Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Three days later
Marie
The skies decided to open up and howl their unhappiness today. It suits my mood perfectly as I dress in a long black dress with flat black boots. The weather won’t allow heels, which is just as well. A girl never knows when she’ll need to make a run for it.
Grabbing a raincoat, I throw it over my outfit and head downstairs where the club is waiting for me. Storm warned me everyone is coming to pay their respects, which means there will be more people at the church and then the ride to the cemetery.
Ace is going to have a joint funeral with Lore, to keep things simple. I’m not sure how Henry will feel about this, and I wistfully wish for a flask to take with me. The last thing I need is to become an alcoholic, so it’s just as well I don’t indulge too often.
Blowing out a breath, I push my blonde curls over my shoulder.
I needed something to do to manage the nervous energy in my system, so I also did my makeup.
I hit my hair and face with hair and setting spray respectively to make sure my curls won’t fall and my makeup stays put.
I’m not going to the funeral to make a fashion statement, but I’ve slowly been filing away information about the club.
One thing I’ve overheard is that weakness isn’t respected. I can’t curl up into a sloppy mess while everyone around me is also hurting. I’ll lock away the pain, grief, and anger until I can hide away to scream.
Because the anger? Baby, it’s a bubbling volcano. I’m trying to make sure I won’t blow up on someone, which means pretending I’m surviving.
My footsteps feel heavy as I stomp down the last steps, and the bikers stand, watching as I descend to stand in front of them.
I hate to wear black, unless it’s in the form of leggings.
It feels depressing, so the only black dress I own is one with a slit up the side.
It’s one I bought in a hurry yesterday since my belongings are still nil, and I didn’t realize the slit was so high until I was pulling it on today.
Fuck it.
“Ready?” Storm asks, his eyes moving up my body at a crawl in appreciation. “We’re taking the bikes.”
“And I’ll drive behind you,” I say sensibly.
A dress is not a great clothing choice for the back of a bike.
“That’ll work until the trip to the cemetery,” Wilder allows.
My eyes move over to the new president of the Knotted Anarchists, admiring how good he looks. It appears I’m all about finding ways to escape my pain as of late. I shouldn’t have slept with both of them over the last few days, but it’s the only thing that brings me comfort.
I haven’t been to work yet, and I put in for bereavement leave. They can’t fire me, even as a new hire, since this is a protected area. At least I have that.
“Alright,” I reply, my eyes remaining on his green eyes. They’re darker than usual and there’s no amusement in them, not that I’d expect any today.
There are very few things to smile about of late.
“It’s the procession,” Arsenal adds. I can feel the heat of anger coming from him, and I wonder why.
Wilder isn’t being a dick, despite his clipped reply. I’m not upset. I know today is going to be a rough day overall, and I can absolutely acknowledge that. I’m a big girl.
“Are we ready to go?” I ask, breaking eye contact with Wilder to pull on my raincoat as thunder explodes over the house.
A motorcycle ride in this weather, how wonderful. It fits the mood of sadness over all of us. I am finally getting my wish of the world grieving and screaming at the injustice of Lore’s death.
I suppose it fits the adage of being careful what you wish for. More the fool am I for tempting fate.
“Yes,” Storm says. “Everyone else is going to meet us at the church. Do you want me to drive you?”
“I’ll be okay,” I tell him, fixing the hood of my coat over my hair before grabbing my purse and keys. “Thank you though.”
The men around me are all wearing their leathers for the drive, and my lips curve a little as my eyes fall on the line of boots near the front door.
“You all take your boots off every time you come into the house,” I muse, grasping at the faint distraction.
My mind is working at an odd pace, almost hiccuping and fixating on things that don’t matter. I know I’m going to be hit hard at the funeral, and have sunglasses in my purse. Maybe it’s silly for me to hide my pain when I sit just outside of the MC world, yet I can’t help myself.
“Wouldn’t dream of fucking up your floors with our mud,” Arsenal grunts. “I’ve heard stories of your stun gun, girl. Are you bringing it with you today?”
“Should I?” I ask, kind of surprised any of them care about the state of my home.
It’s nice to have a place I know I’m not sharing with other omegas. While it’s been overwhelming to have the club over at all hours over the past few days, and their scents make my nose and eyes water, I know it’s not for long. These men have no intention of settling in one place.
The question remains as to whether my alphas will follow them. We haven’t spoken about the future outside of the necessities, as it feels as if it’s shimmering on the horizon, continually evolving depending on how the light hits it.
“It couldn’t hurt,” he admits.
“Can you shoot a gun?” Burner asks, almost on top of Arsenal’s words.
“Do you think that’s necessary?” Wilder asks. “Fuck. Of course it is. Devon has been off the last couple of days.”
“With good reason,” I sigh. “His brother died. Is he blaming me somehow? To answer your question, Burner, I can shoot a gun. My brother made me learn. I’m a decent shot, I just don’t like to carry it. I only have the stun gun because it was a present from his omega.”
“Wilder, give your girl a gun,” Burner grunts. “You might shoot me if I give her one.”
My lips twitch at the odd way alphas act around omegas. It’s just a gun. Still Wilder glowers at Burner as he chuckles under his breath, and he pulls a gun from his ankle.
“See how you like this one, and I’ll find you a…”
Wilder and the men around us shut up as I take the gun, check the magazine, and inspect the weapon before making a face as I think. It’s a little large for my small hand, but I can make it work. If I need to carry a firearm more regularly, I’ll need to get something more suited to my needs.
“…holster,” Wilder finishes, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, Marie. Damn, that was hot.”
“It’s just been drilled until I could take it apart, put it together again, and shoot with my eyes closed if necessary,” I shrug. “Tommy pointed the fucking gun at me until I’d take it.”
“I think I need to punch him again,” Storm growls, finding me a thigh holster. “I‘ll get you a gun that suits you better, along with a holster that won’t chafe at your skin.”
“Can I help?” Arsenal asks shrewdly. “There are some really great weapons on the market and off that’ll fit her hands better.”
“If the recoil won’t knock me on my ass, I’ll accept that help,” I say just as Storm nods.
I’m not going to sit around and let people make decisions for me. Tommy and Jasper enjoyed doing this too often, and I refuse to fall into those same patterns. I’m a firm believer that you have to teach people how you want to be treated.
I just suck as a teacher.
Turning away from the men, I raise my dress and get the holster situated. The men pull on their boots and get their shit together before hightailing it out of the house, much to my amusement. By the time I turn around, Wilder and Storm are the only ones left, struggling not to smirk.
“You sure can clear out a room, baby,” Wilder snorts.
“I might smell,” I tease him, knowing I don’t. I showered, dammit.
“Nah. It’s the fact that Storm and I are feeling a little twitchy today,” he says. “No one wants to get shot for catching an eyeful of our omega’s leg.”
“It seemed silly to go into the bathroom,” I say, rolling my eyes.
“You’re right,” Storm agrees. “That’s why they got the fuck out. Can we talk about the elephant in the room, please?”
“Which one?” I ask, my teeth worrying an already tender inner lip. My anxiety and nerves are on fire, and pain is keeping me centered.
“You’re stifling your feelings,” he sighs. “You can cry if you want to. No one will be a dick to you for it.”
“Maybe not, but they’ll judge me. I’m…taking things one second at a time,” I reply.
“Everything about today hurts. Fuck, even the oxygen I’m breathing seems to be made of nails.
Trust me when I say, I’m feeling it and it fucking hurts.
I want to be numb, but every avenue I want to take to do that leads to bad habits I’m not willing to become addicted to. It’s still going to hurt either way.”
“It will,” Wilder sighs, his hands clenching until his knuckles turn white. “I gather hugging you might make this stoicism you’re insisting on more difficult?”
“Yes,” I whisper. The comfort would be nice, but I know I’ll crumple like an accordion if I accept a hug.
“Let’s go then, stubborn Little Omega,” he mutters. “I love your strength. Please don’t allow that to keep you from accepting help.”
“It’s not weak to lean on someone,” Storm adds, holding his hands up as if I’m going to shoot the messenger. “That’s all I’m saying. I’m going to run up and grab your stun gun. Where did you leave it?”
“Noted,” I murmur. “I actually left it in the living room. I fell asleep and it fell between the sofa cushions.”
Storm nods and walks to the living room to hunt for my weapon, while Wilder gazes at me.
“We’re going to West Kings Episcopal Church,” he says. “I do not expect for us to encounter trouble, but the funeral will be making the rounds in the biker community. I’ll have people on the doors of the church.”
“What are you actually concerned about?” I ask.