Chapter Forty-Four

After twenty years of observing alcoholism, I finally fucking understand the why of it. Drunk brings with it a state of numbness I hadn’t realized I could reach so easily. I can now appreciate how it helps to lessen the pain by blurring reality.

A reality where I stand in the garage surrounded by birds in a celebration I want no fucking part of.

Another homecoming party, bringing me full circle in this living hell—a reminder of the day it started. The day I locked eyes with the woman who’s forever altered me for better and worse.

The birds gathering around us pop beers, cracking smiles, and chattering noisily. Most of them are oblivious to the soul-crushing karma Sean and I have endured the last two days—where I exist in a present I can’t handle. A present only made bearable for the moment thanks to the half-drained pint in my hand. As I dwell in it, the future ticks on by the second—its taunt is cruel and unforgiving. Cecelia was right. When you don’t demand anything from life, that’s exactly what it delivers, nothing.

I never asked this life for anything but took everything it denied me. That tactic worked for me just fine—something my brother and I share in common . . . along with our taste in women.

I told my brother Triple Falls was mine, but as of now, I no longer want to play my part. I can’t even imagine what a life outside of the club would look like, but the question remains . . . how in the fuck are we supposed to resume our roles, our lives?

Tobias stole the one thing that made mine bearable. But in doing so, he finally discovered the value of something he practically forbade us all to take part in—love.

His rattled expression last night and panic-filled pleas to put Cecelia first were all too familiar because they mimicked the panic I felt when I was worried about his reaction—mostly of his reception and treatment of her. An ironic laugh escapes me, getting lost in the crowd, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Sean, who nudges me from where he stands beside me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing you would find humor in,” I retort, taking another mind-numbing pull from my bottle before offering it to him. He shakes his head, full beer in hand, surveying the party.

“Let’s shut this bullshit down,” he says, “I’m not feeling this.”

“You should celebrate. You’re your own boss now,” I quip.

“I still can’t fucking believe it, any of it,” he sighs, eyeing the bottle I’m rapidly draining.

“I can.”

Sean’s head whips toward me as I stare back at him, unflinching, and his gaze hardens. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let this go. I can’t believe he went through with it.”

It occurred to me, as I drove away from Cecelia last night, the possible why Tobias would go to such lengths and mark her. I relayed as much to Sean this morning.

“You really think it’s Antoine?” He asks.

“Has to be. Antoine is the only one that can instill that kind of fear in him.” Swig. “Even if he’s not, the ink will protect her, but if that piece of shit ever discovers Tobias has a weakness—and Tobias doesn’t heel when commanded—she’ll be his first target,” I relay grimly.

A long minute passes, and I know that Sean’s doing his best to accept it and make peace with what he can before he speaks up. “I don’t think I can forgive him, Dom.”

Scrutinizing me, he takes a long drag of his smoke.

“Then don’t,” I tell him. “But if we’re being one hundred, he was right about a lot of what he said. We could have and should have done so much shit differently.”

“We did it to protect him,” he points out.

“That’s fair, but he’s no more guilty than we are.”

“Fuck no,” he refutes, “he purposely—”

“What?” I interject. “What exactly did he do that was so different? Fall in love with a woman he wasn’t supposed to fall for, put his life and our club in jeopardy, lie to his brothers about it, and do what he could to keep her by deceiving her?” I look over to him, “sound fucking familiar?”

“It’s different,” he snaps.

“It’s not,” I swallow, “It’s not different.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking up for him. He knew we loved her.”

“That might be the only thing you can justifiably hate him for, but you fucking know a lot of what he called us out for was true.”

“Reason away all you fucking want, but I’m not feeling any of them,” he states in blunt delivery.

A loud clatter erupts, and we look over to see Jeremy flailing as Russell pummels him playfully. Sean manages to crack a smile as I pin him with my next question.

“You were serious, weren’t you, when you said you wanted to marry her?” His eyes dart to me, and I can see the answer without him voicing it.

“I just wanted to love her.” I hear the crack in his voice, even over the noise surrounding us. “I just wanted it to be okay to fucking love her without the guilt.”

“You’re justified now,” I tilt the bottle toward him, “but I can’t fight with you about him. I’m exhausted, Sean.” My vision blurs briefly, and I shake my head to clear it.

He cups the back of his neck and nods.

“It’s your choice,” I relay in whatever tone I manage to muster. “It’s your choice to honor your ink or to walk away. I’m with whatever decision you make.”

A long silence follows as he turns back to me. “Can you forgive him?”

“Not tonight,” I answer, polishing off the bottle before lighting up my blunt.

“Jesus, you’re on a mission, huh?” He remarks, eyeing the bottle dubiously.

I shrug. “I’ve recently found myself in the position of having absolutely no fucks to give.”

He lights up again and exhales a plume of smoke, scanning the garage. “You think . . . think he was right?” he asks, “you think we’re a bunch of fucking idiots parading around—”

“Like soldiers? Taking Halloween dress up too far?” I finish, and he nods.

“All the time,” I shrug. “But I always come back to the same conclusion.”

“What’s that?” He asks, tone contemplative, and I know why.

“Why not us?”

He nods in understanding as we both ponder clipping our wings for the first time. As if sensing our collective predicament, Tyler catches my eyes where he stands feet away. I lift my chin to him, knowing he’s here in silent support, knowing he’d rather be somewhere else. Tyler had scraped us from the floor of the bay yesterday after Tobias left and whisked us to Delphine’s. We were so fucked up after the day’s events that we’d forgotten we were temporarily homeless.

But as of this morning, the three of us are commiserating together.

While Sean and my annihilations were swift, Tyler’s happiness will be stolen by the day.

Delphine’s last scan results came back, and her brief remission is over.

The stars have been generous in doling out more future, and I curse every one of those mother fuckers. For their unapologetic theft from Tyler and for allowing me a glimpse of heaven I can’t steal back. Tilting my bottle in defiance of them, I softly whisper, “fuck you.”

Pain spikes, and the consumed liquor attempts but fails to dissolve it in time as it spreads like the thrumming bass through the bay.

Getting swept in by the threatening burn, it’s the sudden thwack ringing out through the bay, cutting through the noise, that brings me somewhat back into the present. Tyler whips his head in our direction as all of us perk. It’s when the crash rings out again, the shatter of glass registering, that Tyler races into the lobby.

The music is cut abruptly, and all movement ceases as every bird in the garage postures up, their attention on the bay door just as Tyler announces the source from where he stands in the lobby. “It’s Cecelia . . . and she doesn’t fucking look happy.”

Another crash and shatter outside has Sean’s eyes darting to mine before he stalks toward the door, speaking up. “I’ve got it.”

Tyler joins him, and just as Sean lifts it, glass shatters inches from his face. He shields himself at the last second, expelling a “Jesus, fuck.”

Cecelia hurls more bottles toward us, and a few birds manage to dodge them as I flick my blunt. Sean takes a step toward her as her eyes dart from him to me—a flash of hurt flits through her livid gaze when she sweeps my whiskey-muted profile. Layla speaks up, caution in her voice, as she tries to reason with her while stunned by the state of her. “Cecelia . . . baby, what’s going on?”

Layla—who’s not in the know about any of what’s transpired in the last twenty-four hours—looks between Sean and me. “What did you fuckers do?”

The better question is, what haven’t we done to her?

The look of disgust in Cecelia’s expression, the wrath in her posture, says it all as she darts her focus around, betrayal and vengeance warring in her eyes.

I know the feeling, baby.

“Don’t bother,” she snaps in response to Layla’s gentle coaxing. “Don’t pretend to give a damn about me.”

“You know I didn’t have a choice,” Layla replies in a guilt-riddled tone.

“Oh bullshit,” Cecelia counters with a vicious bite, “you had a choice. You chose them. And guess what? You deserve them.”

“I’m sorry,” Layla offers in apology.

“Save it,” Cecelia refutes it, “you’ve all made your point. I think it’s time I made one of my own.” Lifting the gas can in her hand, she pours the rest of it into a large puddle in front of her, which serves as a barrier between us and the idling Jeep behind her. Between the beam of the headlights behind her and the light in the garage, I drink in every detail as the consumed whiskey fails to stifle the budding ache.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Sean snaps, surveying the damage to our lot as she lifts a bottle, rag soaked.

Tyler speaks up next, just as taken aback. “Jesus Christ, Cecelia, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Who did it?!” she demands as confusion sets in as to why Tobias went through with it—and apparently didn’t cop to it. Sean takes another step forward as she lifts the bottle in threat. “Take another step before I get my answer, and I’ll light this, and we’ll all see where it lands. Don’t fucking push me, Sean.”

“Put it down,” Sean orders, stunned by her wrath, but I know better.

Have known.

“Who did this to me?!” She shrieks.

Even as she declares war on us, inciting a one-person riot, tossing accusations, I know she’s barely scratched the surface of who she’ll eventually become. She looks so goddamned beautiful—even in her rage-induced state—that no amount of buzz can dull that. Pride floods me as she refuses to back down even as she hurls accusations and insults between Sean and me.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“. . . You want me. Here I fucking am!”

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“. . . speak up, and you can come get your fucking prize!” With that, she strikes a Zippo in threat as Sean calls out to her in panic. “Cecelia, don’t!”

I can see it all over her. She has no intention of listening. Pushing off the wall, I start to move toward her, birds parting, a few of them tossing insults and ill-timed jokes at her expense.

“Bitch has lost her mind.”

“You must’ve dicked her good, Dom.”

Fixed on her, I steadily make my way toward her as they start to realize what she did before announcing her arrival.

“What the fuck? . . . She slashed our fucking tires!”

Raising a hand to shut them up, I keep my pace as she zeroes in on me with her threat. “I swear to God, Dominic. I’ll light this place up.”

Of that, I have no doubt, baby.

“Stop!” she orders, and I do.

“Why?” she looks between us, “Why?!” She turns then, giving us a view of her fresh ink. In my peripheral, I see Sean stiffen as the sight of it nauseates me, and she hurls more insults.

“. . . cowards! You’re both fucking cowards!” She lashes between us before delivering a guttural blow. “I was neveryours, and I never will be. Stay the fuck away from me!”

Hurt leaks through that declaration even as she seethes, and it’s evident Tobias isn’t going to be forgiven anytime soon.

Good.

Give him hell, baby.

Tyler looks to me for any clue as to how to handle this, but we created and nurtured the raven within her, and it’s starting to spread its wings as her ink settles in. That isn’t something that can just be handled.

Ha! You are so fucked big brother!

Question is, why isn’t Tobias here to clean up his own fucking mess?

Even as I think it, an unsettling inkling kicks in.

Something’s not right.

Tobias wouldn’t just mark her and abandon her.

Not a second later, the hairs on my neck lift as buzzes and pings sound around me.

Cecelia, too consumed by her tirade, continues to rage feet away. Tyler barks my name, and I pause my footing a second before he presses his burner to my ear, my brother’s voice ringing out. “Miami took a fucking contract on Roman! Get her somewhere safe! . . . Miami is coming!”

The adrenaline spike has me rushing her just as she tosses the cocktail down in a puddle of gas, igniting it and blocking me with a wall of flames. Jumping through them, they lick my forearms before I break through to see her already in her Jeep. Lunging forward, I manage to slam my fists on her hood for a second before it disappears beneath them, and she tears out, racing away.

Fuck.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

In an Instant, Tyler is next to me inspecting my skin, and I jerk away, knowing the damage is minimal as he starts to shout orders at the birds already scrambling around us. “Use whatever you can!”

Tyler speaks rapidly into his phone as my heartbeat ramps, filling my ears.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“. . . came here in a rage, asking who fucking marked her, T. She shredded every tire and threatened to light the place up. She looked fucking possessed, man. Why doesn’t she know? . . . Where the fuck have you been?!”

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

A long pause follows, and I know my brother is rapidly relaying a worthy explanation. As ruthless as he is, he wouldn’t have left Cecelia so exposed if he didn’t have a choice. Even as my brain reasons in his favor, I feel the resentment simmering beneath.

“Dom,” Tyler says, stretching the phone out to me.

“Don’t we have a track on her Jeep?” I ask, and Tyler jerks his chin.

“The fuck?!” I roar. “Why?”

“They were living together,” Tyler says on harsh exhale, “At Romans.” Sean visibly flinches from where he stands a foot away as I snatch the phone and curse the fact that I’m too drunk to fucking function properly. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Dom,” the panic in his voice has my fear elevating. “Listen to me, I’m begging you, listen to me.”

“I’m listening,” I snap.

“Roman didn’t do it. He didn’t kill Maman and Papa. I got it all wrong . . . Jesus Christ,” he roars.

“What?” It’s barely a whisper.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“. . . Dom! Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I say, as my focus flits to Tyler and Sean, who can hear every shouted word, their wide eyes glued to me as I put the phone on speaker.

“Roman didn’t do it.”

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“How do you know?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

“Because he just fucking told me,” Tobias croaks.

“What?” The ground starts to feel like it’s moving beneath me as my breaths become labored while the weight of his words sink in.

My head starts spinning with answered questions while more begin to circulate.

“Dom?!”

“Yeah,” I croak as he talks over me, and I pinch my temples, a headache forming behind them.

“. . . his office, Roman knew we were coming for him, Dom. He’s fucking known.”

Tyler, Sean, and I stare in disbelief at the burner in my hand.

“It was an accident,” Tobias says, tone rattled, “Dom . . . it was Diane . . . she was pregnant with Cecelia. Roman didn’t do it.”

Why would he allow us near her? Why would he . . . I gape at the phone as the answer snakes its way in. Because we couldn’t even fool our fucking enemy of our affection for his daughter.

What confounds me just after that is that he was never our enemy.

Head racing as the missing pieces we’ve been searching years for lock into place, the first car fires up feet away. Turning toward the sound, I spot Jeremy speeding past us and out of the parking lot, flying in the direction Cecelia fled. As another car fires up, Denny shouts orders along with Russell as they call out a map of roads to search and set blocks on.

“Keep your goddamn phones close,” Tyler shouts as a final order before starting his truck and waving toward me. “Get in. You’re fucking drunk.”

“Dom!” Tobias shouts over the phone. “Brother . . . I’m begging you, talk to me!”

“I hear you,” is all I can say as panic rises and emotions start to burn away at my alcohol-laced blood by the second.

“I’m in Roman’s car,” Tobias relays, and I catch on to why.

He’s trying to lure them in.

“I’m following,” I tell him as I desperately try to break through the whiskey haze.

“I can’t speed, or they’ll suspect we’re onto them. That’s if they’re not already here. We’re flying completely blind. I have no clue who ordered the hit, and the two birds on watch said they don’t know how long they’ve been missing. They followed them home last night and must have slipped out undetected this morning. I’m going to try to lure them in.”

Alarm shoots through me as panic sets in for him. As I go to speak my objection, he beats me to it. “Don’t send a single bird to me. She’s all that matters, Dom. Do you hear me? I don’t matter. Find her!”

My anger abates a little because I feel just as fucking helpless right now. My brother is begging me to help save the woman we both love. It’s right up there with the other worst few seconds of my life—when we were told we were both all we had left. That was the case up until Cecelia Horner.

The pain thrums, and it’s then I know. No matter how this ends, everything has already changed, and we can never go back.

“Tell Denny to unpack,” Tobias shouts in order. “Everything. Every fucking thing we have, do you hear me?”

Sean nods, having heard it as I take the phone off speaker. Pulling out my keys, I hold them out to him as I do my best to cut through the slow-motion haze I’m stuck in. “I’ve got two spares in my trunk,” I tell Sean. “Get mine going and have Denny grab everything we lifted from the warehouse.”

Sean turns without a word, his expression mixed. Taking the passenger side of Tyler’s truck as my brother shouts in order and plea, I watch Sean retreat and briefly close my eyes at what he must be feeling. He dedicated his life to helping us avenge our parents’ murders and gave up the love of his life to help us see the quest through.

And now he knows it was all an accident. So does Tyler.

Staring after Sean as he pops my trunk, I have to believe he’ll forgive us and reason that the ink still means something. That the purpose we spun from where it stemmed is enough to hold him—not to regret his ink any more than he does right now.

That he’ll forgive us both for our ignorance and pointless vendetta.

Along with the fact that he could have loved her freely, without guilt—and so could I.

It’s that blow that nearly does me in, but the fear for her and what she’s been put through—for our parent’s fucking mistakes—has me tensing at Tyler’s side with my request. “Take me to Delphine’s.”

Without a word, he nods and tears out of King’s as I lift the phone to my ear.

“. . . have to find her! Dom!? Brother . . . please.” The terror in my brother’s voice has me sobering considerably as we speed out of the parking lot.

“I’m here. Start from the beginning.”