Chapter Twenty-Eight
Slaughter
The house was silent when I finally moved.
Everyone had gone to bed hours ago. Faith retreated to her room with a worried glance in my direction.
Charity and Joy whispered as they climbed the stairs.
Joan followed Shadow with her hand on his arm, as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.
Stella and Digger had left for the motel after making sure I was settled, Stella kissing my forehead and telling me not to be a stubborn asshole, and Hope had stayed with me until I pretended to fall asleep on the couch.
I felt her watching me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, her breathing soft and steady in the darkness.
She stayed for a long time. Long enough that I had almost believed she might stay all night, but eventually she stood, pulled the blanket higher over my chest, and whispered, “Goodnight, Chapman.”
I’d kept my eyes closed and kept my breathing even. And when I heard her footsteps fade up the stairs, I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, counting the minutes until the house settled into sleep.
Now, in the deep quiet of three a.m., I pushed myself upright.
Pain exploded through my ribs, sharp and vicious, stealing my breath. I bit down on a groan and gripped the arm of the couch, waiting for the worst of it to pass. Sweat broke out across my forehead. My vision swam.
Fuck.
Ghost had done a number on me. Digger had evened the score, but that didn’t change the fact that I was held together by sheer stubbornness and whatever painkillers the Diamondback medic had given me.
I stood slowly, testing my balance. The room tilted slightly, then steadied.
My head throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a dull ache that promised to get worse if I pushed too hard.
I didn’t care. I needed to see her. Needed to tell her the truth before Ghost or Shadow or the entire fucking world came crashing down on us.
The stairs were a nightmare. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through my torso.
I gripped the railing with white knuckles, pulling myself up one step at a time, breathing through clenched teeth.
By the time I reached the second floor, I was dizzy and nauseous, my shirt clinging to my back with sweat.
But I kept moving.
Hope’s room was at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. A sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Not bright—just the soft glow of a bedside lamp.
She was awake.
I pushed the door open slowly, careful not to make a noise. The hinges creaked softly, and I froze, waiting.
“Chapman?”
Her voice was quiet, surprised but not alarmed, as I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, leaning against it for support.
She was sitting up in bed, her long brunette hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt that hung off one shoulder.
The lamp on her nightstand cast a warm light across her face, highlighting the concern in her eyes.
“What are you doing up?” she asked, already moving to get out of bed. “You should be resting.”
“I needed to talk to you.”
She stopped, her feet touching the floor, but her body still half-turned toward me. “Are you okay? Do you need more painkillers? Water?”
“No.” I pushed off the door and took a step toward her, then another. Each movement was careful and measured. “I need to tell you something.”
Her expression shifted, concern giving way to wariness. She stood fully, her hands twisting together in front of her. “Okay.”
I made it to the edge of her bed and sat down slowly, biting back a groan as my ribs protested. The mattress was soft. The blankets smelled faintly of jasmine and something uniquely Hope. I wanted to lie down, to close my eyes and let the pain fade, but I couldn’t. Not yet.
“Can I?” I gestured to the bed. “Lying down might be easier.”
She nodded quickly, moving to help me. Her hands were gentle on my shoulders as I eased back against the pillows, her touch careful and deliberate. When I was finally settled, she sat beside me, her legs tucked beneath her, watching me with those wide, worried eyes.
“Chapman, you’re scaring me,” she whispered. “What’s going on?”
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, gathering my thoughts. The words felt heavy in my chest, tangled up with everything I had been carrying since the moment Reaper had walked into that small room. “I lied to Reaper,” I said finally.
Silence.
I turned my head to look at her. She was watching me, her expression unreadable. “When he asked me about us,” I continued, my voice rough, “I told him we were married.”
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t speak.
“That’s why I’m still alive,” I said. “That’s why I still have my patch. Because I told him we were already married. Reaper decided that marriage changed the rules.”
Hope’s hands tightened in her lap, her knuckles going white. “But we’re not married.”
“No.” The word came out flat, final. “We’re not.”
She looked away, her jaw tightening. I could see the hurt flickering across her face, the betrayal settling into the lines around her mouth.
“Hope.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Her voice was quiet and controlled. Too controlled.
“Because Reaper knows the truth.”
Her head snapped back toward me, her eyes wide. “What?”
“He knows I lied.” I forced myself to keep talking, to get it all out before I lost my nerve. “He gave me an order: I have to actually marry you. In front of the club. A real ceremony, a real commitment. Before Ghost and Shadow find out the truth.”
Hope stood abruptly, her movements sharp and jerky.
She walked to the window, her arms wrapping around herself like she was trying to hold herself together.
“So that’s what this is,” she said, her voice tight.
“You’re here to tell me that Reaper ordered you to marry me, and now I have to go along with it. ”
“No.”
“Because that’s what it sounds like, Chapman.” She turned to face me, and I saw tears glistening in her eyes. “It sounds like you lied to save your own skin, and now you’re here to make sure I play along so you don’t get caught.”
“That’s not—” I tried to sit up, but pain lanced through my ribs and I fell back against the pillows with a hiss. “Fuck. Hope, that’s not what this is.”
“Then what is it?” She took a step toward me, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you used me. You told Reaper we were married to avoid the death penalty, and now you’re here to make sure I don’t blow your cover.”
“I didn’t use you.”
“Then why did you lie?”
“Because I was desperate!” The words came out louder than I intended, rough and raw. “Because I knew I was about to die, and all I could think about was you. About never seeing you again. About never getting the chance to tell you—”
I stopped, my throat closing around the words.
Hope was staring at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly, tears streaming down her face.
“Tell me what?” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.
The pain in my body. The fear in my chest. The truth I had been running from the moment I met her.
“That I love you,” I said quietly. “And I want to marry you. Not because Reaper ordered it. Not because it’s the only way to keep my cut.
But because when I said those words to him, when I told him we were married, I realized I meant them. ”
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
I opened my eyes and looked at her. She was standing frozen by the window, her arms still wrapped around herself, tears still falling.
“I know I lied,” I continued, my voice breaking. “I know I fucked up. But, Hope, I swear to God, when I told Reaper we were married, something shifted. It wasn’t just a lie to save my ass. It was the truth I wanted. The future I wanted.”
“Chapman.”
“I want to marry you,” I said again, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “I want to stand in front of the club and make it real. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep beside you every night. I want to build a life with you and Aurora. I want—”
“Stop.”
The word was quiet but firm. I stopped, my heart hammering in my chest.
Hope walked slowly back to the bed and sat down, her movements careful and deliberate. She didn’t look at me. Instead, she stared at her hands, her fingers twisting together in her lap.
“I love you,” she breathed. “You know I do.”
Relief flooded through me, so intense it made me dizzy. “Hope.”
“But I won’t marry you because Reaper ordered it.”
My relief vanished, replaced by cold dread.
“I won’t be coerced into marriage,” she continued, her voice steady despite the tears still streaming down her face. “Not by the club. Not by my brothers. Not even by you.”
“I’m not trying to coerce you.”
“Aren’t you?” She finally looked at me, and the pain in her eyes nearly broke me. “You’re telling me that if I don’t marry you, everyone will find out you lied. And if it comes out that you lied, you’ll face the Golden Line-Up. So what choice do I really have, Chapman? Marry you or watch you die?”
“That’s not—” I stopped, because she was right. She was absolutely fucking right.
“I spent my entire life watching my mother be controlled by men,” Hope said, her voice shaking.
“By the club. By my father. By every brother who thought they had a right to tell her what to do and who to be. And I swore I would never be like her. I swore I would never let anyone, not the club, my family, or otherwise, take away my choice.”
“I’m not trying to take away your choice.”
“Then give me one.” She turned to face me fully, her eyes blazing. “Give me a real choice, Chapman. Not ‘marry me or I die.’ Not ‘marry me because Reaper said so.’ Give me a choice that’s actually mine.”
I stared at her, my mind racing. She was right. Of course, she was right. But I didn’t know how to give her what she was asking for. I didn’t know how to separate the lie from the truth, the coercion from the genuine feeling. “I don’t know how,” I admitted quietly.
“Then figure it out.” She stood again, her movements sharp. “Because I won’t marry you like this. I won’t stand in front of the club and pretend this is my choice when it’s really Reaper’s order. I won’t do it.”
“Hope—”
“I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. “God help me, I love you so much it terrifies me. But I won’t marry you because I have to. I’ll only marry you if I want to. And right now, I don’t know what I want.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I felt them settle into my chest, heavy and cold.
“Okay,” I said quietly.
She blinked, surprised. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I forced myself to sit up, ignoring the pain screaming through my ribs. “You’re right. You deserve a real choice. And I’m sorry I didn’t give you one from the start.”
Hope’s expression crumpled, and she covered her face with her hands.
Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. I wanted to reach for her.
Wanted to pull her into my arms and promise her everything would be okay.
But I couldn’t. Not when I had just taken away her choice by presenting her with an impossible situation.
“I should go,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. The room tilted dangerously, and I gripped the edge of the bed to steady myself.
“Chapman, you can barely stand.”
“I’ll be fine.” I took a step toward the door, then another. Each movement was agony, but I kept moving. “I’m sorry, Hope. For all of it.”
“Wait.”
I stopped, my hand on the doorknob.
“Where will you go?” she asked, her voice small.
“Back to the couch.” I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was still sitting on the bed, her face streaked with tears, her hands trembling. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.”
“Chapman—”
“Goodnight, Hope.”
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, pulling it closed behind me before she could say anything else.
The walk back to the stairs was worse than the climb up had been.
My vision swam. My legs shook. By the time I reached the first step, I was gripping the railing with both hands, my breath coming in short, painful gasps.
I made it halfway down before my legs gave out.
I collapsed onto the stairs, my body folding in on itself as pain exploded through my ribs.
I bit down on my fist to keep from crying out, tasting blood as my teeth broke the skin.
Fuck. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t make it back to the couch. Couldn’t face the morning. Couldn’t figure out how to give Hope the choice she deserved when the clock was already ticking down.
Footsteps sounded above me, soft and quick.
“Chapman!”
Hope appeared at the top of the stairs, her face pale in the dim light. She rushed down to me, her hands hovering over my shoulders like she was afraid to touch me.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“You’re not fine. You’re bleeding.” She grabbed my hand and pulled it away from my mouth. Blood dripped from my knuckles where my teeth had broken the skin. “Jesus, Chapman.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“No, you won’t.” She slipped her arm around my waist, careful to avoid my ribs. “Come on. Let’s get you back upstairs.”
“Hope.”
“Don’t argue with me.” Her voice was firm, brooking no argument. “You’re hurt, and you’re not sleeping on that couch. You’re staying in my room where I can keep an eye on you.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, and you will.” She helped me to my feet, supporting most of my weight as we climbed back up the stairs. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. But right now, you need to rest.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her I didn’t deserve her kindness after what I had just put her through. But I was too tired. Too hurt. Too fucking broken. So I let her lead me back to her room, let her help me onto the bed, let her pull the blankets over me with gentle hands.
“Sleep,” she whispered, sitting beside me in the darkness. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of her presence beside me, the scent of jasmine filling my lungs as I let pain wash over me.