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She sinks to her knees on the floor beside me. I embrace her, my own heart hammering against my ribcage as the first sob escapes her.
"Talk to me, Cheree."
She looks up at me, her face a canvas of pain so raw it cuts through my defenses. "My mother," she whispers, each word laced with agony. "She was... difficult. Loved her bourbon more than me most days."
"Cheree," I start, but she holds up a hand, silencing me.
"Still," Cheree continues, pulling herself together piece by fractured piece, "she had moments, you know? Like when she'd braid my hair, her fingers gentle, telling me stories of how things could be different." A bitter laugh escapes her. "I never knew if they were fairy tales or drunken dreams."
"Try to remember the good," I say softly.
Her gaze distant as she says, "She drove me into this life, JD. Pushed me toward the club because she thought it'd keep me safe. Safe!" The word is a scornful exhalation, and I see the resentment built over years flare.
"Your ma, she was fighting her own demons," I venture, the scar on my face tightening with my frown.
"Demons," Cheree echoes, her anger subsiding for a moment as her eyes meet mine. In them, I see the little girl who craved love from a mother too lost in her own darkness to give it freely. "Guess we both got our fair share of those."
"More than our fair share," I amend quietly, reaching out to help her to her feet. Her hand is cold in mine, but I feel the pulse of her fighter's heart, fierce and unyielding even in the face of the hellfire that's just scorched her world.
"Thank you," she says, her voice steadier now, a testament to the resilience that's seen her through more scrapes and scars than most could handle.
"Always," I reply, because that's what you do when you find someone whose battles echo your own, you stand with them, shoulder to shoulder, until the war is won or you're both laid to waste. And right now, I'm ready to wage a war beside Cheree LaRoux.
"Damn them all," she seethes through clenched teeth.
I watch as the sorrow morphs into fury, a transformation as fierce as it is heartbreaking.
"JD, this life... it's a curse. It's taken everything from me." Her voice is razor sharp and lethal.
I nod, feeling the weight of her hatred press down on my shoulders. "We'll get out, Cheree. We'll leave it all behind."
"Viper will pay for this," she vows, her resolve steeling over her features. "I'll make sure of it. He took her life—my chance at... at fixing things between us."
"Revenge won't bring her back," I say.
"Maybe not," she replies, her gaze piercing through me, "but it might just set me free."
She stands, wiping away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. Her movements are deliberate as she starts gathering her few possessions. She stuffs them into a duffle bag with a kind of focused efficiency that tells me she's done this before. Run before.
"Let's go," she says, slinging the strap over her shoulder, her posture rigid with newfound purpose. "I'm done with this city, with these memories. With the Defiant Men MC."
"Alright," I agree, scanning the room once more, ensuring we're not leaving anything behind, anything that could be used to track us or pull us back into the vortex we're trying to escape.
We stand there, in the threshold of the door, a mere step from the unknown. But looking at Cheree, at the determination etched into every line of her face, I know there's no turning back.
"Wherever this road takes us," I murmur, meeting her gaze, "we're riding it together."
"Until the end," she affirms, her voice is steady.
And with that, we step out of the room, leaving behind the shadows of the past, moving towards whatever light—or darkness—awaits us.
The night air is cool and it’s not until we are a block away that I realize the street is quiet, too quiet. Cheree's hand finds mine, her grip tight as we walk toward the subway. That's when he steps out, materializing from the shadows like some kind of venomous specter.
"JD," Viper hisses, the gun in his hand catching the light from the streetlights. "Ain't looking to start shit with Grim, you got that? This here's between me and Cherry."
The blood in my veins turns to ice. It is not fear, fear’s an old friend, the kind that's bled with me, rode with me. No, this is something colder. In the span of a heartbeat, I'm weighing lives, measuring the weight of loyalty against survival.
"Viper," I begin, voice steady as the hands I raise in surrender. "Ain't no woman worth a war. You want Cherry, you got her."
