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“Save Lina! Save her and the baby!”
The heat from the flames is too much to bear. My skin is practically melting. Every inch of me is engulfed in pain. I grab Carson’s hand and try pulling him to his feet again, but he’s trapped underneath some debris from the explosion.
“Save her!” he yells again. “Promise me, Munsey! Promise me!”
I nod, releasing his hand. “I promise!”
Searching the room, I see her. She’s on the floor, unconscious. Screams fill my ears, and I lose track of where they’re coming from. Lose track of who’s calling for help. Everyone. Everyone in this room is screaming for help. I grab Lina, scooping her up into my arms.
Flames lick up my back, crawl over my chest, but I don’t let her go. Once outside, I fall to the ground with her, rolling and yelling in pain even after I’ve smothered the flames.
“Lina! Lina!” I shake her, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t open her eyes. Doesn’t breathe.
The clubhouse collapses, but the screams continue. It takes me a moment to realize I’m the one screaming.
I blink back tears at the memory. The fucking nightmare. I failed everyone.
“I’m sorry, brother. So damn sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. No need for him to forgive you,” Taylor says, joining me. She’s here as often as I am. The two of us usually stand in silence, letting our grief consume us. I act like she means nothing to me, but she’s been my constant. I don’t want her, but I need her.
“You don’t know that.”
“Neither of them was the type to hold a grudge. They were the best people I ever knew. You have to stop hating yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done.”
I shake my head. “Why do you let me off the hook so easily?”
“Nothing about this has been easy,” she replies. “Listen, I want to apologize for last night. I shouldn’t have done that. I took advantage of you, and I know what that’s like. I’m truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
I’m not sure how to respond, so I don’t say anything. She did take advantage of me. It was wrong. The fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it is the main problem. I’m twenty-nine years old. She’s nineteen. She deserves someone who can give her a better life. Take her away from all of this and show her some normalcy.
I’m not that guy.
“I have to get to the clubhouse. Do you need a ride?”
“No, I’m going to stay here for a while. I’ll get an Uber again.”
Trailing my hand over the headstone, I tell my brother a silent goodbye and head over to my bike. When I look back at Taylor, she’s on her knees, softly sobbing.
I can’t describe how that makes me feel. It’s a mix of emotions. The one I recognize, though, is rage. She lost them, too. It’s time someone pays for that.
8
Taylor
Sloan points at her notes, explaining how to break down the equation. She’s been a godsend, helping me study for my GED. I don’t want to live off the RBMC forever. I want a real job, my own money, my own place. The home school program my mother was allegedly teaching me was bullshit. I’m street smart. I have a generous amount of common sense. But I’m not book smart.
“Okay, try the next one.”
I break it down, just as she showed me. When I get the correct answer, I do a little happy dance. I’m making progress, real progress.
Speaking of progress, Christian walks in. He’s been making appearances at least twice a week ever since he came back. That’s progress. Unfortunately, we’re no closer to finding out who was behind the attack on the clubhouse. Things have been quiet. Too quiet. No missing women. No leads. It’s the calm before the storm.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“You and Bishop didn’t get along when you met, right?”
