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Part of me wonders if it could be my mom. I despise even calling her that. Moms are supposed to love their children. Not sell their bodies to any man willing and able to pay.
The possibility that she’s behind it makes me sick, but I stopped hoping to find the goodness in my mom a long time ago. She’s very capable of being behind the attack, and it hasn’t escaped my attention that I haven’t seen or heard from her since. No more threats to get me and put me back to work. No more begging for me to come home or lies that she’ll never hurt me again.
“Is he still refusing to come in?” Skylar asks.
Her son is playing with some trucks on the floor while she and Jake watch TV. They have their own place off the compound, but like me, they feel at peace here. I could stay in one of the apartments if I wanted. They’ve offered several times, but I choose to stay in the spare room here. It’s where I feel the safest.
“Yep.”
“Give him some time,” Jake suggests. “We all deal with things our own way.”
I can relate to that. I dealt with losing Carson and Lina by staying with Christian. I’d sneak down the hall to his hospital room and crawl into his bed. The nurses didn’t attempt to stop me.
We never spoke. Just held each other through the pain. I don’t know what it means. According to him, it meant nothing. I thought it meant everything. That we both found someone who made things better.
He tried to save Carson and Lina. But who saves him? Why aren’t the guys pushing him to return?
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
“He will,” Jake assures me. “The club is the only family he has.”
Another thing we have in common. I don’t have a clue who my biological father is. My stepdad is dead. My mom’s whereabouts are unknown. Christian’s parents don’t live anywhere near here, and as far as I know, they rarely speak to each other.
Yeah, the club is my only family now. And the way I see it, Christian is too. And it’s time I fight for him.
He’s worth it. No matter what he thinks.
3
Munsey
Ipunch the bag, letting out my anger and rage with every contact. Sweat pours down my bare chest. Fuck the burn scars. I don’t give a shit who sees them anymore. They’re as much a part of me as the hatred boiling inside me.
“Munsey.” I turn to see Mason standing there, gloves in hand. “Spar with me.”
I may be avoiding the clubhouse, but I still respect my president. I haven’t lost contact with him or my brothers. When he tells me to do something, I do it.
“I’m not gonna beat around the fucking bush,” Mason says, making a quick jab and connecting with my ribs. The hit catches me off guard, but I shake off the pain and put my hands up.
“Clearly,” I remark.
“It’s time you came back. You’ve been running long enough.”
I deflect another jab. “I’m not running.”
“What the fuck do you call it? It’s been almost a year.”
What do I call it? Fuck if I know. I’m lost. The place I called home is gone. My peace is gone. My fucking sanity is gone. The big fancy compound doesn’t change what happened. Our home was attacked and burned to the fucking ground. People died. I almost died.
“You said I could take all the time I need.”
He catches me with a right hook, and I stumble. “Didn’t think that meant this damn long.”
I clench my jaw, annoyed that he’s giving me shit. “You weren’t there, Mason. You didn’t hear their screams. You didn’t have to try and decide who you could and couldn’t save.”
“No, I wasn’t. You were there. You did everything you could. You couldn’t save them, and no one faults you for that.”
I do. We exchange blows with Mason letting me fight through my self-hatred. I should’ve saved them. I’ll never forgive myself for failing. I’ll never stop hearing their screams.
