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The doctors have fed us some bullshit about how having hope never hurts. They said she could wake up tomorrow, or it could be ten years from now. The important thing is that she has brain activity.
Still, I can’t fucking believe this happened.
We were all friends, and the way she attacked Meghan told me that the friendship the three of us had was never genuine. I knew about a couple of things that happened to her, but I found out everything.
LeAnn had been working with John, Runes’ ex-wife’s last boyfriend. LeAnn was telling him information, like when ol’ ladies would be out on their own. Luckily, John never did anything to hurt them, but that’s beside the point.
LeAnn betrayed the club, and she could’ve gotten someone seriously hurt in the process.
I’ve been searching for a reason why my fight with her was so vicious. The only thing I can think about is that the magnitude of her lies hit me all at once.
But, if I really search deep within myself, the reason is her betrayal. Not just to the club but to Meghan and me.
I walk back into the main area of the clubhouse, and the thumping music fills my ears. My intense thoughts must have been drowning out the noise before.
I take a couple of steps when Aziza comes up to me. “Hey girl,” she greets me with a warm smile, but her expression quickly turns concerned as she focuses on my face. “Are you okay?”
I nod, not feeling like explaining anything. “Yeah,” I pause and shake my head, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Actually, no, I’m not. Do you know where Ivar is?”
My mind is replaying memories I don’t want to share with anyone else, and because of it, I feel so isolated. I know I could easily tell Ivar about all of it, but I don’t think I ever will. I don’t want him to remember me as that sad girl he picked up on the side of the road ever again.
She nods, her straight raven hair bouncing as she speaks. “Yeah, he just told Aesir he was going upstairs.”
I start walking away, happy to know where he is. “Thank you.”
I make my way over to the stairwell and go up to the third floor, where Ivar’s room is. All of the officers have rooms on the third floor, while the full patches and prospects are on the second floor.
It’s quiet up here, with only the sounds of my footsteps echoing through the hallway. Everyone is downstairs, where the music is thumping, laughing, and having a good time.
The hallway is large and spacious. When Ivar told me they were going to settle down someplace, I expected it to be somesketchy motel, not a commercial warehouse that somehow manages to not look like it came out of a horror movie.
Now look at the club, adding a bar on the other side that they want me to manage. It’s hard to believe how much things are changing. I know most of the members here hold a lot of respect for me, but what Regnor said burns a hole in my head.
I’m not just ahóraanymore. I’m someone Runes, and the full patches want to manage their bar. I can’t let some pissed-off prospect ruin my day or make me feel bad about myself. Fuck, I’ve been here much longer than he has.
I spent years on the road with them, going from town to town, staying at random clubhouses and shitty motels along the way. Now, we have roots, and the club is working on creating a legacy for their children.
I make my way down the dimly lit hallway until I’m at Ivar’s door and knock. He groans, and a few moments later, I hear footsteps coming toward the door.
After what feels like forever, he unlocks it and pulls it open slowly.
The moment he sees me, I can tell by the way he’s furrowing his brows that he’s not happy I’m here. “What? You here to bitch at me some more?” Each and every one of his words are laced with bitterness.
I take a second and breathe so I don’t sound like a bitch. “Can I come inside so we can talk?” I remain calm, yet I’m also pleading with him. I want a chance to talk this out.
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He only stares at me with cold eyes. Finally, he shrugs and steps out of the way so I can enter.
As I enter his room, I take in the exposed brick walls and red accents he has scattered throughout. All of his furniture is black, giving the room a dark and brooding element.
The only splash of color is the red pieces, which are his pillowcases, sheets, and comforter. There’s not a single photo, nor are there decorations that adorn the walls.
Ivar clears his throat, his tone deep and guarded. “What do you want to talk about?”
I wrestle with my thoughts, trying to figure out if I should come up with some bullshit response or tell him the painful truth.
Ivar knows I was hurt by someone close to me, but he doesn’t know who did it. He knows I was put through hell before he found me. Ivar tried to get me to talk about it in the beginning, but I made it very apparent the last thing I wanted to do was rehash the past.
With a deep breath, I turn and look right into his piercing eyes. “The man who hit me. He’d call me a ‘stupid girl’ before I’d get hit.” I try not to allow my voice to shake as I speak, but it does.
