Chapter Eighteen
Chasm
Two nights ago...
I slipped out of her bed and pulled on my clothes. Then I turned to stare at her, taking in every beautiful inch. Committing every curve, every strand of hair to memory.
I had to let her go.
Again.
I paused at the bedroom door, looking at her one last time. What was left of my heart stayed in that room with her as I walked out the door and climbed into my truck.
Once I pulled away, I made a call.
“Hey, Prez, what’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“Tennessee,” Ambush answered.
“Stay where you are and send me your location.”
“Um, Prez, B said King was on his way there and you needed backup.”
“Plans changed. I’m on my way home.”
Home.
I hadn’t had a home in seven years. Not without Morgan. The clubhouse would be the closest I would get without her by my side.
It was for the best, though.
One day she’d see that. She’d understand what I had to give up in order to keep her safe.
It was early morning as I drove through Rosewood one last time. As I hit the sign that said Please Come Again, my foot slipped off the gas and my truck started to slow down.
Then I remembered the look in her eyes as we made love.
It was goodbye.
One last night together before we both let go.
I pressed my foot down harder, speeding down the highway. I needed miles between us.
It was pointless; I knew that no matter how many miles separated us, there would never be anyone but her.
Morgan Delany-Peterson.
My wife.
My fucking life.
With every mile I drove, doubts swirled in my head. Romeo’s words back in Nebraska about how she hadn’t moved on. But also, the knowledge that she hadn’t told anyone about me. Not even her best friend.
But she’d slept with someone else.
I knew I was being unreasonable, but the idea of another man’s lips kissing her. Another man’s body over hers. Another man’s baby growing inside her.
I slammed my fist against the steering wheel.
She fucking lied to me!
The one thing I thought we had in common. Absent fathers. Hers hadn’t been fucking absent. She’d known who he was; he’d been in her life from the beginning.
And then there was King. My best fucking friend was her brother. Had she known? Was that the reason they were so close? I had to be honest, knowing they were close, that he’d held her in his arms when she lost our child, only fueled the betrayal I felt from him.
But now, looking back, I could see that he only ever tried to protect her. From Steele, from this life.
From me.
I should have listened to Justin. I should have walked away before she got pregnant. I never should have married her. She was in danger because of me. The underworld would find out who she was now.
My foot slipped off the gas again, before I remembered who her father was. He would protect her. He’d keep her safe.
I pulled into the motel in Tennessee and stayed in my truck. The door to a room on the second floor opened, and when I looked up, I saw Ambush.
“You look like shit.”
“Fuck you.” I ran a hand over my face. “You two ready?”
“Psycho and Legacy are with us too. You need some sleep.”
“I’m fine. Tell everyone to pack up their shit, I’m ready to get home.”
Ambush leaned against the railing and studied me. I gave him a hard stare, reminding him who his president was. He shook his head at me but pushed off the railing and went back inside.
A few minutes later the door opened again, along with the one next to him, and my brothers jogged down the steps and mounted their bikes.
Ambush and Psycho pulled out; I followed after them with Krypto and Legacy behind me.
The ride was long; our only stops were to fuel up and grab a snack or a drink. We pulled into the clubhouse, and I walked inside without a word. I caught a glimpse of a few women hanging out in the main room, their eyes lighting up when they saw me.
Then they frowned when I ignored them. I didn’t have time for bullshit. I was tired and still pissed at Morgan. If I lingered in the main room, I knew I’d do something stupid. Something I’d regret for the rest of my life.
Instead, I went upstairs to my room, locked the door, and fell onto my bed. Rolling onto my back, I stared at the ceiling and remembered why I walked away the first time.
Seven years ago...
“Today’s the day, little brother. You’re getting out of here.”
Justin walked in, his smile bright, but not enough to reach his eyes. We both knew I wasn’t free. Sure, I was being released from the hospital, but I wasn’t going home.
Not yet.
It had been six months since that warehouse exploded with me in it. Six months of being poked and prodded, drained of what felt like every ounce of blood my body had.
Then there were the skin grafts.
Weeks of having skin thinly sliced from the areas that hadn’t been burned, as if I were a turkey breast in a deli. Layers laid over layers, praying it would adhere.
Every fucking day nurses and care assistants had their hands on me, touching me, massaging me. Rubbing lotion into the new skin to keep it hydrated. Because of my tattoos, there weren’t enough areas of my own skin to use for grafting, so the doctors used donor skin.
Not all of it took. My body rejected a fair amount, so the grafting took longer than it should have.
I begged my brother to get me out of here. But he refused. Told me I was stuck until the doctors released me. And the day was finally here.
From here it was a rehabilitation facility. Physical therapy, scar management. They said it would be years before the skin was fully healed.
And even then, I might never have full mobility.
Seventy-five percent of my chest was burned in the blast. My left arm, leg, and shoulder were scarred for life. A daily reminder that my best friend had conspired with my president to kill me.
“How is she?” I asked.
Justin sat on the bed beside me. His eyes met mine, and I saw his weariness. He’d been here every day checking in on me.
After the initial assessment, once I was stable, he had me moved to a private hospital in upstate New York. I was hours from the city, but my brother drove it every day.
“I need to tell you something.”
My body stiffened, and I winced. The new skin pulled every time I moved. The itching as it healed would likely drive me insane if it got any worse than it was now.
“What?”
“She lost the baby.”
“What?”
“A few days after the explosion.”
I shook my head, ignoring the way the skin pulled at my neck.
“I saw her pregnant. You showed me pictures,” I reminded him.
“Photoshop.” Justin sighed, and I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. He lied to me. He told me she was okay; she was safe.
“You motherfucker!” I stood up, my joints stiff.
“I had to, Jude. I was losing you.”
“You should have let me go.” I curled my hands into fists. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to pound his ass into the floor. But I didn’t have the strength nor the muscle to take him on. Not right now.
“I couldn’t let you die!” he shouted, tears in his eyes. “You’re all I fucking have. I can’t do this shit without you by my side.”
“This shit is going to get you killed,” I growled. “It almost got me fucking killed.”
“I know,” Justin said quietly, his head bowed in guilt.
I took a deep breath. “That’s it then.”
He looked up at me. “What’s it?”
“I have to let her go. If she’s not connected to me, they won’t go after her.”
“If they find out she meant anything to you at all, they’ll use her as leverage.”
“Not if I stay dead.”
Everyone believed I had died that day. I’d planned on going back to her. Her and the baby. But now... with the baby gone, her connection to me was gone with it.
She’d never really believed I loved her. Thought I was marrying her because she was pregnant, and I was. I’d never let my child grow up with their father. But fuck... I loved her more than she would ever know.
I loved her enough to let her go. Let her move on and find someone new. Someone who wouldn’t put her in danger. Someone who could give her the life she deserved.
My mistake was going to her. Seeing her again. The way her hair cascaded down her back. The way her eyes sparkled when she was angry. The way her body reacted to my touch.
I allowed myself to be pushed into going to Rosewood. Manipulated by King. I should have let Romeo go. Let him protect her.
I ran my hands over my face.
I was deluding myself into thinking I had any other choice but to put eyes on her myself. Living in a fantasy where I believed someone else could protect her better than I could.
Love her better than I could.
It didn’t matter now, because I’d fucked up. I knew King would have my ass eventually. I was a dead man walking, and even if I wanted to, I knew between him and O’Malley, I’d never get close to Morgan again.
Never hold her in my arms, never kiss her lips. I would never make love to her again. Because I was a stupid, stubborn fool.
For seven years, I’d kept my distance because I knew once I laid eyes on her, I’d never be able to walk away. Even now, knowing I wasn’t any good for her, I wanted her back. Knowing that my life was in danger didn’t stop me from wanting to go back to her.
But I couldn’t.
Not again.
I had to let her go.
I climbed out of bed and went downstairs. I sat at the bar and studied the women B had brought in. There were four of them. The blonde was cute, but her fake tits were obscenely huge and disproportionate to her body.
Not like Morgan’s, which were just a smidge more than a handful.
The brunette was too skinny. All bones and no curves. Some guys liked that. I wasn’t one of them. Morgan’s curves were in all the right places. I shook my head, trying not to think about my wife.
She’s not your wife!
The redhead had a nice body, thin but curvy. Her hair was cut short, though. Too short. Not enough to grab and pull. Morgan’s hair was long enough to wrap around my hand.
The last one was almost perfect. High, perky tits, a round ass that was made for slapping. Hair long enough to fall over me as she rode my cock. But she was young.
Too young.
She looked to be about twenty years old.
I was forty. Old enough to be her damn father.
The young man behind the bar cleared his throat. I looked up, and he said, “Hello, sir. My name’s Brian. Can I get you anything?”
I looked him over. “How old are you, Brian?”
“Twenty-four, sir.”
“And you want to join the club?”
“Yes, sir.”
He wasn’t wearing a prospect cut. B wouldn’t make that decision without me. But hiring someone to run the bar had been a good idea.
“Why?” I asked.
“Why, sir?”
I nodded. “Why do you want to join the club?”
Brian looked down before letting his eyes travel over the room. The brothers were playing pool, flirting with the girls and having fun.
“I’m looking for a place to belong, sir.” He turned back and looked me in the eye. “I’m looking for a family.”
It was the best answer I’d ever heard. Because that was what I wanted too. I’d joined this club because my brother asked me to. He needed someone on the inside.
But now things were different.
I looked out over the room, carefully studying every brother who wore the cut. I nodded and smiled at Brian.
“Get me a beer, Prospect.”