Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
STORM
Enzo, Oliver, Drix, River, and Linc are all digging the ground, dressed in only their kuttes; no shirts as the warm sun was causing them to sweat.
They dig around four feet down before jumping out and slowly lifting Rusty’s body, doing their best to lower him into the grave.
Dad kneels down and lays a Black Hearts MC kutte over him, his prospect patch removed, and instead, he places a solider patch in its place.
We each grab a rose, taking it in turn to place it in with him.
I fight back the tears, my jaw set tight as guilt clouds my thoughts.
This is all my fault. Zeke did this. I brought Zeke here.
Swallowing, I turn and see Drix is there, his eyes pinned on me.
He subtly shakes his head from left to right before reaching for me and pulling me to him.
He wraps his arms around me, keeping me close.
I close my eyes, inhaling the scent of him and leather.
“This is not your fault,” he whispers in my ear, his hand stroking the back of my head. I don’t answer. I just use him as my crux to stop myself from breaking.
“We lay our brother, Rusty, to rest,” Dad’s gravelled voice carries through the silent clearing. “May Hades guide his soul. A Black Hearts brother in this life, and the next. Ride free, brother.”
The early evening night falls deathly still.
Drix’s fingers reluctantly slip from mine as I step aside with the ol’ ladies.
One by one, the patched members move forward, their faces carved from stone.
No tears, and no speeches. Just grief buried beneath leather, ink, and loyalty.
Each brother lowers a flaming torch into the grave.
The dry timber catches with a hungry roar, and orange flames lick over Rusty’s kutte first, the Black Hearts patch, before disappearing beneath the fire.
The blaze greedily consumes the rest of him.
Smoke coils into the night sky, like his soul is finally leaving the earth, carrying every laugh, every scar, every mile he’d ridden beside his brothers.
Nobody looks away and nobody flinches. This is the price of the patch. This is the cost of brotherhood.
The crackling fire is deafening, drowning out the quiet sniffles behind me, while the smell of burning leather, wood, and flesh hangs heavy in the warm night air.
My chest aches. Not because Rusty had been patched for years.
He hadn’t. He was still earning his place.
Still dreaming of the day Ghost would hand him his full patch.
Now he’d never wear it. Never ride another mile, and never call these men his brothers again.
The lump in my throat becomes unbearable.
I’d spent months forcing myself not to cry, refusing to break, refusing to let Zeke take anything else from me, but as Rusty disappears beneath the flames, one tear escapes.
It trails silently down my cheek, burning almost as fiercely as the fire before us.
A life stolen, a family left grieving, and deep in my bones, I know this isn’t the end.
“No brother rides alone. Not in this life, and not in the next,” Dad says his final words before turning and walking back to the clubhouse. Others follow him, but I stay standing, watching as the flames consume Rusty. Drix stands by my side, never leaving me.
“He won’t stop,” I whisper.
He firmly grips the back of my neck, giving me a gentle squeeze before he presses a kiss to the side of my temple. “He will, because we end him before he can do anymore harm,” Drix says with a low threatening certainty.
All of us are sitting in the bar area, and the usually loud bikers are quiet as they reflect on the loss of their brother; their prospect.
They would normally all be drunk by now, celebrating his life, toasting in his memory, but this is anything but normal circumstances.
There is a threat; an unknown threat. So there is no drinking, and no celebration of Rusty’s life.
Just tense mourning. Rage sits at the table across from me, his blade in hand as he stabs repeatedly fast between his fingers, muttering words of and anger and promises of death.
“I’m going to go lie down,” I sigh. Drix goes to stand and come with me. I shake my head. “No, stay. They need you more than I do right now.” I gesture to the brothers, to my dad, and my brother.
“I don’t want you being on your own,” he states firmly.
I smile. “You’ve all secured the compound. I’m just going to be in my room, down the hall. You can come to bed later. I will be fine,” I assure him. I can see he wants to protest, but as he opens his mouth to argue, my dad cuts him off.
“Church, now!” Dad barks as he strides off, his eyes cast down as he looks at his phone.
“See? You’re needed. Go,” I urge him.
Drix gives me a small nod before pressing his lips softly to mine. “Don’t go to your bed. I want you in mine.” Then he turns and leaves, following every other brother to church.
Before heading off to bed in Drix’s room, I walk over to my mom, but her eyes are busy following Dad. “Hey,” I call to catch her attention.
She blinks, then smiles softly. “You okay?” she asks, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“I am. I’m off to bed. Are you okay, Mom?” I ask, my brows furrowing in concern.
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, I’m used to this by now. Always a drama. There isn’t nothing your dad and this family won’t survive,” she states firmly, but I catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes.
“Mom,” I press.
She sighs, offering me a small smile. She looks around before moving us out of ear shot from the others. “Your dad and I were talking, and well, he was getting close to passing over the reigns.”
“Oh, wow,” I say, surprised. My mom and dad live and breathe for this club. Without it, I’m not sure who they would be.
“Yeah, I mean, he must hand over the gavel at some point, right? He can’t be in his eighties and still be leading the guys. He would break a hip for crying out loud. At least, if he was retired, if he’s going to break his hip, it would be from our love making,” she sighs.
“Mom. Jesus,” I gag.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic, Storm.” She tuts. “I just think this has set him back. He likes control, your father, in so many ways.” She sighs wistfully, a lust filled expression on her face.
I click my fingers in front of her face. “Mom, for fuck’s sake. Keep it clean,” I plead, for my sanity if nothing else.
She rolls her eyes before a soft look washes over her face. “We aren’t going to be around forever, and I want to enjoy that time with your dad, and the grandkids.” Her smile deepens.
“Firstly, no babies. Not at least for another four years. Secondly, you guys are only in your sixties,” I point out.
“I’m fifty-one,” she snaps.
I grin, knowing that’s not her real age. She likes to keep it an enigma, and everyone is too fearful to guess. “So? Still young enough to take on the world, but old enough to know better.”
She pulls me into a tight embrace, kissing my cheeks multiple times before stepping back. “Go to bed, baby girl. Drix’s bedroom is fifth door on the right.” She winks.
I shake my head, laughing softly to myself as I make my way down the hallway towards Drix’s room. Walking in without him feels wrong. I’ve only ever been in here a handful of times over the years, and never alone. I push the door open.
The room is quiet. Too quiet.
The low hum of the clubhouse carries faintly through the walls, but in here there’s nothing. No music. No laughter. No life. A chill creeps across the back of my neck.
“Get a grip,” I mutter under my breath. I close the door behind me, the click of the latch echoing far louder than it should.
Crossing the room, I pull open Drix’s drawer and grab one of his Black Hearts T-shirts.
Without even thinking about it, I lift it to my face and breathe him in. Leather. Soap. Smoke. Him.
My shoulders relax, just for a second, then something prickles at the base of my skull.
That feeling. The one that tells you you’re not alone.
I slowly lower the shirt. The bathroom door is ajar, and I could’ve sworn it was closed.
I stare at the narrow gap, but there’s nothing.
No movement. No sound. Just darkness. My pulse begins to hammer.
“Drix?” I call quietly, even though I know he’s at church.
Silence.
I force a laugh, trying to shake the unease crawling beneath my skin. “You’re fucking losing it, Storm.”
Clutching the T-shirt against my chest, I step closer. One step, then another. The floorboards groan beneath my feet as I reach the door. My hand trembles as I wrap my fingers around the handle. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a bathroom. I push the door open. Darkness.
I reach inside. My fingers find the switch. Click. The light explodes to life.
My world stops. Every breath leaves my body. Every muscle in my body locks.
A man is standing perfectly still in the centre of the bathroom, like he’s been waiting.
Watching. Hunting. One hand hangs lazily in his pocket, the other holds a gun, the barrel already aimed between my eyes.
He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink. He just smiles.
Slowly. Patiently. It’s the kind of smile that belongs to a monster who already knows how this ends.
Ice floods my veins. I know that smile. I know those eyes.
No, no... My heart slams so violently against my ribs it hurts. This can’t be real.
He tilts his head, almost affectionately, as if we’re old lovers reunited instead of predator and prey.
“Hello, Tori.”
The nickname shatters me. Not Storm. Not sweetheart. Not baby. Tori. The name he whispered while he broke me. The name he called me when he left me for dead. The room spins, and months of trying to rebuild myself are gone.
In a single heartbeat, his smile widens.
“I’ve missed you.”