Chapter One. #2
Drake eventually came in, but was a shivering mess when he did.
He hadn’t put the coat on, and I knew he’d end up with flu.
Ace had stayed, watching, concern clear on his face.
Drake needed serious help. Did I commit him to a psych ward?
Could I do that to Drake? Something deep inside said if I did that, Drake wouldn’t return. He’d be lost for good.
Drake wouldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving either; somehow, I knew that without a doubt. He’d make an excuse and slink away. I was gradually losing him.
Drake had stopped telling me how he felt or what was bothering him, and he acted as if he were a burden. A year and a half had passed since the war, and at first, Drake’s grief had been manageable. But over the last few months, Drake had changed dramatically.
Where Drake had been healing, he was now spiralling.
There was nothing to pinpoint as the cause.
I recognised depression; I’d suffered it myself, but Drake appeared beyond depression.
Many times I’d asked him to see a doctor, and he’d refused.
And it led me to consider committing him so he could get the help he needed.
That would end our marriage, but Drake would regain himself.
That or he’d commit suicide away from the kids.
I swear that was the only thing stopping him.
Drake was too scared that one of the children might discover his body.
Drake wasn’t living; he was merely existing.
That wasn’t acceptable—not for him. He deserved better, but I didn’t know how to reach him.
It would be fair to say Drake had PTSD, and deservedly so. After what he’d suffered and been through, PTSD wasn’t a surprise. But there was more; Drake looked haunted. Like the ghosts of the dead were present and destroying his sanity with unheard accusations.
“Mom?” I glanced up and saw Serenity sitting beside me.
“Hey, what’s up, honey?”
“We’re losing Dad.” Trust Serenity not to muck about with her words.
“Dad’s beyond my reach,” I replied honestly, “but I’ll keep fighting.”
“It’s partly my fault. I should have obeyed and stayed the hell away. Dad told me I’d no right being there,” Serenity whispered. Guilt crossed her face.
“You wanted to help and did. What’s done is done, honey. You can’t change the past,” I said softly. My heart clenched as I remembered how recklessly Serenity had thrown herself into danger.
“Mom, I thought I had the answer to everything. I was twenty-five years old and an idiot.”
“You’re only two months off twenty-seven,” I teased, and Serenity shrugged.
“Mom, you know what I mean. I was stupid, and Grey lost his life because of me.”
I sobered and glanced away. Grey’s death was still a wound.
The former FBI agent had died a hero’s death, but the damage had been done.
Willow had, for all intents and purposes, become a widow and fled Rapid City.
She was back home now and in a steady relationship with my son, Fanatic.
But there was a definite distance between Willow and Serenity.
As harsh as it was, I understood where Willow stood.
Grey had died saving Serenity. If Serenity had stayed on the plane with everyone else, Grey wouldn’t have had to protect her.
The man had taken a bullet meant for her.
Serenity had made a huge target, and her actions cost us all dearly.
Family events always had a tinge of awkwardness now.
“You can’t even deny the facts,” Serenity whispered.
“Serenity, you don’t need me to state that you placed everyone at risk. But I strongly believe you thought you were helping. Naturally, Fury would have put a target on Drake’s children.” My tone softened. “Serenity, I don’t blame you for wanting to help,” I said.
“But do you for Grey’s death?”
“No. I believe everyone has a time limit. When we hit it, we can’t cheat death. It comes for us all, eventually.”
Serenity pulled a face. “That’s frickin’ grim.”
“It’s how I think, and I won’t apologise. We all have a limited amount of time, honey. It’s what we do with it that matters. You made a genuine mistake, you’re sorry for it, and that’s what counts. If you learned from it, then Grey’s death wasn’t in vain.”
“My actions have harmed Dad.”
“Your dad was always going to blame himself, but this goes deeper. Drake isn’t a quitter, and I can’t help but feel there’s something else happening. I’ve never known him to spiral so badly.”
“Has Uncle Chance?”
“No. Even during Rage’s darkest hours, Drake had hope.”
“There were a lot of deaths, Mom.”
I pursed my lips. Serenity wasn’t wrong, but my gut screamed there was more that I didn’t know. Drake might be depressed, but the speed at which he was escalating was frightening and unnatural.
“Trust me, everything will be fine,” I murmured, even though I didn’t believe the words myself. The look Serenity sent me stated she didn’t either.
Ace
“Aurora says Drake is in grave danger,” Klutz announced, leaning over my desk.
I looked up and held his gaze. “Wanna start that from the beginning?”
“Aurora had a vision. Drake stands at a crossroads, life or death,” Klutz replied as he sat down. While I wanted to laugh, I couldn’t. My own spiritual beliefs, mixed with what I’d seen from Aurora-Victoria, already meant I knew the warning was genuine.
“Drake won’t talk to anyone—fuck, he won’t even come to the club. Short of locking Drake up, I don’t know what to do,” I admitted.
“Aurora said Phoe can save him; she has to do some research. It was foggy to Aurora, but she says Phoe is vital.”
“Since when has Aurora-Victoria been frightened of approaching Phoe?” I asked, puzzled. Phoe wouldn’t bite Aurora’s head off.
“She’s not. But Aurora claims that if anyone tries to lead Phoe, everything will backfire. Aurora said Phoe has to do this alone. And soon.”
Klutz shrugged, and it was annoying. The man wouldn’t break his old lady’s confidence, and I’m sure Klutz understood more than he was letting on. It was okay to say let Phoe find the answers on her own, but Phoe needed more than ‘research’.
“What’s Phoe looking for?”
“Can’t say.”
“You’re not helping, Klutz. You come in here all doom and gloom but hold shit back. That helps no one. If you really wanna help, tell me everything.”
Klutz looked upset, but stuck to his guns.
“Ace, Veep, honestly, what Aurora saw was foggy, patchy, and brief. She got an intense feeling that Drake was in danger; she understands Phoe is vital, as is what she’ll find.
But Victoria also senses that if anyone tries to lead Phoe to answers, we’ll lose Drake.
Aurora said it was almost as if someone was targeting Drake, and if we move to protect him, they’ll amp up their efforts. But that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, it doesn’t. Okay, I’ll inform Phoe. That’s all I can do.”
Phoe
Lucky me. Research what? Learn what? I’d no clue and had spent three hours scrolling through the net searching for something that would stand out.
Exasperated, I slammed my hand down on the keyboard and rolled my neck.
This was a needle in a haystack. The laptop screen flickered as it did several things from where I’d hit it, and then a clairvoyant popped up.
“Do you need healing? Are you broken-hearted? Do you want to know the future?”
“No, but I fuckin’ need a drink,” I growled. I went to turn off the scam artist and then paused. Not every psychic was a fraud. While rare, some were genuine. I picked up my phone and texted Eddie to bring me a pot of tea. I got a thumbs-up and smiled. Eddie had her kind moments sometimes.
And after a deep breath, I dived down the rabbit hole.
Alarm bells rang loudly as I clicked on numerous websites and closed just as many down.
Then something caught my eye. A forum about psychic healing.
I opened it and began reading. Most were complaints and warnings about frauds.
Beneath the cautions, a thread spoke about a healer named Stitch.
Every comment reinforced how genuine she was. I kept digging, and there was an odd complaint or two, mainly from people she’d refused to see. However, most claimed Stitch was real.
I clicked the link and froze. Well, now, that was a surprise. Stitch belonged to an MC called the Royal Harlots, who had links to the Royal Bastards. I pulled my phone out and dialled a number I never expected to use.
“Warden,” he snapped down the line as an answer.
“Warden, it’s Phoenix Michaelson,” I said, and there was a pregnant pause.
“What’s up?” he asked in a gentler tone.
“You’ve a relationship with the Royal Harlots in Portsmouth. There’s a lady called Stitch—Warden, is she genuine?”
Warden paused, and I could tell he was considering his words. “Who needs her?”
“Drake.”
“Drake’s ill?”
Now it was my turn to pause.
“Phoe, I can’t help if I don’t know,” Warden said.
“Drake’s depressed. But it goes beyond that. He’s hurting so badly because of the war. Warden, Drake’s borderline. I need Stitch.”
Warden took a few moments. “I have Slasher, but Drake won’t take kindly to me offering Royal Bastard aid.
Drake could see that as us thinking Rage is weak or a prelude to a takeover.
But from the Harlots—yeah, Drake would accept Stitch.
The Harlots don’t allow men, so wouldn’t be a threat to Rage MC.
I’ll reach out and give Stitch your number.
Phoe, a healer might not be beneficial.”
“Don’t they heal?” I asked, confused.
“Physical injuries usually. An empath is more for mental and psychic wounds. They have a woman, Belladonna, who’s one of the strongest I’ve come across. Speak to Sapphire and see what they suggest.”
“Thanks, Warden.”
“No probs,” he replied and cut the call. I stared at the laptop screen and hoped that I’d done the right thing.