I whistled, getting everyone’s attention, “If you ain’t a patched brother, get the fuck out.”
Year Seven - Age 30
I saw her on the security feed.
Stay in your car, baby. I’m not ready.
Fucking hell, please.
Then I let out a breath when she drove past.
I left a note on her kitchen island while she was at work.
“I’m not ready. I’m trying. – R.”
***
I beat the brakes off the man who was trafficking young kids.
And then, I did what I did best... I mangled his body and left his throat lying beside him for the buzzards to enjoy.
I felt like I was raging out of control.
I knew.
I knew what I had to do.
I got out of bed, dressed, and headed out to my bike.
Starting her up, I pulled out of the clubhouse and headedhome.
Year Eight - Age 31
With my key that no one knew I had, I used it to unlock her door.
That was a hell of a lot easier than relying on the lockpick I’d been using.
And with footfalls as soft as I could make them, I walked to her bedroom.
Seeing her lying there, I felt the calm I had been chasing start to envelop me.
Sitting in the chair at the foot of her bed, I let out a breath and then dragged one in deeply.
Her scent washed through me.
Jasmine.
My fucking kryptonite.
Year Nine - Age 32
For the past four years, I had done somewhat of a ritual.
And if I deviated from that ritual... I didn’t fucking sleep.
Not until I knew she was safe.
***
