Chapter 22 #3
We step into the kitchen and I swear, for a split second, I hear angels singing.
Ria’s here, munching on toast like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.
She doesn’t see me right away. I’m still behind Ghost, blocked by his walking wall of muscle.
She’s busy staring at one slice of toast in absolute awe while nibbling on another like a squirrel in a trance.
“Dominic, I set up another appointment for you. I sent you a message with the details,” a voice says to our right.
“I’m done with that, Mama,” Ghost answers, clipped. “They were all a bust. I’ve got business to handle anyway.”
There’s a huff. Disapproval in one breath.
That’s when Ria finally looks up, eyes going wide. I step out from behind Ghost and head straight for her.
“Adora,” she gasps, then she launches at me. Her arms clamp around me like a fucking vice. All the air gets knocked clean out of my lungs.
“I just got here. I thought you were still sleeping. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this happened. I didn’t think they’d really come after you. I never thought—” The apology pours out of her in one breathless rush, her voice tight with guilt.
“Ria,” I cut in, pressing my cheek to the top of her head. “Fending off a few lunatics is a small price to pay for your friendship.” I pull back, and give her a soft smile.
She scans my face, eyes full of worry. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “You won’t believe it, but a biker saved my life.”
Her gaze swings to Ghost and narrows.
“Not that one,” I chuckle.
“Of course not,” she mutters, unimpressed. “His specialty is ending lives, not saving them.”
Ghost goes rigid at the dig, but doesn’t respond. The tension thickens like smoke. I feel the need to wave my arms and dispel it.
A throat clears awkwardly.
“Mama, do you have any breakfast left? Adora’s hungry,” Ghost says, voice flat.
I turn toward her with a sheepish smile. She meets my gaze, spatula in hand, eyes warm.
“Hello,” I offer quietly with a small wave.
Damn, this is uncomfortable. I met her a few times, years ago. She was a delight. I loved her. But now… I don’t know where I stand with her. I don’t know what she knows. What she thinks about everything.
“Hello,” she chirps, and steps toward me. “Can I hug you too?” she asks softly, eyes bright.
I nod once.
She doesn’t hesitate. Her arms come around me and just like that, it feels like I’m wrapped in comfort and sunshine. A sniffle almost escapes me. Mama… I used to fantasize about what it would be like if I had a mother like her.
“It’s going to be alright,” she whispers.
For a second, I almost believe her.
She pulls back and smiles. “Sit.” She points at a chair with her spatula like it’s an order. “I’m making pancakes.” Her smile stretches further, eyes lighting up. “It’s so nice to see you again, Adora.”
“You too,” I whisper and sit down.
“I’ll be back later,” Ghost announces and leaves, not waiting for a response. Mama watches him go, worry lining her brow. I bite my tongue, stifling my curiosity. It’s not my place to ask anything.
A piece of toast gets shoved in my face.
“You have to try this,” Ria says around a mouthful. “It’s the perfect fucking toast. I don’t know what kind of witchcraft Mama uses, but this toast? Life-changing. Crispy, but not too crispy. Soft, but not soggy. It’s toast perfection. Mama refuses to tell me her secret,” she pouts.
I take it from her, raising a brow at Mama. She points at the toaster with a cheeky smile and shrugs. I nearly snort.
A few minutes later, I’m deep in a mountain of pancakes drenched in syrup, halfway to food nirvana, when Temperance strolls in. Hair a mess, movements lazy, eyes half-lidded.
“Morning,” she yawns.
Before anyone can say anything, Ria pipes up with zero shame.
“You look thoroughly fucked, Tempe,” she declares loudly, chewing on a strawberry.
“Oh, God,” Mama groans, pointing her spatula at Ria. “You, young lady, are nothing but trouble.”
Temperance just laughs, pouring herself a lake of coffee. “That she is.”
She takes a seat at the table, watching me carefully. “I heard what happened. You alright?”
I nod slowly, and take a peek at Mama. She’s distracted, rifling through a cabinet.
I lean in, my voice dropping. “I need help. Ghost said he’ll be my bodyguard against the snake people.
Him. Personally. Not another biker. Him.
Following me around all day, like there’s not a whole club full of bikers who could do the job just fine.
” I grit my teeth, a shiver going down my spine. “It’s fucked up.”
They both freeze.
“How close to death do you want to bring him?” Temperance asks, voice deadly calm.
“I still have poisoned darts left over,” Ria adds sweetly at the same time.
“What? No!” I whisper-screech. “No stabbing or shooting,” I nod at Temperance, then point at Ria. “And no poisoning. Not anymore.”
“But,” I flash a wicked grin, “I do want to make him regret ever coming up with the idea.” I glare “And then leave me the fuck alone.”
Ghost
The second I step out of the kitchen, I make a beeline for the gym.
“Ghost,” I hear Bones calling after me, but I don’t stop.
“Half an hour,” I bite out.
“You’ve got an hour. Then Church,” he shoots back.
I don’t even close the door of the gym behind me. Don’t glance at the gloves. Or the wraps. I rip my shirt off in one motion and march straight to the bag.
I start swinging.
No warm-up. No rhythm. Just my fists, over and over. Hard. Brutal. Stupid. Until sweat drips into my eyes. Until my knuckles split open and leave blood smears behind. I don’t feel it. Not the sting. Not the burn. Not the slick, red mess sliding down my fingers.
Pain can’t touch me right now. I’m already burning from the inside out.
Divorce.
I hadn’t thought about it once. Not in all these months. I was too wrapped up in so much self pity that the thought didn’t even cross my mind. The last thread connecting us.
And I can’t even say no. Not a chance in hell. I can delay the outcome for as long as possible. Stall. Pretend like I have a say. But the end? It's already written.
And fuck, she deserves it. To be completely free of me. I don’t even have the right to be angry about it. I can only accept it. I can only beg for a small reprieve. Just to get used to the idea, before the guillotine drops.
“Fuck,” I growl, landing three more punches in rapid fire. Like I’m trying to outrun the dread raking at my ribs.
“You’re bleeding all over that thing,” Pops mutters, stepping in and steadying the bag with both hands.
“Don’t care,” I grunt, not slowing down.
He doesn’t push or say anything else. Just holds the bag while I keep going. Until my lungs start seizing. Until every muscle in my body screams. Until my vision tunnels. Until I drop to my knees, soaked in sweat, barely breathing.
“You done?”
“Yeah,” I rasp, staring at the blood-stained floor. “I’m done.”
“What happened?” Pops asks, stepping closer. “Besides the snake story. Heard about that. Clearly there’s more,” he drawls.
“I’m getting divorced, Pops,” I whisper.
He lets out a low whistle, and drops his ass next to mine.
I glance at him, face twisted. “What? No words of wisdom?”
He gives me a look of warning, not impressed with my snark.
“Already gave ‘em. To you. To Bones. To every dumbass in this club.” He pats my shoulder, firm. “Rule number one: don’t piss off a good woman. There are consequences. Always.” A pause. “You’re suffering the consequences now.””
“Thanks,” I mutter, voice thick with sarcasm. “That really makes me feel better.”
“You’re not supposed to feel better, boy,” he snaps. “You fucked up.”
He pushes off the floor like it’s nothing, standing faster than a man his age should.
“Now you’ve got a choice. Fight for the woman. Or let her go.”
I stare at the floor again. My voice cracks. “I can’t fight for her, Pops. She hates me. With good reason.”
He exhales. Loud. Annoyed.
“First of all, boy. Did I raise a fucking quitter?”
I open my mouth. He shuts it with a glare.
“No. No, I didn’t.” He points a finger at me.
“Second of all, get it through your thick skull. Women are different from us. We’re single minded.
We only see one way. Where we’d never see a path to forgiveness because we can only look ahead –not even left and right — women look all around them.
They see everything. Every possibility. Exits and backroads and maybe-ifs. They just need a reason to take one.”
He leans down, his eyebrows rising. “Sometimes they need proof. That it’s not just another dead end. But don’t you ever think they don’t see it. Because they always do.”
I blink. “That is a giant pile of poetic bullshit.”
He grins. “Kids these days. You’re all stupid.”
Then he checks his watch and narrows his eyes. “You got less than fifteen to wrap your hands and shower before Church. Or you’ll stink up the whole place.”
I don’t say anything else. But his words keep ringing in my ears, digging inside my brain.