Page 89 of Road to Absolution

So, that’s how it’s gonna be? In his face, I sneered, “But that member can fuck my wife?”

Stepping out from behind Scorch, Art tried to talk but could not be understood through the blood dripping from his split lips.

Scorch had defended me in the hospital—kicked ass in my honor—but there was clearly a different choice made when it came to being inside the club. Now he guarded another.

“Some fucking welcome party.” I pushed off the men around me. “Damn.” I moved to take off my cut that was feeling heavy, tainted, not providing the unity it was supposed to.

“Pup,” warned Diesel, “You’re about to cross a line if you hand that over.”

Continuing to remove the leather, which now felt like nothing but more weight on my already tired shoulders, my head tilted. “What line would that be, exactly? The one that was crossed before I was chased down and almost killed?”

He looked away.

“The one that was crossed when I wasn’t told my wife was in danger while I was out of state doing my job? Which, oh, that’s right, I can’t fucking do anymore. Or how about the line that was crossed when I was in college, building the career that—oh, that’s right. Did I mention I can’t do anymore due to head trauma, damaged skin, and a hand that no longer works right?”

No one would look at me now.

“No? How about the line that was crossed when I learned that my wife had been guarded by a man that has feelings for her—one she was leaving me for while I tried to build a life for her and me? One that was the dream shared with my dead dad? That one?”

I waited.

When no reply came, I asked, “Maybe it was the line where my wife’s rapist, who was supposed to be dead, was actually given a better life? The same guy who I have to forgive because he pulled me from a fucking burning truck that was one of the last things I had of my dad.”

Shaking my head, I shoved my cut to Diesel’s chest. “When any of you have to swallow that much shit, all day, while living with the fucking men responsible, then lecture me about your fucking lines.”

I faced the grey hallway, needing to find a safe place, but realized seeing the woman—my wife—who once wanted to leave me for Art was only going to add to my misery.

If you castrate a man, he loses a part of himself in more ways than one. After all I had been through since the accident, there were only a limited number of hits to the chin that I could take.

So, I turned away and… left.