure something out. Even if it means I pay my father’s debt with my life. For Slash, I would do that. For all my brothers, I would make the ultimate sacrifice. That’s what you do when you swear an oath to the club. You share your soul and pledge allegiance to the patch you wear proudly. You lay down your life for the commitment to biking and brotherhood.
“I think you should leave.” I cover both my eyes with the sweating bags of broccoli.
“I think I should stay,” he contests.
“I need to be alone.” Lick my wounds and wallow in misery all by myself.
“I don’t think—”
“Get out,” I cut him off. My decision is made, and this discussion is over.
He sighs audibly. “Fine.” I hear the floor creak beneath his boots as he stands. “But call me if you needanything.”
“I will,” I agree.
I listen to Fender’s heavy footsteps as they carry across my apartment. I hate being a dick to him, he’s my boy, but I really just need to be alone.
“Fend,” I call.
“Yeah?”
“Not a word,” I feel compelled to remind him one last time.
“My motherfuckin’ lips are sealed.” He is blatantly cross.
Then the door slams closed.
As soon as I’m alone, the emotions load like a double-barrel shotgun. So many fucking feelings pile driving me right in the chest. It’s suffocating.
I’m in a heap of shit right up to my eyeballs, and I don’t have a fucking clue what to do about it.
Run?
That’s a coward’s way out.
