Chapter 13 #2
Then I walk past Val, shove the door open, and run full speed to my truck.
I’m three beers in before anybody dares to talk to me. Phantom sits down next to me but doesn’t say anything. Music blares from speakers set all over the compound, and since it’s the first night anybody’s really partied in months, the vibe is upbeat and maybe a little too rowdy.
I don’t belong anywhere. Not with my brothers jamming on video-game controllers.
Not with my head thrown back in a recliner, some hot, skinny body anchored to my lap.
Not here. Not anywhere. I stormed in after leaving Claire’s, jammed my keys in my pocket, and demanded a beer from Stella, who looked like she had a lot of questions.
But reading the look on my face, she popped the top off a bottle and left me to my sulking.
Phantom claps a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. Then he walks away into the crowd. That shoulder-clap was an invitation, reassurance, a whole lot all in one movement, but I don’t want it.
I just need not to think and not to feel.
I finish off my third beer, and my eyes sear over the crowd.
Everyone is letting loose, having a good time, and just like always, I’m the odd man out.
In pain when I should be walking on top of the world.
At the height of my career, respected, stable, when what I really am is a fucking fist who rides a bike.
I make my money any way I can. My values are in the toilet.
Honor is a thing I used to think I knew, but now, I don’t feel as if even my brotherhood can save me.
I don’t know what I was trying to do, saving a broken woman when I can’t even save myself.
I’ve thought about how it happened a thousand ways to Sunday since I stormed out of the condo.
And it’s all my own goddamned fault. If I’d never introduced Claire to the diner, if I’d never let the parts of my world cross like this, Claire would never have thought to surprise me with my favorite dinner.
I don’t know how she got Val to drop off the meal, but it was obvious from the look on her face that she had no idea I’d be there. She had no idea I was Savage, which relieves me even more.
But now, even that is ruined. The one good thing I could do to make up the past to my ma is now fucked too.
This is why I fucking hate surprises.
I abandon my empty bottle on the bar and am about to leave when Stella’s soft voice says, “You look like you need more than another drink.”
I shake my head, discouraging any more questions, and push up from the barstool.
“Savage, wait.” She leans over the bar toward me, giving me an eyeful of cleavage.
I look away. It somehow feels disrespectful to Claire to even look. But then I force myself to glance back.
Claire is nothing to me. She’s not mine. I can look at whomever and whatever I want.
I meet Stella’s eyes, and the genuine concern in them makes me regret doing it.
“What?” I grit out, my voice rough and angry. “Just say what you gotta say, Stel.”
She stands upright and crosses her arms over her chest. “I will, then. And if you still want to be a prick to the people who care about you, be my guest.” She leans back on the bar and points a finger in my face.
Her fake nail is like a laser pointer aiming for my head.
“I don’t know your shit, man, but that girl—that woman and that baby—are special.
You saw something in them. That’s why you did what you did and got them out of a bad situation. ”
“That’s bullshit,” I tell her. “I didn’t see shit. I did what any human being would do.” I run a hand through my hair and tug hard on the ends. “And that shit got out of hand.”
“Why?” she demands, her voice harsh in its honesty.
“Because you gave up money, your room, your fucking condo for that woman? Why did you do that, Savage? Because she’s some charity case you picked up on the street?
” She shakes her head, her stiffly sprayed hair barely moving.
“You did what you did because there’s something real there. You care about her, Savage.”
I shake my head. “I don’t.”
She waves a hand at me, dismissing me. “Tell yourself whatever you want. I don’t care. But I also know that you’re a man who has a code. You’re different from the rest of these guys, and no, it’s not because you were in the military. A bunch of these shitheads were.”
She looks at me so hard, I swear she can see through me. I flinch on instinct, hoping she really can’t. I don’t want anyone to see it all.
“Whatever you went through, whatever trauma or guilt or even just bad fucking memories that woman brought up for you, it doesn’t fucking matter, Savage.
The past only controls you if you let it.
Look at Claire, what she’s been through.
In the time she was here, she learned to trust. I’d have thought you’d have learned the same thing.
” She reaches across the bar and cups my chin.
“We all carry it, Savage. Whatever you think you’re carrying, you’re not the only one.
And it doesn’t make you broken. It makes you one of us. ”
“Good talk, Stel.” Her words make sense. Every single thing coming out of her mouth is real and feels right. It just doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t fix me.
I get up and turn to leave but not before I see her give me the middle finger. “Savage,” she seethes. I can tell she’s actually angry now. “I don’t give a shit about kids, you know that, right?”
I look over my shoulder at her and shrug. I’m ready for this conversation to be over.
“Aurora trusts you. That should tell you more than whatever the voices in your head are saying.” With that, she makes another vulgar gesture at me, but then she looks at me gently, with pity. Which is exactly what I don’t want or need.
I storm down the hallway to my room and slam the door as hard as I fucking can. It does nothing to relieve the pent-up anger and confusion. I pace the floor, the heels of my boots scuffing marks into the vinyl flooring. Everywhere I look, I see signs of what should be here…who was here.
I can’t be in this room. Don’t want these reminders, and yet I am drawn to be even closer to them.
I leave my room and head toward Claire’s.
As soon as I open the door, I can tell coming in here was a big mistake.
The space still smells like her. The lavender baby lotion she rubs on Aurora before she goes to sleep.
The bed we slept in, talked in together for weeks, is neatly made, all traces of her, the long hair that spilled over those pillows, gone. There are no clothes in the closet, and even the crib is gone, now taking up space in a bedroom in my condo.
It’s as if they disappeared from my reality forever.
Just like my parents when I left.
But I know they aren’t here. They are out there somewhere, just like my mom and just like my old man.
I can’t be with them. I can’t be a part of whatever peaceful, sweet life they are making.
I can’t be a part of the dark side of love, because no matter what we do, it’s always there.
The broken parts inside us can’t be healed.
They can only be hidden or buried, suppressed for a time.
And then when they are triggered, they come out swinging.
And that is exactly what I intend to do. I need to hurt something, and I need to do it tonight.
I grab a baseball bat that I keep under my bed. I don’t want any guns, no weapons that can be traced back to the club. But I think back to the assholes who beat me down when we tried to collect what they owed us, and I know what I need to do.
I leave the compound through the front door, not saying goodbye to anyone. I ignore the heavy stares of Stella and Phantom and walk my way through the music and the laughter, the dancing and grinding, games and noise, like a robot programmed for one thing alone: destruction.
I fire up my truck and speed over to the other side of town.
The entire drive, I can’t calm down. I can’t talk myself down from what I’m about to do.
I don’t think about the consequences. Just like that night with my dad.
I’m enraged and on fire, and I don’t know how to process what percolates inside me. I need to act, to hurt, to hit.
I’m gonna find the face of that punk-ass bitch who gave me a boot to the ribs, and I’m gonna start swinging.
I pull into a dark strip mall and park at the far end of the lot where I know the security cameras won’t pick up my truck.
When I’m here on legit business, I want the assholes who do business with us to know exactly who is here and why.
But I don’t want anything I do tonight to come back on the club.
I grab the baseball bat and picture the floor plan.
There should be about twenty tables inside.
It’s still early, so the place won’t be full yet.
My mark usually rotates through the tables, playing where the cards are hot, so I’ll have to do some looking before I find him.
That means I have to carry the bat in with me.
I didn’t fucking think this through. A single guy who looks like me carrying a baseball bat can’t just walk into an illegal betting operation and not bring a hell of a lot of heat down on him. Maybe that’s what I need. Maybe that’s what I deserve.
I clench the bat in my hands and swing, my blood pressure rising until I feel like I need to smash something. I’m so riled up, I don’t even hear the bike pulling up and parking next to my truck.
“Savage,” an angry voice snaps.
I close my eyes. Fuck. “This has nothing to do with the Heat,” I growl.
“The fuck it don’t.” Phantom’s off his bike, walking toward me at speeds I didn’t know the massive man had in him.
He shakes his head at me. “Since when do you go off on a solo operation?”
“Since fucking when do you follow me, huh?” I clench the bat tighter and hold it up like I’m still thinking about swinging.
“Since you fucking storm out of the compound with a goddamn baseball bat in your hand.” Phantom is a man of few words, but these land hard.
He glares at me and shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but if you’re trying to get yourself killed and bring a hell of a lot of pain down on us, you better have a goddamn good reason why. ”
I throw the bat down in fury and fist my hands. I land a punch on Phantom’s jaw before I realize what I’m doing. The sensation breaks the frenzy I’m in. Phantom staggers back, holding his jaw with a hand and looking at me like he’s ready to fucking murder me.
I hang my head and get ready to take it. “Do it,” I tell him. “Fuckin’ do it, man.”
Phantom shakes his head at me, then bends down and picks up the baseball bat. That startles me, because I expected an eye for an eye. But this? The bat could kill me. Phantom might actually want to fucking kill me after I socked him in the face.
My mind works at warp speed while I watch Phantom adjust his hands on the grip of the bat.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t want to leave Claire.
I don’t want to be hit.
I don’t want to cry.
“I’m sorry, man!” I scream out, punching the air, punching out the fury, the pain. “I’m fucking sorry.”
Phantom looks at the end of the bat, then at me. He lowers the bat so it’s clear he’s not going to hit me. Not yet, at least. Then he walks up to me and stabs a finger against my chest. “Get your fucking head right,” he snaps. “You packin’?”
I shake my head. I intentionally didn’t bring my guns.
“You lyin’?” he demands, narrowing his eyes at me.
“No,” I say quietly.
Phantom nods. “I’m not gonna stand here and play daddy. Go fucking fix your shit. And don’t come back until you’re right with it.”
He takes the bat and walks past me toward his bike, but as he passes me, he gives me another squeeze on the shoulder.
“It’s time, motherfucker,” he says quietly.
“Get right with yourself, for fuck’s sake.
For our sake, for Claire’s sake.” He says the name that he knows is buried deep behind all my emotions. “For your own damn sake.”
He releases my shoulder, then winds up his arm, and tosses the baseball bat as far away as he can. I hear it tumble off into the scrub, consumed by the darkness that surrounds this shady location. Then he gets on his motorcycle and rides off.
I’m alone in the dark, my hands empty, my head so full it hurts.
I was made in violence.
I am violence.
It’s what I fear, understand, and know.
And I hate it.
I hate the man who made me what I am.
I hate the love that cost me everything.
I even hate myself.
When another car pulls into the lot, I get into my truck and rest my head on the steering wheel. I’ve got nothing. No place to go. No way to get this rage out of my body.
And then I feel my phone vibrate with a text.