Epilogue
Two Months Later…
Tor
The neon sign of Bubba's flickers like a dying heartbeat as I push through the heavy wooden door.
The familiar scent of stale beer and fried food hits me, a stark contrast to the crisp night air outside.
My eyes immediately scan the dimly lit room, settling on a lone figure hunched over the bar.
Rio.
His broad shoulders are slumped, defeat etched into every line of his body.
An empty shot glass sits in front of him, his fingers absently tracing its rim.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation I’m about to have with him.
This isn't going to be easy, but I can't stand by and watch my brother destroy himself any longer.
I make my way across the worn floorboards, each step echoing in the near-empty bar.
A few regulars glance up as I pass, but quickly return to their drinks.
They know better than to get involved in club business.
Sliding onto the stool next to Rio, I signal the bartender for a beer.
He nods, popping the cap off a cold one and sliding it my way.
I take a long pull, gathering my thoughts as the bitter liquid slides down my throat.
Rio doesn't acknowledge my presence, his gaze fixed on the amber liquid in the fresh shot glass before him.
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and shared pain.
Finally, I clear my throat. "Rio, man," I begin, my voice low and gentle. "You have two little girls who need you. Why don't we head back inside the clubhouse?"
He doesn't respond immediately, and I wonder if he's even heard me.
Just as I'm about to repeat myself, he speaks, his voice rough with emotion and alcohol.
"What for?" he mutters, still not looking at me. "So I can watch everyone else play happy families while mine is broken beyond repair?"
I wince at the bitterness in his tone. "That's not fair, brother. We're all hurting too, you know that."
Rio snorts, finally turning to face me.
His eyes are bloodshot, dark circles etched beneath them like bruises. "Hurting? You don't know the meaning of the word, Tor. You still have Meghan. Your family is intact. I’m the only one who lost someone that day. None of you did."
His words hit me like a physical blow, and I have to resist the urge to flinch.
He's right, of course.
I can't even begin to imagine the depth of his pain.
But that doesn't mean I'm going to let him wallow in it.
"Look," I say, leaning in closer. "I know it's not the same. But those girls need their father. You can't keep drowning yourself in tequila and expect things to get better."
Rio's hand tightens around his glass, his knuckles turning white.
For a moment, I think he might throw it at me.
Instead, he knocks it back in one swift motion, slamming the empty glass down on the bar.
"You think I don't know that?" he growls. "You think I don't lie awake every night, hearing Cali cry for her mama? Or see the confusion in Florencia's eyes when she asks where mommy is?"
My heart clenches at the raw pain in his voice.
I want to reach out, to offer some kind of comfort, but I know it won't be welcomed.
Not right now.
"I'm not trying to lecture you, Rio," I say softly. "We're all worried about you. The girls are worried about you."
He laughs, a harsh, broken sound that sends a chill down my spine. "Worried? They should be terrified. I'm all they have left, and look at me. I'm a fucking mess."
I shake my head, frustration building in my chest. "That's bullshit, and you know it. They have all of us. The whole club is here for you, for them. But we can't replace their father."
Rio's shoulders slump even further, if that's possible.
He signals the bartender for another shot, ignoring my disapproving look.
"I don't know how to do this, Tor," he whispers, his voice so low I have to strain to hear it over the Bluetooth speakers playing in the background. "How am I supposed to raise two little girls on my own? How am I supposed to look at them every day and not see her face?"
The vulnerability in his tone catches me off guard.
This is the most he's opened up since... since it happened.
I choose my next words carefully, knowing they could make or break this moment.
"You're not on your own, brother," I say firmly. "And you honor Flora's memory by being the best damn father you can be to those girls. They're a part of her, Rio. Don't lose sight of that."
He doesn't respond, but I see his adam's apple bob as he swallows hard.
The bartender approaches with another shot, but I wave him off with a subtle shake of my head.
Rio doesn't seem to notice.
"I miss her so much, Tor," he says, his voice breaking. "It feels like there's a hole in my chest that nothing can fill."
I nod, understanding all too well the pain of loss. "I know, brother. And it's going to hurt for a long time. But you can't let it consume you. Flora wouldn't want that."
Rio turns to look at me, really look at me, for the first time since I sat down.
Rio's words hit me like a sledgehammer, the raw pain in his voice slicing through the ambient noise of Bubba's. "My little girls need their mother, but that's not going to happen."
"Rio, man..." I start, but the words catch in my throat.
What can I possibly say to ease this kind of pain?
I watch as he takes another swig, his hand trembling slightly.
The sight of my brother falling apart like this is almost more than I can bear.
Flora's death hangs over all of us like a dark cloud, but for Rio, it's a storm that threatens to drown him completely.
"I know it's not the same," I finally manage, keeping my voice low and steady. "But those girls still have you. They need you now more than ever."
Rio's laugh is bitter, devoid of any real humor. "Me? What good am I to them like this?" He gestures at himself, at the bottle, at the bar around us. "I couldn't even protect their mother. How am I supposed to protect them?"
I lean in closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "By staying alive, for starters. By not letting that bastard win."
At the mention of the Patriot, even indirectly, I see a flash of something in Rio's eyes.
"He took her from us," Rio says, his voice breaking. "He took her because of me."
I shake my head. "No, brother. He took her because he's a psychopath who'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. This isn't on you."
But even as I say the words, I can't help but feel the weight of my own guilt.
We all knew the risks when we decided to go against the Patriot.
We thought we could outsmart him, outmaneuver him.
We were wrong, and Flora paid the ultimate price.
I watch Rio closely, trying to gauge his state of mind.
Part of me wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, to remind him of his responsibilities to his daughters and to the club.
But another part recognizes the fragility of this moment.
One wrong move and I could push him further into the abyss.
"Listen," I say, choosing my words carefully. "I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. But I do know this—Flora wouldn't want you to give up. She'd want you to fight, to be there for your girls."
Rio's shoulders slump, and for a moment, I think I might have gotten through to him.
But then he reaches for the bottle again, and I realize we're not out of the woods yet.
Not by a long shot.
As I watch him pour another shot, I can't help but wonder if we're already too late.
"Rio," I say, my voice firmer now. "Look at me."
He turns, his eyes unfocused but still managing to meet mine.
"You’re gonna to get through this," I tell him, putting every ounce of conviction I can muster into my words. "Together. As a family. As brothers. But you've got to meet us halfway, man. You've got to want to fight."
I sigh, realizing that pushing any further right now isn't going to help.
Sometimes, a man needs space to wrestle with his demons.
"Let me know if you need anything," I say, my voice low and sincere. "Meghan, Starla, and Dasha are watching the girls."
His eyes are filled with unshed tears, but there's a spark of something there that I haven't seen in weeks.
Determination, maybe. Or hope.
"How do I do this?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do I be strong for them when I feel like I'm falling apart?"
I reach out, clasping his shoulder firmly. "One day at a time, brother. And you lean on us when you need to. That's what family is for."
He nods slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. "I… I think I need some time to cope with all of this."
I nod, offering him a semblance of understanding.
I'm not here to judge him.
I'm here to support him.
"I'll be here whenever you need me, brother." I squeeze his shoulder and head toward the door that leads into the clubhouse.
Rio looks up at me, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
The sight of it twists something in my gut.
"Thank you," he manages to choke out, his voice rough with emotion.
The door beeps open and the electronic lock allows me entry.
I spot Meghan, Starla, and Dasha huddled together near one of the pool tables.
Their conversation dies as I approach, and I can feel the weight of their expectant gazes.
Meghan’s eyes search my face for answers. "How is he?"
I shake my head, running a hand through my hair.
"Not good," I admit. "He's getting sucked deeper into depression and the bottle. I don't know how to pull him out of this."
The words taste bitter in my mouth.
As president's son, I'm supposed to have answers, to be able to fix things.
But right now, I feel utterly powerless.
Dasha's face takes on a determined look. "I'm going to try talking to him," she announces, already moving toward the door.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I say quickly, my hand shooting out to stop her. "He's in a dark place right now. It might not be safe."
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
The last thing we need is more fear, more isolation.
But the memory of Rio's haunted eyes, the way his hand trembled as he reached for the bottle... it's all too fresh in my mind.
Dasha opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off. "Just... give him some time. Please."
She nods reluctantly, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.
It's a small victory, but right now, I'll take what I can get.
Meghan leans her ashy blonde hair brushing against my arm as she whispers, "Tor, it might not be a bad idea. Dasha's half Colombian, you know? Maybe they can bond over that."
I furrow my brow, considering her words.
"She's been helping with Florencia and Cali a few nights a week," Meghan continues, her voice soft but insistent. "Maybe being a friend is exactly what Rio needs right now."
I nod slowly, eyes scanning the room.
"I guess it can't hurt."
As Dasha walks off, determination in her stride, Starla pipes up, "That's a great idea, actually. When I was hurting, Ivar was there for me... so this might help Rio snap out of it, to be there for his girls, all of it."
Meghan's expression softens, hope flickering in her eyes. "I hope so, I really do," she murmurs. Then, her tone shifts, a hint of anxiety creeping in. "Tor, have you gotten any leads on where my father is?"
The mention of the Patriot sends a chill down my spine.
I nod, my jaw clenching. "Yeah, we've got something. I'll be heading out with a few guys from the club tomorrow night. Hopefully, we can get the fucking bastard."
We need to end this, once and for all.
The Patriot's shadow has loomed over us for too long, claiming too many lives.
Flora's face flashes in my mind, and I feel a surge of anger.
I don't voice these thoughts, but I can see the understanding in Meghan's eyes.
She doesn’t care what we have to do to avenge her, but we will.