“I’ll swing by on my way,” I promise, sweeping a stray lock of hair from my eyes.
God, I hope I’ve packed everything I need. If I forget something, there’s no coming back for it. I go over the list in my head, making sure I’ve thought of every last item, including sexy underwear. I shiver at the thought of Travis and me in a hotel room, blissfully alone after his show, his sweaty, hard body against mine...
“Your dad texted me.”
I jerk and snap out of my fantasy to see my mother standing in the doorway, hip leaning against the frame. Late afternoon light halos her figure, making her look small and beautiful, like a sparrow caught in a storm. She has this fragile, beautiful energy about her that makes you want to protect her. I can see why Dad loved her, I really can.
I laugh. “Dad texted you?”
She nods. “Yeah, and he left... some smiley face at the end.”
Another giggle. I can picture her getting that message, and I just know her cheeks would have flushed. “You and Chief,exchanging emojis. Do you think—” My words catch as she fixes me with a distant, sorrowful stare.
Her heart will forever belong to him, but he is also the reason for the pain in her eyes.
“There will never be an ‘us’ again, honey.” Her voice is careful, practiced. “And I don’t want there to be.”
Her face scrunches, as if the words hurt even to say, and that tells me they’re not true, not really.
“What happened? I mean, really happened. Not the story you tell nosy people you want to go away.”
“That’s a story for another day.”
“Mom—”
“Some doors, once closed, should stay that way.” She pushes her chin out. “Another day. Another story.” She steps away, the moment slipping through my fingers, but not before I glimpse the tremble in her hand, the way she blinks too rapidly against tears she refuses to shed.
I force a smile, pulling her in for a hug. “Okay, Mom. I love you. I’ll call this weekend.”
“Be safe, baby.”
I leave, flinging my bag into the backseat and firing up the engine. The sky is streaked with gold, the neighborhood unnaturally still. I make my way to the compound to see Chief before leaving this weekend. I know he enjoys when I come and stay, so the least I can do is drop in and see him for a bit before I leave.
The house is quiet, but I can hear chattering voices outside in the compound, in the shed furthest down the back. I’m early; I usually wouldn’t arrive until later tonight, so I know he’s not expecting me. Hoping I’m not going to interrupt club business, I walk down to the shed. The door groans when I push it open. Inside, a single bare bulb hangs overhead, swinging slightly,casting warped shadows that twist across the walls. The stench of iron and sweat slams into me.
I know right away I’ve made a mistake.
Ahead, a man dangles from a meat hook driven cruelly through his shoulder blade. His blood seeps down in thick, dark ribbons, pooling beneath him. His legs thump and jerk against the concrete floor, desperate. A steel vice clamps his mouth shut; every muffled rasp and wet gargle reverberates off the walls like a drumbeat. Every biker in the club surrounds him, as if they’re enjoying the torture.
Torture that is written all over his body in every mark, gash, bruise, and slice.
I choke. My vision blurs. The world tilts. I sob, fists clamped over my mouth, knees shaking. “Oh God...” My voice cracks.
Chief, who is holding a bloody knife, turns when he hears my sob.
“Violet?” His tone is disturbingly gentle. My stomach turns, and I rifle for the door, adrenaline igniting every nerve.
“Mischief!” he calls, voice more frantic now. But I’m already tearing through the house and down the driveway, trying to keep the contents of my stomach in.
I know my father does illegal things. I know he is part of a club that does illegal things. But what I didn’t know, what they have kept from me for so long, is that level of violence. The kind of violence that makes my blood run cold because it’s coming from a man I hold so close to my heart. A man who has only ever touched me with gentle hands.
My hero.
I yank at the car door, my lungs heaving. Each breath is a rasping scream in my chest. He sprints after me, catches my arm, and spins me face-to-face. Tears blur my vision. I shove at his chest, but there is little point; he is too big and too strong.
“What... what is that? How can you—” My voice shatters. “Who the fuck are you?”
He doesn’t release me; instead, he holds me long enough to try and explain. “He had information on Demon. It was necessary. I’m sorry you had to see it, baby.”