29. Panic
Bones
I push the whiskey glass to the side, untouched, and lean forward, cutting straight to the point. I don't have time to waste, and the second this meeting is done, I'm back on my bike, riding straight to Silverpine.
"I need Operation Nemesis to happen as soon as fucking possible. A few of the Riders — the low-rank bastards who cut a deal — are getting out next year." My voice is steel, leaving no room for negotiation.
Arcangelo leans back in his chair, watching me, calculating. He's always done this — analyzing, dissecting, looking for angles. Ever since the day we met, over ten years ago, when I pulled his and Luca's asses out of a bloodbath. Bullets were tearing through the air, but even then, the motherfucker had that same look in his eyes. Cold. Measuring.
Luca and him are identical twins, but I learned to tell them apart real fucking fast. Where Luca's eyes are dead, Angelo's are ice — sharp enough to cut, lethal enough to kill without hesitation. The kind of cold that burns before it turns you into a rotting corpse.
"We'll be ready soon," he says, tilting his head. "Why the rush? It's been almost five years. We agreed to wait to keep suspicion off us. Make sure everything's airtight. First one isn't even out for another year. We could take the low-ranks on the outside."
"We've waited long enough. The trail's cold. We move now, it won't come back on us." I watch him, unblinking. "Figured you'd be happy to clear your fucking life debt."
He smiles, a calculated look in his eyes. "That, I am." He folds his hands together, elbows resting on the desk. "Now why are you really here, Bones? This could've been a phone call."
I smirk. On purpose. I know it pisses him off. It's a game we've played since day one — me baiting him, him throwing back his little dumb biker remarks. Ten fucking years of this, and I still haven't seen him lose his shit.
But today? Today, I just might.
"Luca's joining the MC." My tone is final. A command. "You need to release him from the Famiglia. He'll be the new connection to us, now that Francesca is not an option anymore."
A sharp puff of laughter escapes him. Short. Clipped. There's a flicker of something in his eyes, something darker. Anger. I fucking knew this would get to him.
Come on, fucker. Bring the beast out. Let's see what's under all that ice.
He straightens in his chair, his eyes locking on mine. "Are you drunk? High? Or have you finally lost whatever common sense you had left?" His voice is sharp, controlled, but I hear the bite underneath. "Because that's the dumbest fucking thing I've ever heard."
I lean in, lowering my voice, speaking just for him. This is where I find out if he's going to throw the first punch, or tighten that noose of control he wears like a second skin.
"I know it was you," I whisper. "Why he lost Theresa. He doesn't know, does he?"
The air shifts.
"What do you think he'll do when he finds out?" I keep going, watching him like a predator. "He's already looking for an out. Getting desperate. Sloppy. He'll make a mistake, and you'll lose him anyway. Or you'll lose him when he learns the truth. Either way, you're bleeding him out. Let him go my way, and at least he lives. And it also gives you a way to sell it to your people."
The anger in his face isn't just a flicker now. It's a fire. Real, consuming.
The first time I've ever fucking seen it.
Oh, I've got you now, bastard.
"He's my fucking brother," he grits out, voice dropping. "My twin. He's not going anywhere. He'll get over the woman. She's nothing. And if she keeps being a problem, I'll fucking kill her."
His jaw clenches. His fists tighten.
"I see it in him, Angelo." I sigh deeply, like he's a high school student and I'm his long suffering teacher, about to deliver a hard lesson. "You've never been through this. I have." His eyes flash to the tattoo on my neck. "That woman owns him. He doesn't belong to the Famiglia anymore. He hasn't since the day he met her."
I pause, letting my next words settle like a knife between his ribs.
"You've got a rogue inside your organization." I tilt my head. "He will do anything to get her back, I'd bet my club on it. Let him go, and you save your brother. You kill her, you kill him."
The air is suffocating between us. His control is slipping, cracking apart at the edges.
"Why the fuck do you care what happens to Luca?" His voice is a snarl now.
I shrug, casual. "He found my woman. I owe him. And I don't want to see him completely unleashed. He'll take half of your fucking people with him before you manage to put him down." I adjust my cut, standing. "I'd lose a lot of fucking money."
His shoulders drop, the fight draining from his posture. The fire in his eyes dulls, buried under ice again.
Ah, fuck. So close.
He nods once. "I'll talk to him. See what he wants."
I knock once on his desk. "You do that. Keep me updated on Nemesis."
I make it to the door before stopping, turning back. "When the fuck are you finally going to fight me?"
His smirk returns, slow, amused. "You don't want to fight me, Bones. I fight dirty."
I snort. "So do I, fucker. So do I."
I leave him chuckling behind me.
Temper
The clubhouse looms before me, blanketed in snow, looking almost like something out of a damn fairytale. If fairytales had blood-stained floors and men who could break your heart and your bones in the same breath.
Why do I feel excited? But also anxious?
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to steady the trembling in my hands. My heart is a hammer against my ribs. This is it. This is fucking it. If I walk through those doors, if I let myself take this step, I know — I know — Bones will never leave me alone again.
He'll take the scrap I'm about to throw at him and latch onto it like a lifeline. Like a starved animal with its teeth buried deep in raw flesh. He won't let go.
I gulp. Fuck. I want to do this. I took my time, thought it through. It's been two months. Two months since that night. Two months since I ripped my own demons apart, since I stood over Jinx's lifeless body and took my fucking justice. Since Bones held me like he wished he could absorb every ounce of my pain and make it his own.
The anger is gone. Drained out of me that day. Some days, I feel it flicker, but it never lasts. It sparks and dies before it can take hold. I've been working through it. Therapy with Dr. Monroe twice a week, digging into the wounds I never let myself acknowledge. The rage? It was a mask for grief. For loss. For everything I never let myself feel. Of course, she doesn't know about the murder I committed. But she praised me for the metaphorical funeral.
I went through my deep sadness phase. I let it consume me. Let it drag me down until there was nothing left but the hollow ache of what I lost. Mourning myself was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I did it. Grief is a bitch, and it doesn't let go until it's done with you. But in the end, I had to face the truth — no amount of revenge, no amount of spilled blood, will ever rewrite what happened to me. I had no control then, and I can't go back and stop it now. But I can stop letting the past own me. I can tear down the emotional cage I built around myself and see what's left on the other side.
And now that the anger is gone, something else is haunting me.
Him.
Thoughts of him won't leave me the fuck alone. His hands. His voice. His eyes. Something inside me keeps whispering, look again. Be sure. Be certain. That I might lose something precious if I don't.
That's why I'm here. A test. THE test. One I forced upon myself.
If I still want to throw a brick at his skull the moment I lay my eyes on him, then I turn around and walk away. Simple. But even as I think it, my heart squeezes at the thought. Fuck!
I exhale sharply, gripping the steering wheel. I asked Dr. Monroe what the fuck I was supposed to do with these feelings, with this pull in my chest. She didn't give me a straight answer. Just kept saying that I have control over my own life, my own choices, that the decision only belongs to me.
Which is true. But still... bitch.
I've been trying to come here every day for a week. Every fucking day. Drove halfway, turned back. Over and over. Like a fucking coward. Twice a day some days! It was getting ridiculous!
Last night I didn't sleep at all, kept thinking about it and finally I couldn't take it anymore and started my journey — for about the hundredth time this week! Blasted System of a Down at full volume all the way here to drown out my stupid thoughts and fear and finally made it. Fucking thank you, Serj! I owe you one!
I huff, blow out a breath, and shove open the car door before I can second-guess myself. Not a fucking coward. If I see him and I still want to punch him, then I punch him and I leave. Not a big deal.
"I was wondering when you'd finally come out. Thought it'd be at least another ten minutes."
I jump about ten fucking feet in the air.
I spin around, glaring. "You fucking scared me, Joker! What the hell is wrong with you?"
He grins, raising his hands like he's innocent. "Hey, I thought you saw me. Wasn't trying to scare you."
I cross my arms, still glaring. "What the hell are you doing outside this early? It's—" I glance at my phone. "Eight in the morning. You usually sleep till at least ten."
His face shifts. Quieter. "We have a doctor's appointment. For the baby."
"Oh." I purse my lips. "Good luck with that."
He nods. "Thanks." Then his eyes narrow slightly. "Now, what are you doing here? Didn't think you'd ever come back. Haven't seen you in months. What did Bones do? Should I be worried for him?"
"Umm... no, no need to worry." I fidget with my phone, my throat suddenly tight. "I just need to talk to him about something. Is he in his office?"
Joker shakes his head. "No, he had to go out of town. But he'll be back soon. In like an hour or so. Tank talked to him this morning. You can go in and wait, if you have time. Everyone's out on business, but Tank and Domino are inside."
I press my lips together. Fear slithers up my spine, whispering to run. This is my chance. Leave. But fuck that. If I walk away now, I'll just go back to my miserable half-trips, my endless avoidance.
"Thanks," I say, forcing my feet to move toward the clubhouse doors. "I'll wait inside."
Joker just nods and moves toward his car.
Bones
I roll into Silverpine the morning after my meeting with Arcangelo, my body on the verge of shutting down after riding all fucking night. The cold cuts through my leather, straight to my bones, but I barely feel it. I don't feel much of anything anymore. Just the weight of exhaustion dragging at me.
My mind's been slipping further into the dark, the emptiness inside me expanding like a black hole. I see it in my brothers' eyes — the unease, the worry — but I shut down every attempt to talk about her. I can't. I can't fucking talk about her with anyone else. Not anymore. She's already consuming every thought, every breath, and I can't escape it. So I keep my head down and do my job. Survive another day. Keep breathing, even when all I want to do is take a bullet to my skull and end it.
For four years, I had a mission. I knew she was out there, somewhere, and I let myself fucking hope. But there's no hope anymore. There never was. I was a goddamn fool to believe in it.
I don't even acknowledge the prospect at the gate when I roll through. Don't glance around when I park my bike. I just need sleep. My body feels like it's made of lead as I push through the door of the clubhouse.
And then I hear it — the sweetest fucking sound in existence.
"Pay up, Tank! You lost!"
My head snaps toward the pool table, and there she is. An amused, victorious grin on her face, her hand outstretched toward Tank.
"Only because you fucking pushed me," Tank grumbles, digging into his wallet.
The world tilts.
Am I hallucinating? Did I finally break? Is my mind finally gone for good? Because this — this can't be real. She can't be here. She isn't. She wouldn't just walk in here on her own. Did Tank drag her here? Threaten her? Force her?
The bike keys slip from my fingers, clattering to the floor. That's when she turns.
Her smile falters. Then it fades completely. And just like that, whatever was left of my fucking heart dies with it. Of course, I'm the one who sucks the joy out of her. I'm the shadow, the stain, the permanent fucking reminder of everything she lost.
She steps forward, slow, hesitant. Her eyes are big, searching. She's so goddamn beautiful. It hurts. I can't move, can't breathe, can't do a single fucking thing but watch her get closer.
She stops a few feet away and I hear her whisper, "I feel nothing."
Everything inside me that was still hanging by the thinnest thread shatters into dust. She feels nothing.
Because that's what I am to her now.
Nothing. I am nothing.
The words knock the air from my lungs, and suddenly, I can't fucking breathe. My chest tightens, my vision blurs, my legs threaten to give out. Everything feels heavy. I stagger back, trying to get some fucking oxygen, but it's like there's a mountain crushing me, pressing all the air from my lungs.
"Bones?" Her voice is different now. Alarmed. "Are you feeling ill? Why did you go white as a sheet?"
I try to swallow but my throat is too dry. I can't get one fucking word out. I can't answer. My pulse is hammering like a war drum.
She feels nothing.
It was better when she hated me. At least then, I existed in her world.
"Oh my God! Tank, help! I think he's having a panic attack! Bring me a paper bag or something!" She sounds scared. Why? I am nothing.
Her voice rises in panic, but it's distant, muffled. Like I'm underwater.
The dots in my vision dance wildly. My body goes numb. This is it. This is where I finally fucking collapse.
Then — hands. Warm, strong. Gripping my face, yanking me down, until my forehead collides with hers. Her scent crashes into me. Her eyes drill into mine.
"Snap out of it, Bones! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"You feel nothing." The words slip out, broken, raw.
Her eyes go wide, then narrow. And then she screams in my face. "That's why you're having a fucking panic attack?! "
Her hands drop to my shoulders, gripping tight. She shakes me. Hard. "It's not what you think, you stupid asshole! Get back to reality or I'll have to slap you! And for the first time in years, I really don't want to do that!"
Wait. What? She doesn't want to slap me?
"What?" My voice is hoarse.
"I meant I don't feel the anger when I look at you anymore, you fool! Not nothing, no emotions! And I wasn't even talking to you when I said that — I was talking to myself! So you can stop with the dramatics!"
Her arms cross over her chest, her eyes watching me like she's waiting for my brain to fucking reboot.
I swallow hard, press my palms into my eyes, try to force my heart to slow the fuck down. It feels like I was on the edge of a cliff, the wind pushing me toward the drop, and she just yanked me back. Like the guillotine was falling toward my neck and stopped at the last second.
"So... you do feel something?" My voice is still rough, but stronger now.
Her arms tighten around herself. Her chin lifts. "We need to talk."
Any other time, those words would make me want to fucking run. But right now? They feel like oxygen. Like salvation.
I straighten, exhale slowly, then meet her eyes.
I smile. How could I not?
"We can talk about anything you want, Temper."
She purses her lips, tilts her head, then — she smiles. Just a little. Just enough to lighten up the darkness inside my soul.
"First, I want to go for a ride, Bones. Do you know someone who can take me?" Her voice is playful.
I smirk. "I might know someone."
"To the chocolate plums place. And if you still have some of those chocolates, you'd better go and get them." She raises a brow, like she just handed me a challenge.
She doesn't think I have any, but she's wrong. I kept an emergency stash. I wanted to give her another box, but I never got the chance. Until now.
"I'll go grab the box from my office," I say, my voice lighter than it's been in years. "Then I'll take you for that ride."
Her eyes widen, clearly pleasantly surprised.
My heart sings. Panic is still hammering in my chest because I don't know what the fuck she wants to talk about. I don't know where this is leading. But I don't care.
She's here. She wants to talk to me.
And for the first time since I found her again, she doesn't look at me like she wants to carve me open.
That's more than I ever fucking dreamed of.
The moment shatters with the heavy thud of Tank's boots pounding against the floor. "Got the damn bag! What the fuck is happening?!"