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We found out much later who she was. Nicole Felix. Her Old Man had been a member of the Hell’s Renegades. Years ago, they’d tried to steal business from the Sons. The Sons hit back. There was blood. A lot of it.
It was likely I had washed the blood of her Old Man off my husband’s clothes.
There had been a peace treaty between the two clubs, only after the Sons made it clear they would exterminate them if they didn’t back down.
It seemed that she had held on to this for a long time. Let everything inside her fester and turn rotten. The Sons made a visit to the Hell’s Renegades and had been convinced Nicole was acting on their own. There was still a healthy fear for the Sons of Templar MC across the country.
As for me?
I survived.
Which was all that mattered.Two Months LaterI was staring at my laptop when the knock came at the door.
It was done. I had absolutely no words left inside me. Not for this story, at least. I had plenty of other words, a mess that didn’t yet make sense on another document in my computer. But neither had this until now. Until it was done.
It was confronting to be done with the book. Just like it had been confronting to hear Kace say he loved me. While I was writing this, fuck, even when I got the publishing deal and was sitting in that fancy New York office, it hadn’t felt real yet. The book had been unfinished, I was still in its clutches. Still swept up in the world I was creating.
What did I do now? Send it off to some stranger? Send it out into the world?
The mere thought terrified me.
Luckily, the knock delayed me from thinking about all of this too hard. Once I looked through the peephole, I disarmed the alarm.
It was always armed when I was in the house alone. Though the kids and I were barely alone in the house these days. There were always after school events. Playdates. One or more of the women in our group coming over here or inviting us over there. Then Kace came straight home. To our home. Where he stayed every night. Where the kids now woke up to him being there, knowing he’d slept over. It didn’t seem to bother them whatsoever that he was all but living with us. He still had his place. Him and Jack were still rebuilding the car. Sometimes he’d work over there, though not very often, not with everything going on. It was not because the club was orchestrating things to make sure I was never alone. That’s just was life was like. That’s what life had been like before Ranger too. Busy. Full.
Everyone had been watching me, waiting. For the breakdown that they thought would come after me ending someone’s life. Having to clean up the blood of my would-be killer from my kitchen.
The police don’t do that. I hadn’t known that. Fortunately, Evie had. She’d arrived with a mop and bucket and a bottle of whisky. She’d helped me clean up the blood of the woman I killed.
Kace wanted to help too. But the biker queen had turned to him and cupped his cheek. “Baby, some things a woman needs to do herself. I got her.”
Kace didn’t want to leave me. That much was clear. It was burning inside of him. But he respected Evie. Every man did. On reflex. It was also reflex not to leave their woman with a pool of blood to clean up after she killed someone.
He nodded once, and Evie release him.
Kace then turned to me, kissing me hard and quick. “I love you, baby,” he murmured.
I didn’t say it back. Not with words at least.
He left and Evie and I got to cleaning.
When he came back that night with the kids, the house smelled of bleach and lemon, with only a hint of death. Though I think that I was the only one who smelled that.
We watched movies and ate pizza until the kids fell asleep. Then Kace carried them to bed.
Then he carried me to bed and made fierce, intense love to me.
Throughout the next few weeks, he made it clear he was there to talk to. That I was safe. He treated me like I was made of glass, expecting me to shatter. The women didn’t do that because they knew that we were diamonds. It took a lot more to break us.
But that was something I had to communicate to Kace. I got frustrated with the edge in the air, the way he was waiting for me to crumble.
“You want to protect me,” I acknowledged.
“Of course I want to fuckin’ protect you,” he barked.
“That’s the problem,” I replied, voice even. “Every single other one of the courtships I’ve watched over the years have been different. Because the men and women are so incredibly different. But there are some things the same, at their cores. You men. You big, biker men who are used to strong-arming your way through situations. You live a life where you have to be strong, violent and willing to do whatever it takes to protect the club. It’s who you are. You love fiercely. The patch. Your brothers. Your women. So it stands to reason you want to protect them too. But the thing is, you’re all attracted to different women, sure. But these extraordinary women who can survive this life do not want or need a man to protect them. They don’t need shields. They need swords. And to be fair, a lot—okay, all—of the Sons of Templar courtships have involved kidnappings, drive-bys, bombs, poison, gunshots. All things in your wheelhouse. All things you men know how to fight back. But what you want to protect me from is nothing that your experience, that your strength, that your willingness to get bloody is going to beat. I’m not going to have some extraordinary situation with car chases, gunfire or explosions. You’re not going to ride in to save the day or my life. You can’t protect me from what’s coming. What’s already hit me. You can’t protect me from myself.”
