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Chapter One
ROSEY
The grass crunches under my boots as I make my way through the large cast iron gates. I weave through the eerily quiet church yard until I come to the gravestone, the reason I’m here. I lay the single red rose on the ground. It stands out against the dullness of the stone and almost makes it look pretty along with the twinkling frost.
It’s too cold to sit down today, so I remain standing, staring down at the weeds growing up through the soil.
“I’m sure you haven’t missed me,” I say out loud. There’s no one around, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of coming here, no one minds when you talk to the dead. Usually, it’s saved for loved ones, but trust me, he’s not a loved one. Not by anyone, least of all me.
“But, Eagle, I couldn’t miss the opportunity to update you on all the wonderful things you’re missing.” Eagle, the man I’ve hated for most of my life, was the president of The Perished Riders MC when I was younger and my mum was a club whore. Back then, the club liked their whores, and they dripped off the members like gold. But Eagle wasn’t entirely happy with using just my mum. His attention turned to me when I was in my late teenage years. He’d told me I should have been grateful, that having the attention of the club president was an honour. It didn’t feel that way.
“Meli is so happy.” I smile at the thought of my best friend and Eagle’s daughter. “She and Arthur are practically joined. You never see one without the other. She plans on having his kids.” I laugh. “Bet you’re turning in there at the idea of your little princess with a gangster. You’d have had him killed.” I try to kick the dirt under my foot, but it’s solid from the frost.
“Everyone at the club is happy. Mama B is looking after us all. Who would have thought she’d be so kind after everything?” I sigh. “I’m training someone. He seems okay, and it’ll mean I can take a break from . . . my career. I’m going to spend more time with Ollie. He’s getting big now, and he asks a lot of questions. That’s when he’s talking to me because, let’s face it, teenagers hate their parents, right?” My heart twists a little.
“And he hates me. He wants answers, and I don’t want to give them to him. He knows about you, of course he does, but he doesn’t know what really happened.” I groan. “I fucking hate you, Eagle. More than I hate anyone. I sometimes pray you’re not dead, just so I can kill you all over again. I picture creative ways to make you suffer. I thought that’d stop after I ended you.”
“Mum?” I spin around and stare into the eyes of my twelve-year-old son, Ollie. No one knows about these visits except Dice, and especially not Ollie.
“Why are you here?” My question comes out harsher than it should.
“Why are you here?” he counters, arching a cocky brow.
“I’m the one asking questions,” I snap. “You should be in school.”
“Free period,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“We’re not in America, Ollie, you don’t get free periods.”
“Like you’d know,” he scoffs, and my heart twists again. He likes to pull the shit parent card a lot.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you back to school,” I mutter.
“Aren’t we going to discuss this?” he asks, waving his hand around. “Why you’re here, standing over Dad’s grave? I thought you hated him.”
“I do.” I begin to walk away, hoping he’ll follow and change the subject.
“Bullshit,” he snaps, and I spin back to face him.
“Don’t use that kind of language around me,” I hiss. “You’re twelve, it’s not appropriate.”
“I’ll tell you what’s not appropriate, you visiting Dad and not telling me about it. Do you come here a lot?”
I hesitate before shaking my head. “No,” I lie.
“You were talking to him.”
“I was singing,” I snap.
“To Dad?” he asks, smirking.
“To myself. Just stop, Ollie, okay. Stop. You need to be back in school. I’ll drive you.”
We get back to the car, and I pull out onto the main road before he’s had chance to get his seatbelt on. “I would have come with you,” he mutters.
I grip the steering wheel tightly. “How long have you been coming here?” I ask.
“A while.”
