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“Perhaps I should leave,” she mutters.
It’s hard to look at the proud woman as her shoulders deflate. Especially since I know what it must be like to be in her shoes right now. She’s hurting like we all are, it’s written all over her face. But instead of showing humility, she held her back straight and started throwing accusations. She was playing a role to mask the pain—something I can relate to all too well.
“No,” I say, surprising myself. “You should stay. You knew all three, so it’s only right that you… I don’t know… get closure.”
I don’t like seeing the proud woman looking as lost as she does right now. This was once her family, and now she’s on the outside looking in after losing her title and one of her girls.
“Come on,” I say, gesturing toward the table the others are already moving toward. “Let’s find you a seat, Cara.”
In my mind I still refer to her as Mama C, because that’s who she is to me, and I don’t agree with her banishment or the way her title was stripped. She’stheMama whether the pigheaded Kings acknowledge it or not.
Despite my compassion for her, I make sure I’m walking between her and Gray. I know it’s petty, but I don’t want any accidental or purposeful touches—not even a brush between them.
“Thank you, Zoe,” Mama says softly as soon as we’re seated.
Shrugging my shoulder, I give her a quick glance. “Don’t mention it. You once helped me, it’s only right I repay the favor.”
I meant what I said before about her having the right to be here, so I’m not helping her to repay anything. But since the memorial is about to start, this isn’t the time or place to get into the nitty gritty of anything else.
A hush falls over the room as Rocco goes to stand in front of the bar. As he walks by the three pictures displayed, he nods respectfully at each one. He stops momentarily and frowns as he looks at Gunner’s smiling face. Without a word, he lifts his hand and runs his fingers across the damaged picture. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything, only shakes his head before he turns toward us and begins speaking.
Grayson
Ifightbackfuckingtears as Rocco chokes up, not for the first or fucking fifth time, as he finishes up sharing some memories about Slayer. He’s already spoken about Sasha and Gunner, and the mood in the room was fucking odd when he remembered Gunner.
Zoe squeezes my hand tighter like she fucking knows I’m about to crack, and I can’t fucking help myself. I risk a glance at her.
Her big blue tear-filled gaze holds so much sympathy for me, that I don’t fucking feel worthy of, but I’m a fucking selfish prick, so I tug her to me, burying my head against her neck as I let myself momentarily release a few salty tears.
“I got you,” she whispers in my ear, and fuck, I nearly crumble.
I squeeze her impossibly tight, rolling my tongue in my mouth like that fucker has some sort of superpower to stop the dam from opening.
Her scent is what eases me though. It’s calming. Like home. A weird thought, but it’s the only thing that fucking makes sense.
Zoe Miller is home.
“Slasher, do you want to say anything?” Rocco manages to say through his obvious emotional state, and the ‘no’ grunted from Slasher is what has me easing back from my princess.
He’s hurting badly. Like I actually think he might die of a fucking broken heart. I never thought something like that was possible, but until Zoe, I never knew my heart could feel so alive. So full.
So I get it now, and fuck, Slasher must be about to fucking disintegrate into nothingness from the pain he’s feeling.
“Right, you all have three shots in front of you.” Rocco announces, clearing his throat. “A cowboy cock sucker was Sasha’s drink of choice. Raise your glasses.”
Releasing Zoe’s hand, I pick up the shot in honor of Sasha and stand. My club brothers follow, and then the women, and we all hold the shot high, waiting for Rocco to toast our fallen Cunt.
“To the woman who could handle what she bit off, and then some, may your gag reflex remain relaxed, your cunt slick, and your ass ripe, and like all of our cherished Cruz Cunts, remain the sweetest creation this side of hell.” Rocco lifts his glass. “Sasha.”
“Sasha.” We all repeat before we all toss back the sweet and creamy shot.
The sound of glasses slamming back on table tops is loud, and some of the women start to cry again, so I risk a glance down at my princess, who is too, batting away some escaped tears.
A drizzle of the cowboy shot is running down her chin, so I swipe it up with my index finger and bring it to my mouth, gaining her attention.
“You doing okay, Princess?” I whisper, and her bottom lip wobbles, but she nods, sucking in a deep breath.
I can see that she’s trying to remain strong for me. She doesn’t want me to see how much she is hurting too, and for that, I think I love her even more.
