Two
Two
SAVVY
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Bellamy says I’m running, and maybe I am. Sigh, shaking my head. She’s right. I am running. And I can’t say if it’s the right choice. Gunner and my past isn’t pretty–hurt feelings aside. Thinking about what he and I shared in the short time we had, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever and may ever experience. I don’t think that after everything, we can get back to that place. Not because it is impossible but because we are no longer those people. I’m no longer that trusting, unjaded girl I once was. I hold secrets and live a dangerous, guarded life. My eyes close, trying to rein in the emotion threatening to break free. The longer I stay here, the longer I think about what should have, could have, and would have been, which only leads to my resolve crumbling even more.
Looking at the pile of my clothes on the bed, I try to focus on the task. With military precision, I fold, roll, and pack things away. Running a checklist of things that must be done and prepared for the next job. Doing so, hoping to keep my mind distracted. Unfortunately, what has worked in the past isn’t now. My mind continues to stray, wandering back to him and things I shouldn’t allow myself to think or feel.
For the last few months being here at Gunner”s club, I’ve gotten to know many of LSMC brothers, their ol’ ladies, and kids. A smile makes its way to my lips as I think about all the amazing women I’ve met and have been reintroduced to. The new generation is nothing like I thought they would be. They have been welcoming and kind and nothing like the ol’ ladies of the past when Gunner”s father, Mad Dog, was the president. Many are still around but remain in the background and are cordial enough. When Mad Dog was Prez, I felt the ol’ ladies lived antiquated lives. They turned the other cheek, ignored their men’s unacceptable behavior, and encouraged me to do the same. That’s not who the ol’ ladies are now. Nope, these women are strong, no nonsense, and take no prisoners. They still have a softness, something I no longer have. That is why the ol’ lady”s work so well with their men. They smooth out their men”s rough edges. Unlike me, who would make them even more jagged and deadly. I’m not soft hearted anymore. I burned that shit out of me years ago, only leaving enough for my kids. I thrive in the dark, only taking brief trips into the light.
I shake my head and move away from those thoughts. A burning need at the pit of my stomach makes itself known. I take a few breaths, trying to shake it off. Now is not the time- not yet.
I focus my thoughts on everyone I’ve met and how happy they are to be a part of this family–a family that will ride or die for them. Something that I wished they would have had the strength for–all those years ago.
Bitter, angry, sad, hurt, disappointed, and confused are constant emotions for me.
I”m trying not to go down that road. Even though I know the truth of what really happened all those years ago, it doesn’t mean it hurts any less. Watching everyone fight for Princess brought back bitterness I hadn’t felt for a long time. Watching everyone accept my children filled me with sadness about what they were forced to miss out on. My thoughts wander to the life I could have led and my life now and how utterly different they are.
For over twenty years, I’ve allowed my emotions to morph into something else that drives me to do better, to be better. Papa calls it the darkness. I call it an old friend. What I do and who I am is because of the need to feel something other than the pain of his rejection. Some would say I should get over it; it’s been long enough, and I should move on. And to those idiots, I say that they have never truly been in love. You don’t get over an all-consuming love–you live without it and adapt. That is what I’ve been doing–living and adapting.
As much as my Papa and I wanted another life for me, a simpler life. He knew what I needed and pushed me in a direction that would allow me to focus on something other than what consumed me. Thus, I became the Widow Maker. Righting the wrongs of our world. Making sure that those with ill intentions pay the price their victims never will. And I don’t regret it. I don’t regret becoming who I am, but I know deep down that the longer I do what I do, the further away I am from who I used to be.
Anger, frustration, grief and bitterness.
I did my best over the years to mask my pain, especially from my children. The longer I’m here, the more difficult it becomes. The more I see and am around him, my heart thaws. It doesn’t help that I’ve allowed myself to experience him in ways I never thought I would again. And it’s becoming harder and harder for me to remain detached. It’s all too much. What happened in our past isn’t something you get over. I can’t forgive and forget. No matter how much he and my children want me to.
I smile as I think about my beautiful girl on her path to forgiveness, even though she and her father have had a bumpy road, which has had me in his face a time or two. The two of them still have things to work through, and they are–working through it. They can often talk things out, allowing cooler heads to prevail. Thanks to Taz. He knows his president and my daughter and has had to learn how to mediate between the two quickly. If he weren’t bald already, I would say after months of dealing with those two, he’d be well on his way.
Bellamy’s willingness to listen has shocked everyone who knows her, especially Blaze. Which he asked her about. Bell explained her newfound calmness is because of Taz’s golden peen. My daughter claims she is dickmitized. Of course, as her mother, I didn’t need to know any of that at any point in her or my natural life. There was a time when I wouldn’t believe anyone would or could tame my daughter. But one look, a touch from him, puts her into a trance, and he can get her to see reason when no one else can. I shudder because I don”t know when my daughter decided we were close enough to have those conversations. It’s weird, and I don’t like it one bit, and she damn well knows it. She thinks it’s cute and funny–I do not.
Having him and their children, Aila and Xavier Jr., has made her softer. That thought has my hands pausing from rolling another shirt as I chuckle at my Bell”s new reality. Of course, I wouldn’t say it out loud. I notice her softness. She’d probably do some wild shit to prove me wrong. That girl is a damn menace.
Fortunately for all of us, the man she loves would go to hell and back for her. She’ll never be left wondering why she wasn’t good enough to fight for. She’ll never have to fear for her children”s lives because of their father”s choices. She’ll never have the ache or feel inadequate or unworthy. And she will never know what feeling all that will cause. I do, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
With her having Taz at her side, I have nothing to worry about because he worships the ground Bell walks on and treats her like the MC Princess that she is. What I went through was hard and is the reason my son Blaze and I threatened Taz’s life. If he hurts her, we’ll end him. It may not have been how normal families act, but we aren’t normal. Blaze and I feel better knowing that Taz understood the past would not be repeating itself, especially knowing my daughter has her own Berlusconi vying for her man”s attention. No way is that going to be ignored. Unlike when Gunner turned on me, Blaze and I made it clear that Bell wasn’t alone. And as much as Taz says it’s a nonissue, I know better. Gunner”s daughter or not, I can see the vindictive spirit in Paisley”s eyes every time I catch her watching Bellamy and Taz. She isn’t done fucking with them.
Thinking of my daughter and her situation has my mind going to my past. The fear of going through it again is not something I will take a chance at. Gunner doesn’t know who I am, who I truly am. Yes, I am the Widow Maker. Which is a moniker I fucking hate. But it is who I’ve become. Being the world”s foremost and feared assassin is a part of my story. The rest started the day I was born. And that is the part I’m unsure anyone is ready to take on. Gunner may have broken my heart, but the world I’m from wants to break my spirit, and I can’t allow that to happen, which is another reason I need to be as far away from my family as I can.
I sigh, relaxing my tense shoulders. That is a problem for another day.
Staring at my bags, wondering where to go from here. My mind wonders what it would be like never to see him or experience what it is to have him the way I have for the last few months. Gunner is one hell of a lover. That man makes my body feel things it hasn’t in a long time. I won’t deny that. But I don’t have it in me to let him in, not entirely. There is so much he doesn’t know. Sharing my body is one thing. Sharing everything else is another.
When I met Gunner all those years ago, I believed what I felt for him was a fluke. Didn’t fully understand why I needed to be near him. He heard stories but didn’t fully understand the gravity of the bond he and I shared. Bonds for my people are scarce. They are all-consuming; they can destroy you if they are not nourished. And Gunner Church was damn near able to do it. Releasing a shaky breath, I feel my body”s reaction to what needs to be done, what I should have done a long time ago. I have to go there and cleanse my soul, remove who I was, and embrace who I am if I want to survive what comes next.
I continue to pack my things, pushing down all the thoughts of what could have been and trying to stay detached from the yearning that tries to consume me. I know what I have to do. A flutter in my chest has me stopping. My hand goes to my heart, which is pounding under my palm. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath. My vision blurs, my skin begins to cool, and the hairs on my body stand on end. Standing stock, concentrating on what’s happening, and doing my damndest to prevent it. He will not do this to me, not now.
“You know it has to be done,” a voice says in my mind, and I shake it away.
I do not answer, a sharp pain in my head, with my hand shooting out to catch myself as I squeeze my eyes closed. The anger that is not mine is all I can feel besides the pain. Sweat beads all over my body, and I shake.
“NO!”
I claw at my toiletry bag next to my duffle, trying to find the one thing to stop this. My hand searches blindly for the bottle. The attempt they are making to find me, if not stopped, will put everyone and everything I love in danger. I can’t let that happen. I won’t. I have spent decades moving through the underworld searching for ways to prevent this, but enough is enough. It”s time I face him head-on.
Before this can go any further, the orange plastic bottle is in my hand, and I squeeze one of the white pills it holds into my hand. Without thinking or making a move to get water, I swallow the pill.