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No more reminders.
Just a simple click.
Poof.
Gone.
Just do it.
Do it, Shay.
Her hovering finger began to tremble, so she curled her hand into a tight fist and pinned it to her lap.
She knew deleting a folder full of photos wouldn’t do what she needed it to do.
What Ozzy wanted her to do.
Which was ignore the fact that the man who she’d been falling in love with—Who was she kidding? Fell in love with—had killed her father.
Took the life of the person who gave her life.
Stole him from her.
Forever.
How could she ever look past that?
How could she live with and love a man who was a murderer?
He had snuffed out another person’s life solely in the name of revenge.
Would that always be at the front of her mind when she looked at him, spoke to him, woke up next to him? Was intimate with him?
Could she ever get past that?
Even when she thought her father’s disappearance could be related to the MC, she never had an inkling he was one of them. Not once. He hid his involvement with the Fury that well.
Of course, it hurt that her father could also take someone’s life so easily… That wasn’t the man she knew, the man who raised her.
It wasn’t.
Ozzy hadn’t been the only one keeping deep, dark secrets.
If it was true what her father did, it was wrong. So damn wrong. She didn’t disagree with that point.
But what Ozzy did was wrong, too.
He took her father’s punishment into his own hands instead of letting law enforcement deal with it. It should’ve been handled with an investigation, an arrest and even prison time.
Handled the correct way, her father would still be alive, at least. She’d be able to see him, talk to him. Be there for him, even if he’d made a huge mistake and had to pay the price.
She should report Ozzy to Manning Grove PD since murder didn’t have a statute of limitations. He could be arrested, charged and put away for doing what he did.
But how would that make her feel better if she did that?
Would it change anything? Besides getting her own justice, her own revenge?
Or would doing that just bring into the public eye the crime her own father committed? Not only did Ozzy do the unthinkable, so did her father.
That revenge might not be sweet at all, but very bitter and leave a bad taste in her mouth. It could turn out to be more heartbreaking than the situation already was.
“Ham” had taken Ozzy’s mother from him. A woman who had been innocent and had done nothing to harm him. Had done nothing to deserve it.
Absolutely nothing.
Like Ozzy said, his mother had been collateral damage simply by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. With the wrong person.
Killed in her own kitchen.
And Ozzy, at only fifteen, had found her.
What she couldn’t imagine was how deeply that had to cut and how much of a scar was left behind.
No. She could. On the long drive home to Boston, she not only shed bucket-loads of tears, she forced herself to don his shoes and picture herself walking into his childhood kitchen at only fifteen years of age and finding his mother dead on the floor. Her life violently stolen from her simply because her relationship with the man she was involved with.
A mistake she didn’t know she was making.
A mistake she didn’t know she was making.
Ozzy didn’t know he was making a mistake, either, when he avenged his mother. His only goal was to make Ham pay.
And pay they did. All of them.
One single action by her father caused a ripple effect like a stone tossed into a pond.
How ironic. Two children who both lost a parent due to a related incident randomly found each other later in life.
Was it fate? Or bad luck?
She rubbed the back of her neck as she considered the photos in that folder.
The temptation to once again open it and look at each and every photo pulled at her.
Once again she found her finger hovering over the key.
She needed to decide...
Open it or delete it forever?
Her taste lingered in his mouth.
Her scent in his nose.
Her breath in his lungs.
Her moans in his ears.
Memories of Shay swirled through his mind as he rode over six-and-a-half hours northeast to New England.
Thank fuck Jet had done him another solid by finding Shay’s exact address, since the one on her invoice to the club had only been a post office box. As soon as Rook’s ol’ lady texted him that info, he packed his saddlebags with his most important shit, hopped on his sled and turned it toward Massachusetts.
He had the location of her apartment scribbled down on a slip of paper, but he didn’t need to pull it out. He’d memorized it.
He hated riding in the city, so he was grateful when he learned her place was on the outskirts, where the traffic wouldn’t be as heavy and it would be easier to find a place to park his sled.
