Prologue.
Phoenix – November 2024
Worry flooding me, I stared out of the window in my tower. It gave me a few minutes to think clearly. Down below, the kids caused chaos, and while I was usually ambivalent to the noise, I couldn’t handle it today. I needed a minute to myself.
The reason? The man sat outside, staring at nothing. My husband. President of Rage MC, Drake Michaelson.
For a while, I’d witnessed Drake slowly spiralling. Guilt rode Drake like a bitch—not just over the war. He blamed himself for events that’d happened decades ago, and now they were destroying him. Everybody had noticed but was helpless to stop it. Unless Drake reached out, we couldn’t do anything. The guy who had made Rage MC attend therapy for two months after the battle for Rapid City was ignoring his own mental health.
Distracted, I sipped a cup of tea and wondered what to do. Leaving Drake to suffer was out of the question. I refused to let that happen. He deserved more than being trapped in his mind. His pain was tangible, and I hurt for my husband. Sometimes Drake was a damn idiot, a blind, stumbling, chauvinistic twit,then other times Drake was almost enlightened. However, there were occasions when I smacked Drake over his head with a sledgehammer.
I understood that Fury had once been linked to Rage MC. But he’d left, and what Fury did afterwards was not Drake’s fault or burden. Rage should not be held accountable for that raging wanker. Fury was nobody’s responsibility but his own. But people liked to point fingers, and someone had to be blamed for Fury.
I placed the blame where it should lie, on the shoulders of the Florida law enforcement who turned a blind eye and took bribes. Those who ignored what was happening under their noses. Them, and the twat-head president we’d suffered. POTUS had let the citizens of Rapid City hang. I hadn’t blinked twice at supporting Major General Winslow to become the new POTUS. Winslow understood when to put people first.
Drake got up and stretched; he’d lost weight, a lot of it. His clothes hung loosely, and Mrs Ames despaired. The poor woman was cooking Drake’s favourites and trying to tempt him, but Drake barely ate a few mouthfuls.
“Phoe, what are we going to do?” Ace asked from behind.
“It’s getting to the point you might have to step up forcefully. Drake is suffering, and I don’t know how to help.”
“Can’t do that,” Ace snapped, appalled.
Angrily, I turned around. “If you don’t, who’ll run Rage? Ace, you’re VP.”
“I can’t just take over Rage,” Ace said.
“Something has to give, Ace. Drake barely sleeps, hardly eats. He’s slowly dying. If you can’t see that, then you’re not family!” I yelled.
Ace held my gaze, anger burning hotly in his own. “Bitch, I’d die for Drake!”
“Then help me!” I begged and burst into tears.
“Aw, shit!” Ace exclaimed. He crossed the floor and wrapped me in his arms. “We’ll find an answer. Somehow.”
That didn’t fill me with hope. Instead, dread sank into my stomach. Drake desperately needed help. Where did I turn to find it?
Chapter One.
Drake
The voices never quietened down. The images didn’t fade either, though they did change. Calamity lay amongst the rubble, bleeding out. All around, chaos reigned. Smoke billowed in the air from the explosions and the fire. Blood came in spurts from Calamity’s neck. The kid’s life force kept pouring out and staining the ground. Klutz worked on him, clamping the vein, screaming instructions while I sat like a useless fool.
Calamity’s injury was on my head. He was barely an adult and in a fight that wasn’t his. It was none of theirs.
I turned and saw the bodies lying everywhere. Fang after Venomous Fang. How many of those were like me? Forced to fight when all they wished was to protect their families? How many had Fury blackmailed, bullied, and threatened to wage a war they wanted nothing to do with?
My gaze wandered over the bloody battlefield, because that’s what it was. Rapid City resembled a scene from a movie or from a war-torn country. Fires burned in buildings, thick plumes of smoke rose across the city, black and grey, showing wherebattles had been fought. The scent of copper hung in the air from the amount of spilt blood.
Shocked, I turned back and gazed at Calamity as Klutz fought to save his life. There was nothing I could do. I was useless here. My brother was dying, the soul of the club, and I could only watch. My hands clenched, and I stared at them; how much blood stained them? How many lives? Would they ever get clean?
“Dad!”Serenity screamed, and I flinched and opened my eyes.
A shuddering breath escaped me as I realised I was in the gardens of Reading Hall. Thankfully, I wasn’t back in that hellhole fighting for my life.
Relief hit momentarily before guilt and shame washed over me. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the frigid air.Everything was all my fault, the thought wormed its way into my brain, and I couldn’t argue. The deathswereon my hands. I should have given Fury what he wanted—Rage MC. A voice asked what the hell I was thinking, but my thoughts overruled it. If Fury had taken Rage, then Grey would be alive. Those cops would still be here. Zippy, too, and everyone else we’d lost.
Inglorious paid lip service to the fact he didn’t blame me, but he did. I saw it in the Unwanted Bastard’s eyes. He found it difficult to meet my gaze. At meetings for the Allies, Inglorious sat as far away as possible. But his stare bored into me. I was responsible for the deaths of his brothers. The voice in my head kept chipping away at my resolve.
