14. Breaking
Bones
I don't remember leaving.
One second, I'm staring down at Ely's arm, the next, I'm tearing out of her house like the walls are caving in.
I can't fucking breathe.
I don't feel the pain in my shoulder, don't register the warm, wet spread of blood soaking my cut. All I see is her throat. That scar. A wound I didn't put there, but one I might as well have.
Jinx did that to her. Because of me.
The weight of it crushes me.
I stumble into the night, my vision blurring. Not from pain, but from something worse. There's wetness on my face. It takes me a second to understand what it is, why my breath is hitching, why my chest is breaking open like something feral and clawed is ripping through it from the inside out.
I haven't cried since I was ten years old.
I don't cry.
But right now? I can't fucking stop.
I need to move. I need to go. If I stay, I'll do something stupid. Like get on my knees and beg her to take a knife to my throat just to even the fucking score.
I hastily take a t-shirt out of my saddlebag, rip it and tightly wrap it around my shoulder.
The bike roars to life, the vibrations rattling through my bones as I rip out of Silverpine like the devil himself is chasing me down. I don't even know where I'm going.
Fast. Faster. I don't see the road, don't care if I skid out and smash into a tree. Maybe I should. Maybe I fucking deserve it.
By the time I slam to a stop, I'm in the middle of nowhere.
Thick woods. No light. No noise. Just the roar of my own goddamn agony inside my head.
I throw the bike down without thinking, without caring, the sound of metal scraping against gravel distant, meaningless. Nothing fucking matters. Not anymore.
I run.
Straight into the trees, into the damp earth, into the dark like I can outrun the wreckage inside me.
And then, I collapse.
On my knees, surrounded by nothing but towering trees and my own fucking destruction.
The scream rips out of me, a raw, guttural sound. Deep and broken and beyond saving. It's not human. It's the sound of something that's been ripped apart, something bleeding out, something that knows it's already fucking dead.
I dig my fists into the damp earth, needing to feel something, anything.
I pound my knuckles into the ground, again and again and again, dirt embedding itself under my nails, my skin splitting, my blood mixing with the soil. It's not enough. It won’t ever be enough.
I scream until my throat burns, until the sound turns ragged and hoarse, until my voice gives the fuck out.
And then it all turns into muffled, gut-wrenching sobs.
I was this close. This close to losing her forever. This close to never seeing her again, to never hearing her voice, to never getting the chance to tell her how goddamn sorry I am.
I knew about her neck wound. I knew. I'd been told. I'd heard her testimony. But knowing it existed and seeing it for myself?
Two different fucking things.
I didn't see it in the hospital because she was wrapped in bandages, because she was barely holding on, because I was too much of a fucking coward to face what I had done.
But now? Now it's real.
Now, every time I close my eyes, all I see is her throat, that scar, that fucking mark of what she suffered. What I let happen. What I caused.
I dig my fingers into my scalp, pressing against my skull like I can squeeze the thoughts out, like I can bury this weight before it buries me.
I can't leave her alone. I should. I know I should. But I won't. Because she's all I think about.
Because my body calls for her, my mind is consumed by her, my heart is a fucking ruin that only she could ever put back together.
I won't hurt her again. I would rather rip my own throat out than let her suffer even a paper cut.
And I don't care what it takes.
I will earn her forgiveness, even if I have to bleed out to do it.
I barely register how I get to my room at the motel, standing outside my door, my fingers fumbling with the key, my head still reeling from the sight of her. Ely. Beautiful. Magnificent. Not mine.
I push inside, heart still hammering, body still wired with adrenaline, and the first thing I see? Tank. Stretched out on my bed. Sleeping like he has no care in the world.
Rage ignites. Pure, irrational, unchecked rage.
The first thing my hand lands on is the room phone. A solid, old-school, wired-to-the-wall piece of shit.
I throw it with everything inside me.
It smacks Tank dead in the throat.
He wakes up with a gasping, choking noise, sitting bolt upright, hands clutching his neck like he’s trying to dislodge a stray bone. His eyes are wild, darting around, trying to make sense of the attack before they land on me. Murderous. Disoriented. Pissed.
"If I was an enemy, I could've killed you fifteen fucking times by now," I snarl, voice still raw from screaming my lungs out in the middle of the woods. "What the fuck are you doing here, and more importantly, why the fuck are you sleeping in my bed?"
Tank coughs, rubbing his throat, taking a few deep, painful breaths before croaking, "Jesus Christ, you could've just yelled, not crush my goddamn windpipe."
He gulps in another breath, eyes narrowing as he really looks at me now. My disheveled clothes. My bloody knuckles. The gaping wound in my shoulder.
"I came to check how things were going with Ely. Maybe talk to her myself." He squints. "Judging by the fact that you're half-dead, I'm guessing... not great?"
"She told me to fuck off," I say, deadpan. "Then she shot me."
Tank stares at me. Blinks. "Damn."
"Wait. It's the middle of the night. Did you break into her house?"
"Yeah."
"The fuck were you thinking? Breaking into a woman's home in the middle of the night? A woman, I might add, who went through hell, because of you."
"I wasn't thinking, okay?" I snap, exhaustion weighing down every muscle in my body. "I just... I just wanted to see her. It's been four fucking years."
Tank exhales loudly, shaking his head like I'm the biggest idiot on the planet. And honestly? Right now, I probably am.
"Let me check the wound before you pass out and bleed all over the place," he mutters, already getting up, digging through his duffel bag for supplies. "Needs to be disinfected and stitched up, or else you're gonna rot from the inside out, and Ely won't get the satisfaction of cutting your balls off herself."
"I was lucky," I grunt as he starts working. "Small caliber. Through and through. Didn't hit an artery or a bone."
Tank grumbles under his breath as he cleans the wound, none too gently. "Yeah, mostly figured that out by the fact that you're still standing."
His fingers move efficiently, years of patching up bullet wounds making the process second nature, but he won't shut the fuck up.
"So... what's the plan?" he asks, threading the needle, raising a brow at me. "You do have a plan, right?"
I stare at the ceiling for a second, jaw tight. I do.
"She told me she'd never move back to Driftwood." I take a slow breath. And then I say it.
"I'm moving the mother chapter here."
Tank stops mid-stitch, head snapping up so fast I hear his neck crack.
"What?"
"I'm moving the mother chapter to Silverpine." My voice is calm. Final. "Driftwood will stay as its own chapter. Ghost can take over as Prez. Or Reaper."
"Fuuuuck, Bones." Tank presses the heel of his hand against his forehead like he's physically pained by what I just said. "The logistics alone... Jesus Christ. Never mind that, but the Romanos are gonna lose their shit. They don't want to deal with the club. They want to deal with you. They'll follow, and that means rebuilding the entire operation here. Do you even remember how much that cost last time?"
"Yeah," I say, completely unfazed. "I'll cover the costs myself. Won't take from the brothers. And no one is being forced to follow me. Who wants to come, comes. Who wants to stay, stays."
Tank groans. "Fuck me."
"I'll go back tomorrow and present it in Church," I continue, ignoring him. "Keep your mouth shut until then. I still need to survey the area for a possible clubhouse and everything we'll need." I roll my shoulder, testing Tank's stitch job, before locking eyes with him. "Ely is here. So my life is here now. I know we live by ' club always comes first ,' but I can't leave her, never again. The brothers will always have my loyalty and trust. But Ely? She has that, plus everything that I am."
Tank sits back, staring at me with narrowed eyes, like he’s just waiting for me to crack.
Eventually, he sighs, presses a bandage over my wound, and mutters, "Sometimes, I dream about that night. Holding my hand over Ely's mouth while she was in that chair. Only in my nightmare, I'm in her place. I try to scream, but I can't move. Can't make a sound. I should have said something that night. I should have pulled you aside. But I told myself a brother doesn't question his Prez. A brother follows orders."
I swallow hard, a heavy burden settling in my chest. Guilt. Regret. The kind that never leaves.
"Yeah," I murmur. "That should maybe change, too."
He looks at me, surprised. I get it. I never would have admitted this before. Never would have even thought it.
"I know as Prez I hold a lot of power," I continue. "But what's the point of brotherhood if none of you can punch me in the face when I lose my fucking mind?"
Tank snorts, shaking his head. "You're still a stubborn, stupid bastard, you know that?"
I smirk. "Yeah."
I exhale, letting the pain settle deep, letting the weight of it drive home one final truth: I'm going to fix this.
I don't give a fuck what it costs.
Morning comes too fast, dragging me back into the fight before I'm even fully awake.
I climb the steps to Ely's porch, forcing myself to knock this time. A small improvement. Barely. A show of restraint that feels foreign, unnatural, but necessary.
The door swings open a few moments later, and fuck me, I'm not prepared.
Ely stands there, dressed in a navy power suit that fits her like a second skin, every inch of her confidence and strength wrapped up in sharp lines and ruthless precision. She looks like she owns the world, like she's about to walk into a boardroom and tear apart anyone who gets in her way.
And me? I'm standing here in jeans, my leather cut and a T-shirt that says something stupid, holding a fucking coffee like an idiot.
My brain malfunctions. My mouth forgets how to form words.
"No, Bones." Her voice cuts through the morning air, hard and unyielding. "Whatever you're here for, the answer is a big, fat, fucking no."
I blink. Scramble. Like a caveman who has no ability for normal human conversation, I just hold up the coffee in my hand like some kind of peace offering.
"Coffee," I grunt. Absolute dumbass.
She scowls, her eyes burning with fire, rage, and not even a hint of hesitation.
"I don't want your coffee," she snaps, voice like a whip. "I have my own. Now go away."
She moves to slam the door in my face, but instinct kicks in before logic, and I block it. Stupidly. With the same hand holding the fucking coffee.
The scalding liquid spills down my arm, burning like a bitch. I snarl out a curse, but recover fast. She's about to shut me out, and I'm not fucking done yet.
"I wanted to tell you," I grind out, voice rough with the pain I refuse to acknowledge, "that I'll be gone for a few days. Need to handle shit in Driftwood. But I'll be back by Saturday. Don't think of running, Ely. I'll know, and I promise you, I will follow." I hold her gaze. Steady, unflinching, ready to drive the point home. "I just got a chance to look at your face again. I'm not giving that up."
Ely stares at me like I'm too big of an idiot to function. Like I'm a lost cause she doesn't have the patience to deal with. And then, her voice drops. Cold and lethal.
"Look really good into my eyes, Bones." She steps forward, inches from me, her presence electric, deadly. "This town? It's my home. I built a life here. A good life. A business. Friends. I ran last time because I was beaten down, tired and just fucking broken." Her lips curl into an almost cruel, almost victorious smirk.
"This time?" She tilts her chin up, her glare burning through me. "I'm prepared to fight."
The final blow lands without warning.
She smacks the coffee cup out of my hand, sending the remaining hot liquid splattering all over my already burned arm. It hurts like a motherfucker, but I barely flinch before—
BANG.
The door slams in my face. Hard.
I stand there for a second, staring at the wood, breathing heavily, processing the absolute failure of this interaction.
Well. That went about as well as expected.
Ely
I seethe, glaring up at the ceiling like the heavens have any fucking answers for me. That stupid bastard with his stupid fucking face. Bones has no idea what he's just stepped into. He should've stayed the hell away. Now? Now, I'm going to make him regret ever coming after me.
I have a few days of reprieve. A few days to prepare. To build the perfect plan.
I grab my bag and hurry out to my car, bypassing my usual route to the office. Amy rescheduled my morning meeting. Good. Because right now? I need Ria.
Ria is the kind of woman you never see coming until it's too late. Dressed in pastels, wrapped in sugar and honey, all bright smiles and sweet laughter. But underneath? A predator. A nightmare in pink lipstick.
I find her in the coffee shop, humming Over the Rainbow to herself, wearing her signature pink apron, her golden curls bouncing as she wipes down the counter. She looks like a goddamn cherub sent to Earth to spread joy and cupcakes. Big blue eyes, dimples, innocence incarnate.
It's a lie.
Ria is a little psychopath. A dangerous, smiling, poison-wielding psychopath.
Her father ran a cult that worshiped venomous snakes. Every Sunday, since she was six, she was ‘gifted’ to a snake to be bitten, her father watching, calling it a test of faith. By fifteen, she had enough. She slit his throat during one of his sermons, let the cult members watch him bleed out, then sat in court, not guilty by reason of self-defense.
Trauma does funny things to people.
For Ria? It made her obsessed with poisons. Every plant, every toxin, every lethal little secret Mother Nature had to offer.
We bonded over coffee addiction, late-night benders, and the stupid decision I made one night to tell her my past. Stupid because I was in witness protection and I was supposed to keep my mouth tightly shut. But it went well. She told me her story and that's how a true friendship was born.
The coffee shop is empty, the morning rush long gone. It'll be packed at lunch, but for now, it's just us.
"Tempe!" Ria calls out, cheerful as always, her grin wide. But there's something mischievous in her eyes. "Guess what? I had an interesting customer this morning! Tall, brooding biker, walking around with a death wish. Since he tipped so well, I decided to put something special in his coffee."
I raise a brow, heart already hammering.
"He tried to give that coffee to me," I say, voice flat.
Her eyes go wide. Fake horror.
"Oh no! I hope you didn't drink it!"
"No chance in hell. I wouldn't take anything from him." I tilt my head. "Did he just buy the one?"
"Nope. Bought three," she says, her smile turning sharper. "I made all of them special."
I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me. She's a menace. A deadly, deranged menace.
Ria leans against the counter, eyes gleaming. "So, what's the occasion? Why do you have that ‘I'm about to ruin someone's life’ look on your face?"
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. "As you figured out, Bones found me."
Her nose wrinkles. "Ew. But yeah, it wasn't hard to make the connection, hence the special coffee. Small town, I haven't seen a biker here in... well, ever! And given what you told me..."
I smirk. "He's got it in his head that he wants a second chance. That he still loves me. That he can't live without me. Blah, blah, blah." I make a dismissive hand gesture.
She nods sagely. "A classic case of dumbassery."
"I have a plan to make him leave for good," I continue, "and I need your help." My eyes narrow slightly. "Unless... tell me the shit you put in his coffee isn't lethal. Not that I wouldn't love to watch him suffer, but I don't want his brothers hunting me down and tearing my spine out of my body. I like my life here. I have a new branding project I really want to finish."
She claps her hands together, delighted.
"Oh, don't worry! My special coffee will just give him extreme stomach pain and explosive diarrhea for about two days."
I snort, laughing loudly. "You're a goddamn treasure."
Right then, the bell above the coffee shop door chimes.
I turn — and freeze.
Tank is standing there. Sweaty, pale, hunched over, holding his stomach like he's dying.
He groans. "Ely. Hi. I'd love to talk when you have a minute. But for now..." He turns, eyes pleading as he looks at Ria. "Little pretty lady... where's your bathroom? Please?"
He barely finishes the sentence before doubling over with a sharp inhale.
Ria looks like she's been struck by lightning. Her lips part, but all she does is lift her hand and point toward the bathroom. Speechless.
Tank doesn't wait. He runs.
I turn back to Ria, watching her blink rapidly, her fingers still pointing. She looks mildly horrified.
"That's Tank," I say dryly. "I think Bones left him here to watch me. Make sure I wouldn't leave. Apparently, he got the third coffee."
She pouts. "Why are all the brutally beautiful ones such idiot morons?"
"He did what he did that night, but he also saved my life," I say, watching the closed bathroom door, my lips pressing into a thin line. "But if I get a chance for revenge on him too?" I'm taking it."
Ria hums, pleased. "I like where this is going."
"I have to get to work." I sling my bag over my shoulder. "I'll help you close up later and tell you exactly what I need."
She gives me a mock salute. "You're the boss of this revenge plan, Captain."
I leave the shop, my mind already calculating every step. Bones says he'll be back by Saturday. Five days.
That's all the time I have to build his demise.