Drifter (Satan’s Fury MC- Little Rock #10)

Prologue

It’s funny how quick a decent day can go to complete shit.

I’d been out riding, minding my own business and taking in the sunshine, and it came time to fill up the tank. I pulled into the gas station and parked next to the pump like I’d done a million times, and as soon as I took off my helmet, I opened my saddle bag for my wallet.

I reached in without thinking, and my knuckles brushed up against the small bear I kept tucked inside. I don’t know why I kept it. I should’ve tossed it years ago, but I never could seem to part with the damn thing.

I picked it up and ran the pad of my thumb along its back. Its fur wasn’t as soft as it used to be. It wasn’t quite as white either. And its tiny shirt was now nothing more than worn patches.

It might’ve been old and tattered, but it still brought the same sting, taking me back to a time I’d tried to put behind me.

I could almost feel their presence in the air--could almost hear her singing to him, the sound of her voice low and soft.

‘A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck.’

God, how I missed that sound, along with his giggling in the background. He was always laughing and smiling and tangling his little fingers in my beard.

‘A hug around the neck and a barrel and a heap.’

They filled my dark world with light and joy. That was something I thought I would never truly find or even want, but they made me long for it.

‘A barrel and a heap, and I’m talking in my sleep about you.’

And now, it was gone.

My throat tightened as the silence settled around me.

Somewhere in the distance, there were cars driving by and people carrying on their lives. They were reminders that the world kept turning, but some wounds don’t move with it.

They stay, and they burrow deep, never letting go.

It had been five years, long enough for the ache to dull, but it hadn’t. I doubted it ever would. And I was okay with that. I didn’t want to forget.

I wanted to remember. I wanted to remember every damn second.

I had it all back then.

A club full of brothers who’d give their lives to protect mine. A woman who looked at me like I was something better than I could’ve ever thought of being, and a kid who had a smile that had a way of breaking my heart and putting it back together again all at the same time.

I had a family. A home. Something to look forward to at the end of a long day. I closed my fist around the toy, pressing it into my hand as the memory cut through me all over again.

One blink.

That’s all it took.

One second, I had it all, and the next, it was ripped from me so fast that there was nothing left but smoke, blood, and the kind of gut-wrenching heartache that never goes away. Not completely.

I made them pay for what they did.

God help me, I made them pay.

One by one, I hunted them down like the animals they were. I could still hear the sounds of cracking bones, the wet choke of their final breaths, and the way my rage burned hot enough to blur out the grief.

At least, for a little while.

Killing them should’ve been enough.

It wasn’t.

It didn’t bring the laughter back. It didn’t warm the empty side of the bed or fill the house with her scent. And it sure as hell didn’t bring back his little fingers wrapped around mine.

I opened my hand again and stared down at the tiny bear he once held.

I ran my fingers over it again, slower this time, chasing a memory that was just out of reach.

I shook my head as the old anger rose deep within, dark and familiar, curling low in my gut.

It had lived there for almost five years.

Most days, I was able to keep it locked down.

I buried it under miles of asphalt and the steady rumble of my bike.

But tonight it resurfaced in full force, leaving me wondering what the hell to do with it. Damn. The cycle never seemed to end.

But who knows. Maybe tomorrow will be different.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll finally be able to take in a breath without feeling the ache of guilt rattling in my chest. Only time would tell.