Chapter 8
EIGHT
NIGHTMARE
I shoot up in bed, breath ragged, shirt soaked through. My heart’s pounding, and for a second I’m not sure where I am. Then I see the ceiling fan, the framed photos on the wall, the hard wood floors. I’m home.
Well… what used to be home. Now I just come here to get away from the club. Sometimes the noise is too much after a rough night with the nightmares. Most of the brothers have a place to disappear if they need to, Mav included.
My parents left me this house and a solid inheritance. I won’t need anything for the rest of my life. But I’d trade it all to have them back. I was still trying to get my head straight after the Army, and then they were gone. No warning. No goodbye.
The Royal Bastards gave me a sense of purpose when I was lost. We may be “criminals” like Lolo said, but we do a lot of good in the local community. More than people know.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I try to shake off the dream. It’s always the same. The kid. The mission. The shot I should’ve waited to take. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been, it still hits like it just happened.
Checking the time, it’s just after six and there’s no point trying to sleep again. Pulling on some sweats, I head out for a run. The late fall air hits hard and I set a fast pace, pushing my legs to outrun the thoughts chasing me.
But they catch up anyway.
Londyn.
Being close to her last night messed with my head. Her voice still rings in my ears. And her mouth… fuck. Watching her talk, watching her drink, watching her breathe. My jeans fit tighter than I’d like to admit, and it wasn’t just the bourbon.
I wanted to kiss her and taste the whiskey on her tongue. Hell, I wanted to do a lot more than that.
It wasn’t just lust. It was memory. History. I knew about the crush she had when we were kids. I ignored it. She was my best friend’s little sister, and way too young.
But last night? That heat between us was real. And I felt it in every part of me.
Still, it can’t happen. Not now. Not with Ty in the crosshairs and Jameson breathing down my neck. She’s trying to save her brother. I’m trying to keep mine from pulling the trigger.
Rounding the last corner, I slow my pace to ease the burn in my lungs. With a busy day ahead, I get back to the house, shower quick, throw together some breakfast, and pour a cup of coffee.
Reaching for my keys, I spot the slip of paper with Striker’s number on it. Mav said he’s been where I am, and I should give him a call.
I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see if he can help me deal with my past. My head needs to be clear if I’m going to handle what’s coming with Ty. Grabbing my phone, I dial the number. It rings twice before a gravelly voice picks up.
“Striker? This is Nightmare. Got a minute?
“Nightmare, huh? I’ve heard good things about you from Mav. He said you might be calling. What can I help you with?”
I pause, not sure where to start. Opening up’s never been my thing, and asking for help sure as hell isn’t. But this mess has my head twisted, and talking to a shrink ain’t happening.
Last thing I need is some therapist telling me I’m fine when I know I’m not. Feels like all they do is load you up with meds until you’re just numb enough to pretend you’re okay.
“Mav said you might… you know, get where I’m coming from.”
“I’ve been around long enough to know some shit. What’s eating at you?”
Taking a deep breath, I sigh heavily. It doesn’t feel good to dump on a guy I’ve never met, but who else would understand better than a fellow Royal Bastard and ex-Military man?
“Back when I was with the Rangers… there was a mission. Intel was wrong, and I ended up
taking out a civilian. A kid. Wrong place, wrong time type of deal. It’s been years, but that shit still gets me, man. Some days, I can’t even look in the fucking mirror.”
“I hear you, brother. I’ve got my share of ghosts too. Different details, same guilt. You feel like it stains everything you do after, don’t you?”
“Exactly. Even now, being in the Bastards, it feels like I’m just pretending to be something better. Like I’ll never make up for what I’ve done.”
“Listen. You can’t undo it. That’s the hard fucking truth. But you’re not pretending. You’re carrying that weight and still trying to do some good. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah, I get that, but some days it feels like I’m handling things. Other days, it feels like I’m dragging a ball and chain.”
“That’s to be expected. Bad days don’t last forever. On those days, lean on your brothers. You’re not alone in this, and you can’t live like you are.”
“That shit’s not simple. Can’t have them thinking I’m not solid.”
Striker lets out a dry laugh. “You think showing vulnerability makes you less solid? No way, Nightmare. It makes you real. The men respect that more than any front you try to put up.”
“I guess so.” I rub the back of my neck. This feels like a cycle I’ll keep reliving. Striker’s giving me solid advice, but it doesn’t make it easier.
“Look, what you’re dealing with is part of the package. When it hits, remind yourself why you’re still here. Why you fight. For me, it’s the brothers I’ve got now. The people I can still protect. If you look around, you’ll see you got that too.”
“The thing is, it’s hard to focus when the past keeps dragging me down,” I say, feeling the weight settle deeper. “It never lets go and I’m constantly haunted by the images from that day.”
“You’ll never change the past. But you can honor it by how you live now. You’re already doing that every time you show up for your chapter.”
“I try, but some nights... it just feels like it’s not enough.”
“On those nights, don’t try to carry it all. Write it down. Punch a bag. Hell, scream into the wind if you have to. But don’t bury it. That’ll only eat you alive.”
“Writing, huh? You do that?”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s letters to the people I’ve lost. Sometimes to myself. Sometimes I burn them, sometimes I keep them. It’s not about fixing it. It’s about making peace with it.”
“Not really good at putting my thoughts down on paper but I’ll think about it.”
“Good. And remember this, it’s not about the mistakes you make, Nightmare. It’s what you choose to do after them.”
“Thanks, man. That actually helps.”
“Anytime, brother. Call me whenever you need to, and when the bad days come, lean into the Bastards. They’re your family now. They’ve got your back.”
“Guess I need to take my own advice, huh? I’m always telling myself the same thing.”
“Exactly. Now go take care of yourself. You’ve got a lot of road ahead, and you’re not walking it alone.”
“Thanks, man. I owe you.”
“No debts here, brother. Just Royal Bastards watching out for each other. Stay safe out there.”
“You too,” I say, ending the call.
Striker gave me more than I expected. He’s right. I need to lean on the guys a little more because that’s what we do when one of us is down. This guilt’s mine to carry, but I don’t have to do it alone.
I pull into the compound just after noon.
Gave myself a little time to get my head straight.
Killing the engine, I grab my keys, and head inside.
My head’s a war zone… loyalty on one side, friendship on the other.
Duty matters, but there’s a line. If it comes down to it, Londyn will become my worst enemy.
If I take out Ty, I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.
Walking into the bar area, Mav’s already there, with a tumbler of whiskey and a stack of paperwork. He looks up when I walk in.
“You look like shit,” he says. It’s not an insult, just facts.
“Didn’t sleep much,” I mutter, sliding onto the stool beside him.
“Nightmares?”
“Same one as always,” I nod.
He doesn’t press. Just gestures toward the coffee pot. I pour myself a cup, let the heat settle in my hands before I speak again.
“I called Striker,” I say after a sip.
Mav raises a brow. “Yeah?”
“Like you suggested. It helped. More than I expected.”
He leans back, arms crossed. “Told you. Guy’s been through hell and came out the other side. Doesn’t bullshit.”
“No. And he didn’t try to fix me. Just gave me something to hold onto.”
Mav nods. “Good. You need that. Especially today.”
“I’m ready,” I say, meeting his eyes.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Ty’s a threat to the club. He’s feeding the cops, and we both know what that means.”
Mav studies me for a long moment, then nods. “Alright. Lone Wolf tracked him to his sister’s place. Saw them outside last night after some cop dropped him off. We roll in a few hours.”
He pushes up from the counter, grabs his mug, and heads toward the back office. I stay, finish my coffee, waiting for the door to click.
Then I pull out my phone and shoot a quick text to Londyn.
Me: Make sure you and Ty are out of the house. Now.
I stare at the message for a second, then hit send.
They’re supposed to get Ty into rehab outside Atlanta. That’s the plan. That’s what needs to happen. But plans don’t mean shit if people don’t move.
I picture the house. Ty passed out, Londyn on the edge of a decision… and my chest tightens.
If they’re still there when we roll, there’s no room for mercy. Jameson said clean, and Mav expects it done.
And I gave my word.
I’m not ready to put a bullet through someone I used to call family, but if they’re still there, I won’t flinch. That’s the cost of loyalty in this life. You hesitate, you die. Or worse…you watch them die instead.”
It’ll be another nightmare… and this time, I won’t forgive myself.