Epilogue Two
Ishould be happy for my president. Intellectually, I’m not so stupid that I don’t know getting an old lady and finding out you’re gonna be a father is a happy thing.
But something inside me is…gone.
Ever since Alvarez’s men beat me to within an inch of my life, I’ve felt broken, like a switch got flipped.
During the day, I don’t feel anything.
Not the pain from all the surgery I’ve had to endure, because I numb it with whiskey and painkillers I skim when Reaper isn’t looking.
Not happiness. Not anger. Not even the restless itch that has me chasing a high, a fight, a woman.
I’m fucked.
Because it’s like I’m standing on the edge of something bottomless and dark, and I don’t even have it in me to be afraid of the fall.
I pour myself a heavy slosh of whiskey, but at this point, I might as well be taking it straight from the bottle. I chase it with three tablets. Anything to keep the nightmares that come at all hours away.
Because in the darkness, I feel everything.
The crack of steel toe boots to my ribs, to my skull, to my face.
My teeth loosening, and bone giving.
The burn of those cattle prods ripping through my skin, the electricity almost sending my heart into arrhythmia.
And worse. I hear him.
Alvarez.
Asking me over and over again in that cool, calculated tone that never wavered, what I knew about a man I didn’t care about and barely knew.
Every day, I watch the clock tick closer to night. Knowing that as soon as I close my eyes, I’ll be right back there. Then, I wake, choking on my own breath, drenched in sweat, calling out indecipherable words as I try to escape the nightmares.
So, I drink.
Yeah, it’ll wreck my liver. Sooner rather than later, if I’m lucky.
Because a man who’s scared is no use to his club, and right now, I’m not a man worth keeping around.
I flop down onto my unmade bed. The sheets are twisted and stale, and I don’t remember the last time I washed them. The only reason I shower is because I know Knox’s eye is on me.
My phone buzzes on the mattress next to me, and I almost ignore it, letting it ring out.
But something, a habit, maybe, or the fear it could be an Outlaw in trouble, makes me glance at the screen.
An unknown number.
But in my drunken attempt to swipe it off, I answer it.
“Fuck,” I mutter, tugging it to my ear. “Yeah?”
“Can you help me?” My whole body goes still at the small, shaky voice of a little girl. There’s a fear wrapped up in it that almost echoes my own.
“You got the wrong number, kid.” But I sit up anyway and put my drink down on the small table next to the bed.
There’s a small sob. “I couldn’t see the number good without my glasses.”
Hang up, V.
I even take the phone away from my ear, but then…
“Who did you want?”
“I wanted it to be my mom’s friend, Annie. Is she there?”
I look around my empty room, somehow wishing I could pull the mystery woman out of my closet for her. “She’s not. What’s your name, kid?”
“Elsie.” A loud hammering cracks through the line, and she gasps. “He won’t go away.”
A woman’s voice, scared but furious, bursts through the line. “I said get away from my house or I’m calling the police.”
Elsie sobs quietly. “What do we do?”
I swing my legs off the bed before I have time to overthink why I’m even considering doing this. “Where are you right now?”
“In the kitchen,” she whispers.
I grab my keys off the desk. Getting on my bike in the state I’m in is a terrible idea.
Especially knowing I haven’t been on it since that night, since the club brought it back here and fixed it up for me.
“Good girl. You stay there, or even better, go run to the bathroom and lock yourself inside. What’s your address? ”
She tells me enough of an address and description that I recognize the small apartment building about ten minutes away.
“What’s your mom’s name?”
“Daisy.”
I think about how I’m going to be able to let Elsie know it’s me when I arrive. “What’s your favorite teddy or doll called?” I stumble out of my room and down the emergency exit.
“Sir Bearington Boo Boo Bear.”
Of course, it fucking is.
How the hell am I supposed to keep that straight in my whiskey-addled state?
“Are you coming?” she asks, and the hope in her voice is like an adrenaline shot to the heart.
“Yeah, Elsie. I’m on my way.”