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Mara fills my head, vying for space among the demons created the day she was murdered. The ache I have for her is constant and unrelenting. My guts are a solid ball inside me, and my thoughts are chaotic as I try to find just one moment of peace.
I watched her life drain out of her between one beat of my heart and the next. Hers never beat again. She was frozen in that second, lost to me in a place I can’t follow her to. I would give anything to see one of her smiles, or to hold her against my chest, her head notching under my chin in the way I liked.
I close my eyes, hoping to drag her image from my memory banks, but holding onto Mara is becoming harder with every passing day. I can barely see her anymore. I don’t remember what her eyes looked like, and I can’t hear her voice.
There is a raw agony that tears through me, knowing soon she will be nothing more than smoke in the air, that her body is in the ground, breaking down day by day. I’ll never see or touch my wife again, and that knowledge pushes me to the edge of my sanity.
“You ready?”
I glance up at Blackjack. He’s leaning against the door jamb, his heavy-set frame blocking out the light behind it. The small bedsit I’ve been living in the past few months while I got my head together is not a gift. It’s a reminder that I’m not trusted enough to be in the clubhouse full-time.
But that changes today.
Today, I have to face my past, and I can only hope I’m strong enough to do it.
I’m not the same man I was, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be. For a long time, spilling blood has been the only thing that appeases the darkness that encapsulates me. Murder allowed me to briefly step into the light and soak in its warmth. It allowed me to cling a little tighter to those memories of my wife.
I’m not sure how I’m meant to bury those feelings without the violence, but I have to try.
The image of that young girl flashes in front of my eyes. I would’ve killed her, and I fully intended to. All I saw was Richardson’s daughter, living, breathing, and sitting in the room where my wife used to. Shame slithers through me. I’m not oblivious to the fact Mara would hate who I have become. She would never forgive me for putting hands on a woman.
I don’t either.
That’s not who I am. That’s never been who I am.
Blackjack steps into the room and places something on the bed next to me.
For a moment, I can’t bring my eyes to move, but then I slowly slide them across, taking in the leather and patches. I worked so hard to gain my colours, to prove to my president that I was worthy of wearing it. When I became Road Captain, I couldn’t hide the pride I felt to be trusted with such an important role.
I’ve broken every link in the chain that tethered me to my brothers, and because of that, I haven’t worn it since the first murder. I’m no longer worthy of the patch, of the protection of my club. The things I’ve done, the evil I’ve committed, and the risk I’ve placed on my brothers and their families is unforgiveable.
How can I ever put it back on?
“I don’t deserve to wear that,” I mutter, turning away from it.
“No,” he says, “you don’t, not right now, but you can earn it again.”
He picks it up and thrusts it in my direction, giving me no choice but to take it from him. As I open it out, I see some of my patches have been removed, including the ‘Road Captain’ one and my bottom rocker. It’s a kick in the gut, even though it’s far more than I deserve.
“You’re gonna have to start from the bottom up again, prove to everyone in the building that you can be trusted.”
I rub my fingers over the leather, a heaviness settling in the pit of my stomach.
There’s no way to go back to the life I had when Mara was alive.
“I’ll do whatever it takes.” I swallow down the lump in my throat as I slip my arms into the garment. It doesn’t fit quite as snuggly as it did before. My frame is smaller, my bulk too.
“Come on.”
I hate the chasm between us. Blackjack and I have always been good friends, but I see the mistrust in his eyes now. I can’t blame him for that. I broke everyone’s trust.
Including my daughter’s.
I’m unable to breathe when I think about her. I ache to be with Sophia, to be the kind of father who tucks her in at bedtime and loves on her unapologetically, but how can I be around someone so pure, so innocent, knowing the things I’ve done? I’m a monster, a vile, evil man. I’ve killed so many men in the name of vengeance that I can no longer breathe when I think about any of those fucking cunts.
There is an emptiness within me that scares me half to death. I’ve done things I didn’t think possible, and worst still, I liked it. I’m covered in the sins of my actions, and I’m dripping in the blood of the men I’ve killed. But that was my choice, and now, I must live with those consequences.
I grab my holdall from the side of the pull-out couch, heaving it over my shoulder. These are the only possessions I’ve had in the weeks since I came back to the club.
