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Anger, frustration, grief and bitterness.
I did my best over the years to mask my pain, especially from my children. The longer I’m here, the more difficult it becomes. The more I see and am around him, my heart thaws. It doesn’t help that I’ve allowed myself to experience him in ways I never thought I would again. And it’s becoming harder and harder for me to remain detached. It’s all too much. What happened in our past isn’t something you get over. I can’t forgive and forget. No matter how much he and my children want me to.
I smile as I think about my beautiful girl on her path to forgiveness, even though she and her father have had a bumpy road, which has had me in his face a time or two. The two of them still have things to work through, and they are–working through it. They can often talk things out, allowing cooler heads to prevail. Thanks to Taz. He knows his president and my daughter and has had to learn how to mediate between the two quickly. If he weren’t bald already, I would say after months of dealing with those two, he’d be well on his way.
Bellamy’s willingness to listen has shocked everyone who knows her, especially Blaze. Which he asked her about. Bell explained her newfound calmness is because of Taz’s golden peen. My daughter claims she is dickmitized. Of course, as her mother, I didn’t need to know any of that at any point in her or my natural life. There was a time when I wouldn’t believe anyone would or could tame my daughter. But one look, a touch from him, puts her into a trance, and he can get her to see reason when no one else can. I shudder because I don't know when my daughter decided we were close enough to have those conversations. It’s weird, and I don’t like it one bit, and she damn well knows it. She thinks it’s cute and funny–I do not.
Having him and their children, Aila and Xavier Jr., has made her softer. That thought has my hands pausing from rolling another shirt as I chuckle at my Bell's new reality. Of course, I wouldn’t say it out loud. I notice her softness. She’d probably do some wild shit to prove me wrong. That girl is a damn menace.
Fortunately for all of us, the man she loves would go to hell and back for her. She’ll never be left wondering why she wasn’t good enough to fight for. She’ll never have to fear for her children's lives because of their father's choices. She’ll never have the ache or feel inadequate or unworthy. And she will never know what feeling all that will cause. I do, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
With her having Taz at her side, I have nothing to worry about because he worships the ground Bell walks on and treats her like the MC Princess that she is. What I went through was hard and is the reason my son Blaze and I threatened Taz’s life. If he hurts her, we’ll end him. It may not have been how normal families act, but we aren’t normal. Blaze and I feel better knowing that Taz understood the past would not be repeating itself, especially knowing my daughter has her own Berlusconi vying for her man's attention. No way is that going to be ignored. Unlike when Gunner turned on me, Blaze and I made it clear that Bell wasn’t alone. And as much as Taz says it’s a nonissue, I know better. Gunner's daughter or not, I can see the vindictive spirit in Paisley's eyes every time I catch her watching Bellamy and Taz. She isn’t done fucking with them.
Thinking of my daughter and her situation has my mind going to my past. The fear of going through it again is not something I will take a chance at. Gunner doesn’t know who I am, who I truly am. Yes, I am the Widow Maker. Which is a moniker I fucking hate. But it is who I’ve become. Being the world's foremost and feared assassin is a part of my story. The rest started the day I was born. And that is the part I’m unsure anyone is ready to take on. Gunner may have broken my heart, but the world I’m from wants to break my spirit, and I can’t allow that to happen, which is another reason I need to be as far away from my family as I can.
I sigh, relaxing my tense shoulders. That is a problem for another day.
Staring at my bags, wondering where to go from here. My mind wonders what it would be like never to see him or experience what it is to have him the way I have for the last few months. Gunner is one hell of a lover. That man makes my body feel things it hasn’t in a long time. I won’t deny that. But I don’t have it in me to let him in, not entirely. There is so much he doesn’t know. Sharing my body is one thing. Sharing everything else is another.
When I met Gunner all those years ago, I believed what I felt for him was a fluke. Didn’t fully understand why I needed to be near him. He heard stories but didn’t fully understand the gravity of the bond he and I shared. Bonds for my people are scarce. They are all-consuming; they can destroy you if they are not nourished. And Gunner Church was damn near able to do it. Releasing a shaky breath, I feel my body's reaction to what needs to be done, what I should have done a long time ago. I have to go there and cleanse my soul, remove who I was, and embrace who I am if I want to survive what comes next.
I continue to pack my things, pushing down all the thoughts of what could have been and trying to stay detached from the yearning that tries to consume me. I know what I have to do. A flutter in my chest has me stopping. My hand goes to my heart, which is pounding under my palm. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. My vision blurs, my skin begins to cool, and the hairs on my body stand on end. Standing stock, concentrating on what’s happening, and doing my damndest to prevent it. He will not do this to me, not now.
“You know it has to be done,” a voice says in my mind, and I shake it away.
I do not answer, a sharp pain in my head, with my hand shooting out to catch myself as I squeeze my eyes closed. The anger that is not mine is all I can feel besides the pain. Sweat beads all over my body, and I shake.
“NO!”
I claw at my toiletry bag next to my duffle, trying to find the one thing to stop this. My hand searches blindly for the bottle. The attempt they are making to find me, if not stopped, will put everyone and everything I love in danger. I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I have spent decades moving through the underworld searching for ways to prevent this, but enough is enough. It's time I face him head-on.
Before this can go any further, the orange plastic bottle is in my hand, and I squeeze one of the white pills it holds into my hand. Without thinking or making a move to get water, I swallow the pill.
Three
SAVVY
?
A knock sounds at the door. The pain dissipates with the massaging of my temples, and I focus on the here and now. My hands open and close as I steady my breathing. My body vibrates with the frustration of not being able to leave sight unseen. Honestly, if I wanted to leave unnoticed, I would have. Hot damn. “Damn it, Bellamy.” I grit out frustratingly. My chin goes to my chest as the reality of that thought hits me.
Letting out an exasperated sigh. My steps don’t falter as I make my way to the door and what, or rather, who awaits me. Without hesitation, I pull the bedroom door open, and my face remains impassive at who I see on the other side. The only sign that his presence affects me is my hand gripping the door handle. Being near him has been and may always be a struggle for me, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, it is why I need to leave.
With his eyes burning into my own, I shift my stance, leaning to the side as I cross my arms over my chest and rest my shoulder against the door jamb. My face remains impassively blank, even though it’s damn hard to maintain with the way he is looking at me. That look is exactly why I need to get out of here. The pull to him, the need for him, that being near him is causing the cold tendrils that have hardened my heart over these last two decades to thaw. That is not something I can allow to happen. I can’t let him in, not ever.
His eyes heat as he assesses me. I feel the heat of his stare as he scans me from head to toe. Then, finally, they trail past me and land on my bag on the bed. His nostrils flare, and his body coils as if he is preparing for a fight. My eyes scan him from head to toe as I watch the emotions flare in his stare. Despite that, I remain rooted in place, unwilling to explain, refusing to speak first. Refusing to let him see the indecision that is coursing through me.
No matter the situation, Gunner always invokes a primal response from me. Heat pulsates at my core, and I close my eyes, trying to rein in my need and want for him. This motherfucker needs to say what he needs to say and go. Gunner's large frame vibrates the longer we both stand, staring at each other wordlessly. His large form is imposing and can be overwhelming, and I’m not a woman easily intimidated. There is something about him in this moment that has me, the fucking Widow Maker, wanting to apologize and explain. Good lawd. I shake my head, trying to expel where my thoughts are going because, not for the first time since being here, I want to forget the past, the pain and hurt, and just be held by him.
But I can’t.
Gunner is and will probably always be the most beautiful man I’ve ever encountered. After all these years, he’s aged well. Only a few smile lines and gray hairs are at his temple and beard. He’s tall, muscular, and built for sin. How his jeans encase his thick thighs and his tee stretches over his bulging chest makes my mouth water because I know what is underneath. I shake my head. This is not the time for that.
As much as I tried to stay away from him when I arrived to help with the situation with Princess, I couldn’t. The pull and need for him were too strong. And I made my excuses. Telling myself it was just sex, a release, getting what we needed from each other, and nothing more. And that is the story I’ve stuck with and will continue to stick with.
My eyes continue to scan his body. When I reach his face, I take in his chiseled stubbled jaw, full lips, and the way the vein at the side of his forehead pulsates. I don’t look directly into his moss-green eyes for fear of what I’ll see. Can feel the emotion radiating off him well enough. I don’t need it reflecting through those soulful, all-knowing eyes.
Taking in the lines that adorn his handsome face, tell me he’s lived a happy life filled with laughter. And that makes me smile, which quickly falters when I remember the life he shared with her caused those lines. That it was his life with her that had him looking the way he does. My body stiffens, which doesn’t go unnoticed, causing him to shift stance; my eyes shoot to his head as I watch him run his hand over his stubbled scalp.
