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“Let me in, Troj, please.” I lift my head up to look at him. He looks so tired and drained.
“I’m scared,” he tells me with a harrowing honesty, and I wait for an explanation, trying not to panic.
“For so long, I’ve been focusing all the anger and aggression in me on him. Thinking out what I’d do to make him pay. What am I gonna do with it all now, Shan?” His eyes surge into mine like he’s searching for the answer in them.
“He’s dead. He can’t hurt me anymore,” I assure him, pulling his tense fist to my lips and kissing his knuckles, they’re so swollen from whatever he’s been punching.
“But he does. He hurts you when you're sleeping, he hurts you when you hear certain noises that take you back to that fuckin’ shack. I wanted to make him suffer. I was gonna draw it out and make him beg for the end. I guarantee whatever Squeal did wouldn’t have been enough. And I’m mad at him for taking that away from me,” Troj admits, slamming his head back at the wall like he’s mad at himself too.
“Squealer must have had his reasons; he knew how much it meant to you. We don’t know what happened yet. Abby died. Alex could have been in danger too,” I point out. “At least we have each other, those two had something between them, and now it looks like they’ll be kept apart.” I sigh, feeling sad for them as I tuck his sweat-soaked hair behind his ear and remind him how lucky we are.
“You're right, you're always right.” He shows me a half-convincing smile before his thumb strokes my cheek.
“I just gotta find a way to channel all the anger inside me, Shan. You deserve the man who I was before, not this.”
“You’ll always be that man.” It breaks my heart that Troj puts himself through this. Why can’t he see how happy he makes me?
“There is another way to feel better, that person Grace suggested I talk to really helps. Maybe she can help you too.” I’ve tried having this conversation a few times now, but Troj always avoids it.
“Shan, the thoughts in my head shouldn’t be shared. They scare me sometimes.” Troj thinks I don’t know what he’s done to the men who hurt me. What he doesn’t know is that Rogue tells me everything, in detail. She thinks it’s the kinda therapy I need, and sometimes I’m ashamed to admit she’s right.
“She’s freelance and discreet. Her father is a retired member of the Cartel, so not much you say will shock her.” Troj stares back at me, looking shocked.
“You should talk it out, Troj, it really helps. I promise.” He stares at me for a long time, like he’s thinking something over.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go see your mob princess therapist…” We both laugh. “…if you go get those tests done with me.”
The happiness quickly drops off my face. I know exactly what tests he’s talking about, and every time I think about them, it puts a sick feeling in my stomach.
“Troj.” I shake my head at him and close my eyes.
“You got to face that appointment, just like I gotta face the fact I ain’t gonna get to make Hawker pay.”
“I’ve been so focused on moving forward,” I try explaining to him. “I’ve got this idea of how our future looks in my head, and those tests could take all that away from me,” I admit as tears fill my eyes.
“Hey,” Troj pulls me tighter to him.
“If there’s a problem, that doesn’t mean it can’t be fixed, just like you think that head doctor can fix me. And you know, if we get the worst outcome, we’ll deal with it because we got each other,” he tells me, nudging my head back onto his chest with his chin. He holds me there for a while, and not even the cold out here makes me want to move. Because I’m safe, Hawker is dead, and I’m married to a man that would destroy anyone who tried to hurt me again.
“How’d ya do it?” His chest vibrates against my cheek when he laughs to himself.
“Do what?” I pull back and look up at him.
“When you came out here, I was crazy mad and full of fucking hate…” He studies my face like I just did a magic trick in front of him. “Now I’m feeling like the luckiest man on the goddamn planet. Maybe you should get into that head shrinking shit yourself.” He lifts my chin up so our lips touch.
“You’re a fucking treasure, Shaniya Knox,” he whispers against my mouth.
“Now get back inside that cabin and into our bed so I can show you how much you mean to me.”
I sit alone in the tiny cell staring at my bloody boot prints on the white floor. I've paced the cell in Colorado Springs station like a caged animal for the past few hours. The police will be talking to Alex by now, and I pray she’s sticking to the plan. The thought of her locked up in jail makes my stomach clench. Women's prisons are far more brutal than male ones.
I got no doubts in my mind that I’ve done the right thing. Now I just have to make my club brothers see it that way, especially Screwy.
“You got ten minutes, max.” I’m surprised to see Roswell here when the cell door opens, this ain’t his department. He nods his head miserably at me, stepping aside, and when my brother appears, I feel a deep wrench in my guts.
I flick my eyes up at him and watch him calmly take a seat on the bunk next to me.
Roswell closes the door and leaves us to it, and I wait for my brother to speak, but nothing comes. He just sits shoulder to shoulder with me, staring blankly at the back of the metal door in front of us, his chest lifting heavily.
