CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KADE
I swipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my wrist, my breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
“You need to hit the gym more,” Diesel mutters. He smirks when I throw him a look that clearly says fuck off.
Jimmy wheezes, a wet, rattling sound, and I roll my eyes. “What the hell you holding on for?” I mutter, pushing off the wall and nudging his chair with my boot. The chair rocks. Jimmy barely clings to consciousness.
“You wanted slow,” Diesel reminds me.
I lift a brow. “There’s slow, and then there’s boring.”
Diesel snorts, then glances my way, both careful and purposeful. “You feeling any better?”
I tense. “Better?”
“Well, with Liam gone. And now Jimmy,” He shrugs. “Thought maybe you’d get some kind of peace outta this.”
Peace. The word grates. I sigh, rubbing the ache in my shoulder. “The world definitely feels lighter with them gone.”
I kick Jimmy’s chair again. Harder this time. The legs scrape, then tip.
The chair crashes back onto the concrete, Jimmy’s head smacking against the floor with a dull thud. His chin sags to his chest, and a strange gurgling noise bubbles up his throat. He drags in one last, shallow breath, and then nothing.
Silence.
“Finally,” I mutter. I pull a rag from my pocket and wipe the blood off my bruised and split knuckles. Something Eden would usually have insisted on cleaning or at least wrapping in ice.
The rag comes away red.
Diesel exhales, rubbing his face. “Maybe now,” he says quietly, “you can get back on track with Eden.”
I stop wiping and give a small, almost invisible nod. “Yeah,” I lie. “Maybe.”
But even as I say it, my stomach twists. Because crushing the men who hurt her didn’t fix a damn thing in me.
By the time I climb out of the basement and step back into the clubhouse, the place is alive. Music thumps. Laughter bounces off the walls. Brothers drink and joke like we didn’t just commit ourselves to drowning in blood again. The calm before the storm?
I drop onto a barstool and knock my knuckles twice on the counter. Jet slides a whisky my way without a word. I take a sip and let the burn settle deep in my chest.
My eyes scan the room.
Do any of them really understand the seriousness of what we’re about to take on?
Sure, we voted. It was unanimous—no hesitation, no fear. Every single one of us chose the darkness again, like it was a long-lost friend.
And maybe we were all thinking the same thing I was.
We’ve missed the fight.
We’ve missed the clarity of it. The certainty. The justice. Nothing steadies your soul quite like taking the life of a man who deserves to lose it.
My gaze drops to my knuckles again. The skin is split. Angry. Throbbing. The pain is grounding, something real to focus on when everything else feels like it’s slipping through my hands.
Eden.
I drain half the glass in one swallow. Diesel’s right, I’ve got to make shit right before we get in too deep with Nathan Cole. I need her now more than ever.
“Jet,” I mutter, clearing my throat. “Eden back yet?”
Jet blinks, then slaps her forehead. “Fuck, knew I forgot something.” She digs into her back pocket and pulls out a crumpled envelope.
“Sorry, it got a little battered.” She smooths it on the bar, but it doesn’t help.
She gives a sheepish shrug and pushes it toward me. “She asked me to give this to you.”
I stare at my name scrawled across the front. My frown deepens. “When?” I ask. She stares at me blankly. “When?” I bark louder, startling her.
Jet freezes, her eyes going wide. “This morning,” she says slowly. “Just before she left.” She glances around nervously. “Are you okay, Pres?” Her voice fades under the rushing in my ears.
This morning. Before she left.
Left.
The word slams into me like a blade, sharp and merciless.
I pick up the envelope with hands that suddenly don’t feel like they belong to me. And for the first time in my life, I’m terrified to open something with my name on it.
I make my way to the office on autopilot, limbs heavy, chest tighter with every step. I slam the door hard, then twist the lock until it clicks.
Silence. Just me and the fucking envelope.
I drop into my chair, the leather sighing beneath me, and the envelope sits there on the desk like a ticking time bomb. My name staring back at me in her handwriting—soft curves, neat letters.
Eden’s never written me a letter. If she had something to say, she said it. Or shouted it. Or cried it. But she never wrote it.
My stomach churns.
I reach for my phone, anything to delay opening the damn thing.
The screen lights up. There are no texts, no missed calls, not even a voice message.
She left at half past eight this morning. I remember because I checked my watch when she rushed out the door for her appointment. She wouldn’t even look at me properly.
It’s now gone seven. And the sun’s disappearing behind the rooftops, casting long shadows across the yard.
And she isn’t home.
I rest my elbows on the desk and press my fingers against my temples, trying to breathe past the rising panic. She wouldn’t just walk away. Would she?
My chest tightens. I’ve spent the last few weeks telling myself we’ll work things out, that we’ll figure it out once I’ve sorted the club and Jimmy, once I’ve sorted everything.
But what if she got tired of waiting?
The answer is in front of me. I know that. But I’m too much of a fucking coward to open it.
I grab a bottle of Vodka from my drawer and unscrew the cap. I take a large gulp, wincing at the bitter taste, before forcing myself to swallow it down. And then, I set the bottle down and snatch the letter, ripping it open before I can change my mind.
Kade,
I don’t know how to start this, so I’m just going to write the truth.
These last few weeks have been the loneliest of my life, even though you’ve been right there, in the same building.
We sleep under the same roof, breathe the same air, but we’re strangers.
I kept waiting for you to come back to me.
To look at me. To ask if I’m okay in the way you always used to, like the answer mattered more than anything in the world.
But you stopped asking. And I stopped expecting.
I tried to prevent this. To carry on like it didn’t happen.
I think a part of me always knew you wouldn’t handle it well.
And then, once I told you, I started to think maybe everything would get better.
I thought the guilt and the fear and the shame would lift a little once you finally knew the truth.
But instead, something in you changed. You didn’t yell.
You didn’t blame me. You just left. Quietly.
Repeatedly. And somehow that hurt more than anything.
I’m trying not to blame you. I know you’re hurting too.
I know this broke you in some way I can’t see.
But I needed you, Kade. I needed the man who held my face in both hands and told me the world couldn’t touch me with you around.
I needed the man who used to pull me onto his lap for no reason other than wanting me close.
I needed the man who never let me walk away without a kiss.
I needed you. And you weren’t there.
And now everything feels wrong. The club meetings. The secrets. The cold stares across the bar. The way you talk to me like we’re acquaintances instead of two people who built a life together.
Lately, all I hear is distance. All I feel is distance. And I can’t breathe in that distance anymore.
So, I’m doing the only thing that feels fair to both of us.
I’m leaving.
It’s not out of hate or spite. But staying here, pretending we’re fine, pretending we can fix this by existing together, is killing me from the inside out. And it’s not just me anymore.
I’m pregnant.
I didn’t tell you because I was scared of your reaction. Of seeing confirmation in your eyes that you don’t want this life with me anymore. That the child growing inside me would feel like a chain around your neck instead of the miracle I thought we wanted.
I told myself I would wait for the right moment. But the right moment never came. You were asleep in your office, or out on runs, or avoiding me altogether. I realised the only person I’ve spoken to about this pregnancy is my therapist.
It makes me sad to think we couldn’t share it, Kade. That we didn’t buy the test together, excited and nervous. That we won’t make a huge announcement, and share our news with the only people I’ve considered family.
Instead, I did it alone, in our bathroom, whilst I sobbed. That line didn’t bring me happiness like I wanted it to. But it made me face up to my reality.
Martha and I have found a little place outside Lincoln. It’s quiet, and safe. The type of place where neighbours say hello in the street, and the crime rate is practically zero.
I won’t have to look over my shoulder waiting for old ghosts to catch up with me. And it’s somewhere I won’t feel like a burden, or a reminder of everything that went wrong.
I’ll keep my phone number. Just in case you want to be a part of this baby’s life.
I’d never take that choice away from you.
But I will say, you need to be sure. I won’t let you break their heart by being half in.
I’m six weeks gone. Plenty of time to think about what you want.
But until then, I’m begging that you stay away, Kade.
I need to learn how to breathe again, to feel safe. And I need to give our baby a chance to grow without pain wrapped around every corner.
I love you. I always will. But love stopped being enough, and neither of us said it out loud.
So, this is me saying it.
Take care, Kade. Never stop being who you are.
Love Always, Eden x
My vision swims, blurring the room into shadows and shapes I can’t focus on. Then Diesel comes into view, moving toward me like he’s afraid I might topple out of the chair.
“You okay, Pres? It’s eight a.m.”
I grin, lifting the half empty whisky bottle like it’s something to be proud of. “Want one?”
“No.” His brows pull together. “It’s eight a.m., brother. What’s going on?”
“I,” I announce, wobbling the bottle for dramatic effect, “am a single man.” I laugh. It sounds wrong. Hollow.
Diesel freezes. “But—”
“Eden left me a lovely little letter.” I thump my chest with the side of my fist. “Got me right here.”
Before Diesel can speak, Fern comes sprinting in like she’s running from a fire.“Diesel?” she gasps, shoving a letter into his chest. Then she turns on me, eyes wet, face crumpling. “She—she left.”
“You got one too?” I ask, cheerfully waving my bottle. “She’s good, right? Should’ve been a writer.”
“This is your fault,” she spits.
“I know.”
“All you had to do was be here! It happened to her, not you, and you made her feel dirty and alone and ashamed.” She’s crying, glaring and shaking.
I stare at the floor because I can’t argue with any of it.
I’ve already bled myself dry with guilt.
“You have to find her, Kade. You have to bring her home.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t want me to.”
“I don’t care!” Fern screams. “She’s just saying that. She wants you to fight for her, she wants you to love her—”
“It’s better this way.”
Fern drops to her knees in front of me, grabbing my hand, forcing me to meet her eyes.“Kade. She loves you. She’s having your baby. And she just needs to know you still love her.”
The room tilts. I stare at her, the words echoing in my skull. “She’s got a place,” I mutter. “This wasn’t sudden. She planned it. She wants out. She wants… normal.”
“She wants you,” Fern snaps. “She always wanted you.”
I shake my head, feeling the crack in my chest split a little wider.
“The trouble is, Fern, I hate myself.” My voice breaks, low and ugly.
“I blame myself for everything. And I can’t look at her without feeling like my insides are being ripped apart.
And now, I don’t have to look at her at all, because she’s gone. ”
The hatred that flashes across Fern’s face mirrors what I see every time I look in the mirror. “I refuse to let you make this about you,” she hisses, standing. “You’re not the victim here, she is. Sort. Your. Shit. Out.”
Before I can reply, Maggie waddles over with her apron still on, flour dusting her hands. I roll my eyes. “News travels.”
“So she’s gone?” she asks quietly.
Fern nods.
“I thought she might,” Maggie sighs. “She handed me all your vitamins yesterday morning. Made me swear I’d crush them into your food because she knew you’d never take them on your own.”
I frown. “I don’t take vitamins.”
“That’s the lengths she went to for you,” Maggie snaps. “She’d stand in the kitchen crushing pills like some mad scientist just to keep you healthy.”
“Stop trying to guilt trip me.”
“I’m not,” she shoots back. “I’m stating facts. You’re a bloody idiot for letting her walk out that door. Though maybe she should stay away. You’re poison when you’re like this.”
“Thanks,” I say flatly. “Always count on you to tell the truth.”
“You don’t even want to know the truths I’m thinking in my head, lad.” She jabs a finger toward the bar. “Empty the alcohol. Pres has given up drinking. Any of you idiots give him so much as a sip and I’ll starve you for a week.”
“Hey!” I shout, stumbling to my feet. “I make the orders around here!”
“You want to take me on?” she snaps. “Go on then. Because I can make your life a misery. Never bite the hand that feeds you.”
Diesel snatches the whisky bottle from my grip. “She’s right. As your VP, I’m intervening.”
I glare murder at him. “You what?”
“Until you get help,” he says firmly, “you’re not fit to give orders. We’ll vote on it, but I know which way the brothers will go.”
The floor drops out beneath me.
And for the first time, I realise just how far I’ve fallen.
To be continued…