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"Normally, I'd recommend alcohol, or maybe a pill or two of what you'd find in the little baggie I have in my glove box, the one with unicorns on it, but I don't recommend that for you. Time, a nice bath, good friends, and a massage, those all help. Orgasms do, too. But what also helps is a destination. And, Dani, we're getting close to yours. So, if you can reassure me that where I'm taking you is going to be a safe place for you, I'll be dropping you there soon."
Safe?
Not at all.
But where I have to be?
Yes, I have no choice.
"Thank you, Moose. The Vertucci compound is where I need to be. My friends are counting on me to be there."
Counting on me to save their lives, too.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Striker
My body braces for all of Smokey's punches, each one a stark reminder of my betrayal. They impact with all the brutality a loving brother can deliver; every ounce of his anger, his grief, his rage, batters and breaks against my body.
"You lost her?" He howls as he hammers my face, my ribs, my midsection.
Each blow sinks me lower.
First, I double over.
Then I fall to my knees.
Then an elbow cracks me in the head, knocking me prone.
"You lost my sister? Dani's as good as dead, isn't she? Fuck, Owen, I trusted you. We were brothers."
He climbs atop me, one knee on my chest, pinning me, while he punches my face. I don't fight him. What's the point? I earned this. Earned this with my betrayal — of him, and of her.
"I deserve this," I murmur, as Smokey's fists fall like hammers.
"How could you do that to her?" He snarls, landing a punch on my face that sends my head bouncing off the concrete floor behind me.
"This is for Dani," I mutter, feeling the impact shatter through me. The heavy blow sends darkness creeping in.
Maybe it's better this way. Here, in the void, Dani's face haunts me less, her absence aches less.
Another blow.
Everything goes black.
Maybe this is death. After everything I've done, it'd be a relief.
I welcome it.
Peace at last.
* * * * *
"Get up, Striker," Smokey growls, shaking me awake. Even my nickname sounds bitter in his voice. I doubt he'll ever use my real name again. I've lost two people today — my brother and my love. With all the damage I've done, I wouldn't be shocked if I'm kicked out of the MC, forced out of town by the people I once considered family. My betrayal has not only cost me, but I've cost the club three potential new members as well, all while our enemies are circling.
"Step aside, Smokey." Rook's voice, laced with gruff humor, breaks through. "Fuck, Striker, I knew Jarheads weren't the brightest, but I didn't think your skull was that thick. How the hell are you still alive, kid?"
"How indeed?" I groan, trying to focus through the haze of pain and regret. Someone out there — up in heaven or down in hell — must hold a grudge against me to keep me from dying.
