Property of Bear (Kings of Anarchy MC: Colorado #1)

1.

Dahlia

“N o.” I said the word firmly and without room for question.

I said it so firmly I almost believed it myself. But of course it couldn’t be true; otherwise there wouldn’t be two officers at my door, each with matching grim expressions on their tired-looking faces.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” one of them said, but I could barely make out the words, the ringing in my ears was so loud, like an alarm going off, a warning that my life was about to change forever. That nothing after this moment was going to be the same ever again.

“He died on impact. There was nothing anyone could do for him,” he continued.

The officer had a baby face and pale blue eyes. He looked sincere—sad, even. He must have been new to the job because none of the cops would be sad about any of the Kings of Anarchy being dead. The club was the bane of Rocky Pines’ existence, despite not everything they did being illegal. The other officer was harder faced, the lines in his leathered skin showing how long he had been on the job, how many times he’d had to bear witness to news like this. There was no sympathy in his eyes though. No sadness in his features. I knew that, like most people would—like the rest of the cops—he believed Alex deserved what he got. He was at least professional enough not to look smug about my husband’s death, though.

“Ma’am, if it’s any consolation, he wouldn’t have felt any pain,” the younger officer said.

Consolation. What a stupid word. There was no consolation for the loss of my husband. Nothing would make that any better.

My beautiful Alex, aka Rocky, was a King—a one-percenter of the Kings of Anarchy MC and the VP to boot—and as such, no one much liked him, or his club. I myself hated the club, but oh how I loved Alex. He was handsome in a way that you read about in books. Eyes so deep you could see the stars in them if you looked long enough. A smile that was rare, but handsome. A jawline that was strong but not obnoxious. He was strong and muscular, but not absurdly so, like some of the men in the club. He had always said he wanted to be able to lift his kids up with one arm but not scare the shit out of them if they saw his shadow.

Unfortunately, we never had kids, and now we never would. Life had different plans for us. I had hoped if we had kids that maybe he would have left the club life behind.

I loathed his club. I had known Alex before the club. Before the bikes. Before the violence and the guns and the drugs. Before our lives were tipped upside down and inside out for a club that chewed him up and spat him out. A club that had now gotten him killed.

I loved Alex with every fiber of my being, and I hated the club with just as much of it.

I hadn’t realized that I was still shaking my head, my eyes brimming with unshed tears. I didn’t want to look away from the baby-faced officer because it would mean accepting his words and believing that Alex was truly gone. That the love of my life would not be coming home to me this time.

The cop looked like he wanted to hold me, but his professionalism was holding him back. It was a good thing, because I was a coiled snake ready to pounce. I need to lash out at someone. I needed to scream and shout and claw at this world for what it had taken from me.

I had always said the club would be the death of us.

I had never believed it would be the death of him.

The baby-faced officer finally held out a card for me and I took it numbly. He offered me a brief smile and turned to leave. The older officer continued to look at me, a deep frown etched in his forehead.

“If you want my advice,” he began, “you got out lucky. You’re still young enough to meet someone decent and start again. Men like him, they have a ticking clock on them all, and more than likely when it goes off, it takes out everyone close to them. You got off lucky. Next time you might not be.”

He turned and stepped down the front steps of our home and walked back to his cruiser. Their car pulled away shortly afterwards, and I stared after it numb, devastated, lost. And perhaps a little bit frightened. All I had ever known was Alex. My Alex. I refused to call him by any other name.

By his club name.

He was Rocky to them, his so-called brothers. Brothers that had sent him out to his death time and time again, cheering and partying when he came back, relishing in the money that he brought with him.

Alex was a good man that did bad things. I wouldn’t glorify that part of him, or turn a blind eye, but I also loved him too much to walk away. My parents had disowned me for staying with him; my friends had cut me off.

I was alone. For the first time in my life, I was utterly alone.

Back inside, I dropped the card on the table in my kitchen and looked at the food I had been preparing before the knock on the door had interrupted me. I set about continuing what I had been doing before the knock on the door and the news that would change the course of my life.

The alarm in my head had gotten louder, my breathing shallower, but I continued to shape the bison meat into patties like everything was normal and my husband wasn’t dead and would be coming home for his favorite meal later today. The pueblo peppers had already been roasted and were steaming in a bag ready to peel. Everything would be perfect for when Alex came home.

When Alex came home…

Oh God.

The tears finally came. They found their way to my eyes and began to trail down my cheeks.

Alex… my Alex wouldn’t be coming home again.

The tears were hot enough to scald as my grief mixed with my rage.

Alex would never be coming home again.

The devastation of the realization finally hit me, almost knocking me off my feet.

I began to shake, the world wobbling back and forth, jittering like Jell-O as my mind tried to come to terms with the news of his death.

I had begged him not to go on this last run. He’d said something had felt off, but he’d never said what or why— rules of the club meant he barely told me anything at all, and what he did tell me, he definitely shouldn’t have.

Brotherhood above all.

That was their motto.

Brotherhood above wives and children, families and friends. Your number one loyalty was to your club. Always. Everything, and everyone, came second.

I dropped the patty back into the bowl, barely able to see through my tears as I gasped for breath.

This club, this fucking club had taken everything from me, and I doubted they would even care.

My heart swelled, not with grief, but with rage.

This fucking club had to pay for what they had done.

The Kings had to pay.

Alex had paid with his life and so had I now. It wasn’t fair that they got to live so carefree. So blamelessly.

I screamed, a milk-curdling scream that felt like it had erupted from the depths of hell but had somehow come from somewhere inside of me. Me, all five foot four inches, redheaded me. I screamed again, until my throat felt raw, and I gripped the sides of the bowl with the bison meat in before throwing it across the room. It hit the back wall of our kitchen, smashing into a framed picture from our wedding day. The picture fell to the floor with a loud crash, but I didn’t notice. All I noticed was the bowls flying, the plates smashing, the silverware being tossed across the room, as my anger and grief spilled out of me like a volcano erupting.

And then I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed.

Gone.

He was gone.

I tipped the beer bottle to my lips and took a long drink, the liquid sliding down my throat with ease. It was my fifth, or maybe my sixth. I was beginning to lose count. I didn’t really drink—that was all Alex—but someone had to drink all the beer we had now that he was gone.

I laughed at that.

We had four crates of his favorite beer—1265 pilsner.

It would take me a year to drink all of that.

I laughed again, despite it not being funny, and then I stopped just as suddenly.

“I hate you,” I whispered to him. To the air around me where it felt like he was standing, silently watching. I hoped he could hear me. “I hate you for not listening to me. For choosing them over me every single time.”

The air in the kitchen was cold, and I stared around at the damage I had done, my hands shaking with anger.

“Do you hear me? I hate you, Alex.” The words slipped between my gritted teeth, almost a snarl. Barely words at all.

A chill ran down my spine, like his touch was being taken away, and a sob exploded from me. I looked around helplessly, wishing I could see him just one more time.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Please don’t go. Please stay with me—I’m sorry. I love you.”

I choked on the words, wishing there was something I could say to keep him here with me.

He’d loved his brotherhood. The Kings were his life. They had provided him with the sturdy foundation of family that he had always craved. That he had never had. Maybe things would have been different if I would have come back to Rocky Pines two years earlier, but as it stood, he had just patched in when I moved back home, and by then it was too late. By then, he was in with them for life.

“I hate you for going on that run,” I said, louder this time. I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “Do you hear me…I fucking hate you.”

A noise came from deep within my belly. A mewling animal sound as fresh sobs erupted, racking my body so hard that my bones ached. I hated crying, but I hadn’t been able to stop for hours. I wasn’t even sure how there was enough liquid in me to still produce tears, but apparently there was because new salty tracks trailed down my cheeks.

“Stop it,” I sobbed, annoyed at myself. Self-pity wouldn’t help anyone. It wouldn’t help me, and it certainly couldn’t help Alex. “Stop it now,” I said through gritted teeth.

But I couldn’t.

His loss was everything .

I felt empty.

Devoid of anything—soul, body, energy.

My bones were too soft, my blood too thin, my muscles were too weak and couldn’t hold me up. I was nothing without him. The place where my heart should be felt barren. I beat my closed fist against the empty cavity and cried and cried and cried.

How could this be happening?

But I knew.

The police officer had been right—Alex had a ticking clock, and it had finally stopped. It had been his time. He had been mocking the reaper for years and it had finally caught up to him. He’d been in that life, knowing that it would kill him eventually, and no matter how much I had begged and pleaded, no matter how much I had threatened him that I would leave if he didn’t get out, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

‘Your loyalty stays with your patch. Brotherhood above all…’ He kissed the back of my hand and looked at me with those soulful eyes of his. ‘The Kings is who I am—it’s in my blood, and if you really love me then you’ll learn to love them too.’

I had tried.

Lord knew how I had tried.

But I had always known they would take him from me. And how could you ever learn to love something which you knew would eventually kill you and everything you cared about?