25. Bones
BONES
The coast is quiet again, the kind of quiet that follows war and mercy.
Wind off the Pacific chews through the pines, smelling of salt and rain and gasoline.
I stay far enough away that they don’t see me.
Rebel and Carter stand by the grave, silhouettes cut against the bruised horizon.
She leans into him, and he anchors her like he was built for that purpose.
I used to think I was the anchor. Guess I was just the storm that came before him.
Her braid whips across her back, catching the light.
I remember the feel of it wrapped around my fist once.
Heat and want and everything I didn’t deserve.
My chest tightens, something between ache and peace.
Watching her now, calm in a way I never could give her, hurts like hell and heals at the same time.
She’s laughing, soft. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in years. Carter says something low that makes her look at him like he’s the only man left on earth. I see it, the love there. Real. Steady. The kind that lasts after the smoke clears.
Good. She deserves that.
The grave sits a few yards ahead, steel cross glinting under the drizzle.
Alex Slade.
Brother. Son. Free Rider.
I remember carving that plate with my own hands the night I buried him.
The rain was heavier then, pounding the dirt into my hands, mixing with his blood.
He was already gone by the time I dragged him off that rooftop.
Still warm. Eyes open, staring at the night like he could see something the rest of us couldn’t.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her back then, and by the time I thought I could, it was too late.
She hated me. Hell, maybe she had a right to.
I lean against my bike, watching as they pay their respects. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel the need to chase anything.
“Watch out for her, brother,” he’d said a few minutes earlier, coughing through blood. “She’s got more fight than sense.” Then he smiled. Damn fool smiled, even as the light went out.
I’ve carried that smile ever since. Carried his patch, his guilt, his sister. And now I’ve got to learn how to put all three down.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I clench my jaw tight. “You did good, Vic,” I whisper under my breath. “Better than any of us ever thought you could.”
A crunch of gravel snaps me out of it. Instinct pulls my hand to my knife before thought does. A figure steps from behind the pines with Vulture ink on his throat, gun half-raised. The bastard must’ve followed the convoy back, waiting for a clean shot.
Not tonight.
I move before he can draw a breath. Two strides, twist, and the knife’s already in my hand. One clean throw. Steel meets flesh, and the sound it makes is final. He drops without a word, gun clattering uselessly into the dirt.
Rebel and Carter walk toward the SUV, oblivious to the corpse cooling ten yards away. Good. That’s how I want it. Her heart’s been broken enough by me and everyone like me. If this is one more sin I can bury for her, I’ll dig the hole myself.
I walk over, pull the blade free, and wipe it on his jacket. “Should’ve stayed in the dark, brother.”
The ocean wind hisses through the trees, carrying away the last bit of noise.
When I look up, their taillights fade down the cliff road, swallowed by mist. She’ll never know he was there, or how close she came to losing her peace before it even began.
That’s fine. Some debts don’t need recognition to be paid.
I crouch beside Alex’s grave, setting something down beside the flowers. A worn leather patch, frayed around the edges. His patch. The one I took the day I buried him, when I swore I’d carry his ghost until I earned the right to put it down.
“Debt’s settled, brother,” I whisper. “She’s safe. You can rest.”
I stay there longer than I should, rain washing blood from my hands, sea pounding like a heartbeat against the rocks.
The ache in my chest shifts, turns heavier.
Letting her go feels like peeling skin off bone, but holding on would only rot us both.
She’s not mine. Never really was. Maybe I loved her more for that because she couldn’t be kept, only protected from the edges of my world.
You hear that, Alex? I think, tracing the letters on the cross. I kept my word. I watched out for her. But Christ, it cost me.
The wind cuts colder. My hands shake in fear, maybe, or relief. I’m not sure I can tell the difference anymore. The club’s waiting somewhere down the highway. It could be fists when I show, could be forgiveness. Either way, I’ll take it. I’m tired of running from the only family I’ve got left.
I stand, sling a leg over the bike, helmet tucked under my arm. The engine hesitates before catching, coughing like an old sinner trying to pray.
One last glance at the grave. Of steel, flowers, and a patch lying still in the rain. The world feels different when you’ve run out of sins to hide from.
“Rest easy, brother,” I say, voice barely a growl over the wind. “And tell the angels to brace themselves. I’m coming home.”
The throttle twists, the roar echoing down the coast like thunder rolling off steel. Rain stings my face, salt mixing with oil and memory.
Time to go home.
Not to her. Not yet. To them.
The club. The brothers I left behind. The ones I owe everything to and who have every right to hate me.
I ride into the dark, helmet tucked close, the ocean chasing my shadow.
A ghost among sinners. And maybe, if the road’s long enough, I’ll find forgiveness waiting at the end.