Prologue

I read the note from Millie again. It didn't matter I've read it a hundred times. I needed to keep reading it, however, wanting to commit every word to memory. I want it to linger in my gut, a constant reminder to never have faith in a woman again.

Dear Gary,

I know we made promises. I meant them, truly, I did. It's just that since your surgery, I've realized we are just too different. I hate living here at the club. I'm miserable. This is your life. You chose this lifestyle. I did not. I want kids and a home. I want a man who puts me first, not a lifestyle which could land him in jail someday. I thought my feelings for you could overcome everything, but I was mistaken. I've wanted to tell you this for a while. I just didn't think it was fair to do it until you recovered from your surgery.

You're better now. You may always have health issues, but you're strong and you don't need me. It has been hard pretending these past few months, but I did it so you would recover. This way, I don't feel quite so guilty. I know you've been making plans, and I pretended to go along with them. Please understand, I didn't do it to be mean. You can still have kids, but it won't be with me. I can't imagine raising my children connected with a bunch of criminals. You're a good person, Gary. If you ever decide to get out of this life, maybe we can be friends. I'd like that.

Take care,

Millie.

I shake my head and then slowly fold the letter back up. I feel stupid. Millie and I would lie close together in bed at night while my voice slowly came back after the surgery. I'd tell her how I wanted to have kids with her, build a life like the one Marcum and Toi had. It's what I've always wanted. To know she was agreeing with me, even adding details to this fantasy life she never intended on living, slices away at my insides and leaves me raw. I thought facing the possibility of losing my voice forever was enough to destroy me, but I was wrong. It was nothing like the pain I'm having now. I can't even decipher the feelings I'm having. Sure, betrayal is there, embarrassment for believing her lies, but it's more than that. The biggest emotion is shame.

I wasn't good enough…

Sure, I'm recovering. I can walk without a cane now. I can talk—although still not as much as is normal. The timbre in my voice has also changed. There are times I can't even recognize myself. It really pisses me off that I get winded so easily. The weakness on my right side is the most troubling thing I've had to deal with. I did it, though. I did it for the women in my life. Millie helped talk me into the surgery—along with my sister and Toi. If not for them, I wouldn't have. I was tired of fighting. The gunshot and head injury were just two more things on a pile of shit I was tired of dealing with.

Now, I'm here with no woman and my sister is completely happy. I feel like a damn fifth wheel in my own club. Worse, I have seen the looks of pity I've been getting for the last week. Ever since Millie packed up and handed me a damn goodbye letter.

I have to leave. I don't have a choice. I've talked to Marcum about it. He offered me a position in another chapter, but that's not what I wanted. I need a complete break. It might be my only chance of finding a way to breathe again. Right now, I just feel suffocated.

I look at the number Marcum wrote down for me. It's on a torn-off piece of envelope from some of the club's junk mail. He wasn't happy about my decision, but he understood. I find it funny that I'm hesitant about calling this guy when it's what I want. Yet, here I am. This club has been my life for so many years it's hard to fathom leaving it. I know I need to, however.

Finally, with a deep breath, I key in the number and wait.

"E-Z."

I clear my throat. "This is Ghost. Marcum said he spoke to you about me."

"Hey, yeah. He said you were leaving his club for personal reasons. He didn't really delve into it. Said I could trust your ass, though."

"You can."

"If I believed every motherfucker who told me that, I wouldn't be standing."

I find myself smiling, even though I don't want to. "I get that."

"You're willing to pick up, fly halfway across the country, and leave your old club behind?"

"The fact it's far away is the appealing part."

"There are some things you need to know. I'm walking in blind. The old president pissed off the wrong people. As a result, we sent him on a permanent vacation—if you get what I'm saying."

"I do," I mutter. I can imagine the specifics. Pig farms have long been a favorite to get rid of bodies in that area. Not in Florida, though. We don't have many of those farms—if any. We either mix up our own concoction or we feed them to gators. Both are relatively effective.

"That means I'm taking over with most of the men there, against me. Have no doubt, it will be a fight. There is also some trouble with the Levkin brothers. Do you know who they are?"

"Bratva."

"Got it in one. My cousin might be right about you. I'm heading out there next week. I'd like you there with me. It'd be good to have someone take my back. I'm pretty sure I'm going to walk into a den of vipers. I'd prefer not to have my pants down when I do."

"I'll head down now. Do some intel on the club. I'll be in touch with my hotel information."

E-Z lets out a long, loud whistle. "I think I'm going to like you, Ghost. Talk soon."

"Soon," I mutter, hanging up and staring at my phone. The decision is made. There's no going back. I should feel regret, I suppose, but I don't. Not really. I'm going to miss my brothers and Drew—I'll definitely miss her. Yet, the truth is, this is not my home any longer. There's too much water under the bridge. Maybe it's weak, but I don't really want to run into Millie any longer either.

Moving is the best option for me. It's what I want. I'll carve a life for myself in Arizona. It will be a new life and one where I'm not haunted by past mistakes and regrets. That's what I want. Drew and the others will just have to understand.

This is for the best.