Chapter 17
Hayden
“I Hate Everything About You-Three Days Grace”
I haven’t seen Ophelia in six days.
Not that I’m counting. Except I absolutely am.
Six days since the warehouse. Six days since she fucked that guy against the warehouse wall.
Then she disappears again.
Story of our fucking lives.
When Flynn called and told me he cut a deal with the school to keep my identity a secret, I was relieved. I only need to attend certain classes and tests so I can graduate with an actual diploma. So when I went there to pick up my schedule, I heard about Ophelia’s suspension.
Makes a lot of sense why she wasn’t there. Now I know.
Everyone in Brimstone knew what happened and I was last to find out. Rich little princess beats another girl bloody in the bathroom over jealousy?
Yeah. That shit spread fast.
Part of me was proud of her.
The other part wanted to kill whoever upset her enough to make her snap like that.
Which is probably toxic.
What’s even worse is I jerked off to the video Ryker sent me of the fight.
Sick right.
Oh well.
If that’s the only way I get to see the real her, then so be it.
I lean against the Dungeon bar counting stacks of cash while workers prep the cage for tomorrow night’s main event.
Big fight. Big money. Bigger idiots willing to lose fortunes gambling on violence.
My kind of environment honestly.
“Yo, Ghost,” Ryker shouts, walking over to me.
“What’s up, man?” I ask, and he hands me an envelope and a piece of paper. “What’s this?” And he grins.
“Envelope for the fight and the paper… well, open it,” he says, and I roll my eyes.
A phone number. That’s it.
I look up at him with a raised brow, and he’s just grinning at me like an asshole. “A number. That’s it? What the fuck? I don’t have time for this,” I say, and he huffs.
“It’s O’s number,” he states, and I narrow my eyes.
“And why the fuck do you have it?” I question, and he raises his hands in surrender.
“Love is in the air. You smell that.” He chuckles as I take the paper and shove it into my back pocket.
“Atta boy. Did Braxton confirm?” he asks while scanning the fight card beside me.
“Yeah,” I say, scribbling another note onto the clipboard. “His opponent flies in tonight.”
Ryker whistles. “This one’s gonna make us rich.”
Hopefully.
Because between the apartment, the bike, and the truck I’ve been eyeing lately, I’m bleeding cash faster than I’m making it.
Still… busy is good. Busy keeps me from thinking about Ophelia.
Spoiler alert… It’s not working.
Around seven, I leave the Dungeon through the back entrance where a black G-Wagon already waits beside the alley.
Flynn O’Patrick doesn’t do things subtle. He goes all out with a bang.
Two massive Irishmen stand outside the SUV smoking while Flynn himself sits in the backseat looking like organized crime wrapped in expensive wool and bad intentions.
“Lad,” he greets smoothly when I climb inside.
“Flynn.”
The SUV pulls away and we drive through Daggerspoint.
I’ve been doing work for Flynn these past couple days.
Gun deliveries. Information. The intimidation job.
Nothing clean.
But nothing about my life ever is.
Flynn adjusts the cuff of his dark coat before getting straight to business.
“Update me on Jade Rivers.”
There it is again. That weird obsession he has with Jade.
I still don’t get it.
Jade’s Devils Incarnate’s princess. Dangerous in her own right.
He sells weapons to her organization all the time. Business should end there.
But it doesn’t.
Not for him.
“She’s been spending time with three guys consistently,” I answer carefully. “Dario Roselli. Spade Rodriguez, and Jameson Callaghan.”
The second I say the last name, Flynn spits onto the SUV floor.
Actual disgust twists his face. “Callaghan.” Hatred sharpens every syllable.
Interesting.
“Dalton Callaghan’s kid?” he asks coldly.
“Yeah.”
His expression darkens further. “I despise that bloodline. It’s like history is repeating itself. Fuck!” he spits as something dangerous crackles through the vehicle. Even the driver goes quiet then Flynn turns toward me slowly. “How much?”
I blink once. “For what?”
“To kill him?” Silence. Well then.
Flynn studies me calmly like he’s asking about dinner plans instead of murder.
“How much would it take for ya ta put Jameson Callaghan in the ground?”
I stare at him for a long second. “I’ll think about it,” I tell him.
Not a no but not a yes either.
He nods approvingly like that was the correct answer.
“Do some diggin’ first,” he says. “I don’t trust Big John.”
Now that catches my attention.
Big John is the President of the Devils Incarnates. The Twins and Jade’s father.
“You think he’s dirty?” I ask carefully.
“I think everybody’s dirty.” Flynn smiles. “Question is who they’re dirty for.”
Fair point.
Still… something about this whole Jade situation bothers me.
Why does Flynn care who she hangs around with? He's the head of the Irish Army. Men like him don’t obsess over random biker girls without reason.
So I make the mistake of asking.
“What’s the deal with Jade anyway?”
The temperature inside the SUV drops instantly.
Flynn’s pale eyes slide towards me slowly.
“Mind your own business, lad.”
Message received.
The meeting ends shortly after that, and Flynn drops me back near the Dungeon, but instead of heading inside, I climb onto my bike and ride.
No destination. Just movement.
Sometimes the only thing keeping my head quiet is speed.
The road blurs beneath me while cold wind tears through my hoodie. Eventually, muscle memory takes over without me realizing it.
And suddenly, I’m heading toward the old clearing in the woods.
Our spot. Mine and Firefly’s.
I haven’t been here in years. Not since before prison.
The second I kill the engine near the treeline, memories slam into me. Ophelia laughing barefoot in the grass. Her laying on my chest staring at stars. The first time she whispered I love you like it scared her.
I shove my hand in my back pocket and take out my phone and the paper burning a hole in my jeans.
I unlock my phone and store her contact info. Then I open the camera up and take a picture of the stars above me and shoot her a text.
She will know it's me immediately.
I head down the trail as dry leaves crunch beneath my boots while the moonlight filters through the trees overhead.
Then I hear her laugh, and my heart stops.
No.
I move faster toward the clearing and there she is.
Sitting on the hood of fucking Brayden Augustine’s expensive Mercedes like she belongs there.
Giggling.
Fucking giggling.
Brayden stands between her legs smirking while she touches his arm lightly.
The sight rips straight through my chest.
This spot was ours.
Mine and hers.
I brought her here the first night she told me she hates thunderstorms because they reminded her of screaming in her house growing up. I held her here after her mother left. We carved our initials into the damn tree beside the clearing when we were fourteen.
And now she’s brought him here? Of all fucking places?
Pain turns ugly fast.
Cold. Sharp and mean.
Because maybe I’m the idiot for thinking any of it still mattered to her.
I step backward silently before they notice me.
Then I leave.
The ride home feels vicious.
Every thought in my head spirals darker and darker.
Maybe this was always gonna happen. Maybe prison ruined me too much. Maybe she only loves the ghost of who I used to be.
By the time I reach my apartment, jealousy has rotted into something uglier. So I make a call.
Tricia answers on the second ring.
“Well, well, well,” she purrs.” Look who finally grew enough balls to call me.”
I stare blankly out my apartment window toward the city lights. “Come over.”
Simple. Easy. Nothing complicated about this one.
That’s the point.
Forty minutes later, she’s straddling my lap on the couch, kissing my neck while her fingers slide beneath my shirt.
And all I can think about… is how Ophelia laughed in our clearing with another man while my entire heart shattered quietly in the woods.
So now… I take my rage and anger out on Tricia.
I flip her off of me and shove her face into the couch as I lift her hips up to the perfect angle.
I don’t want to look at these girls that I fuck.
No intimacy is needed when I’m fucking the hate I have for Ophelia right out of me. I don’t want to kiss any of these girls. I just want to tear into them and cum where I please. I don’t give a fuck if I hurt them. I don’t give a fuck if they enjoy it.
None of it fucking matters, because even as I think the words, I hate her. I know that’s the furthest thing from the truth so I pound into this bitch and cry as I cum hard and fast.
This is all her fucking fault.
All her fault, and tomorrow–she’s going to know all about it.