Chapter 22 Carmen
CARMEN
The ride back to the clubhouse is somber. The sunrise is truly something, vibrant with pinks and oranges. And reds.
Red. The only color I’m able to see. The red is the same crimson color as the blood oozing from Conrad’s stomach.
I insert the knife into his stomach.
And I don’t realize the full extent of what I’ve done until he’s dead on the floor. Bleeding out.
The man who approached me in the grocery store parking lot a mere few weeks ago. Is dead. Because of me.
The king of the O’Neills.
The Venom Vultures clubhouse will be in deep shit as a result.
I clamber off the bike when we make it back with Otis still pressed into my chest. My knees buckle. If it wasn’t for Skipper rushing to catch me, I’d be ass over tit.
The guilt cuts through my chest like a…well. A knife to the chest.
The adrenaline was clouding my head. Carter was on the floor in a state I’d never seen him in before, sucking in what I thought was gonna be his last few breaths.
Otis was in Skipper’s arms, his innocent eyes peeled open as he watched everything unfold. Seeing gun violence on TV is enough to screw a toddler up real bad. But in real life? The damage could be irreversible.
Not to mention what happened after that…
I was teeming with anger. Felt it coursing through my veins like hot lava that had to come out. Conrad told my son who his father was, and I was meant to stand there and do nothing?
Anger drives you into insanity. I wasn’t Carmen in the warehouse. I was that crazy woman flapping on stage again, determined to do whatever it took to drag my son and myself out of hell.
And to my surprise, I won.
“Here. Let me take him.”
My first response is to tense up and turn the other way. Unless it’s Sadie I’m handing my son over to, I’m not interested.
But then I see Skipper’s steady arms and hand him over. He’s way more composed than I am about all of this.
“You need a minute alone,” he says.
He knows what I need more than I do.
“Um. S-sure.” I let go of my son. There’s no fight in me left.
For now.
I’m a killer. And if things had been different, I’d have killed more than one person last night.
Conrad is dead. But that doesn’t mean the O’Neill empire is. And just because Conrad’s dead, it doesn’t mean his words are in the grave with him.
He saw right through me. He cut me where it hurt.
He was manipulating me, but everything he said was true. I’m not a good mom. Good moms don’t tangle their children up with bad guys. They also don’t tend to murder other people when their kids are watching.
Otis was in my house, under my care.
And I left him unattended for a few hours.
I take a breath. The air is clean. An undeserving kind of clean.
I retch on it, thinking about Carter. Two bullet wounds in one leg? Are you kidding me?
I slip inside and find him laid over tables that have all been joined together. His breath is raspy. He coughs. Fails to get rid of the grime clogging up his throat.
The clubhouse has a registered doctor who is on his case. With help, they extract both bullets and pour something over the wounds that has Carter roaring with pain.
Guilt stabs me in the chest again.
Skipper catches my attention. He’s stepped aside and is focusing on rocking Otis to sleep.
Is that the best thing to do right now, when the nightmares will be waiting for him?
A two-year-old’s brain doesn’t function like an adult’s.
We need to act and find a way to wipe the last twenty-four hours from his mind.
Can the doctor remove memories the same way they remove bullets?
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” mutters the doctor to his helper. The two of them share a concerned glance and return their attention to Carter.
Guilt stings my chest. Again.
And again.
Until it hurts way too much for me to be in here.
I rush back out onto the veranda and stare at the sun. If if blinds me, I won’t ever have to look at the men’s broken faces again.
I won’t be able to see myself.
Men died today because of me. A new day is here, but their bodies are still rotting miles away from here in the warehouse, stuck in last night. Forever frozen in the past.
The bikers will never say it to my face because, despite all of this, they’re still fond of me. But they’re hurting. They lost men they couldn’t afford last night. Friendships have been broken up. Beloved bodies are wasting away as the sun rises without them.
I want to hide in the darkness and deal with the guilt until it eventually passes. But it will never pass. I deserve to be punished for bringing chaos into good mens’ lives.
The door flies open behind me, revealing Skipper.
“How is he?” I ask.
“He’ll live.”
“Live-with-one-leg live?”
Something ticks in Skipper’s jaw. “We don’t know yet.” He closes the gap between us and brings me into a hug. “Otis is asleep. I put him down to rest in the next room. Don’t worry. Everyone’s keeping a close eye on him.”
“He’s my son.” I push past Skipper in a feeble attempt to make it to the door. Of course, my strength is nothing compared to his. He pins me to the balcony and rests a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Let us take care of him. Do you trust us?”
“Yes,” I spit out. They saved mine and Otis’s life—I think I can trust them.
But it’s not their actions I’m worried about. It’s their kindness. I don’t deserve it. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Come inside. Let me make you some tea. You look dehydrated.”
“And Carter got shot. Twice.” I crawl out of his grasp. “I gotta get out of here.”
“You’re hurting.”
“You can’t keep protecting me. I won’t allow you to die for me.”
“You mean a great deal to me.”
The strikes of guilt are getting more painful.
Skipper has me caged against the balcony, but I manage to escape under his arm and make it back into the clubhouse.
“Carmen?!” he yells after me, through the crowds of men who are all gathered around Carter.
I swerve around one particular biker who is performing the sign of the cross, bringing his hands together in prayer. I hurry down the hall before I hear what he has to say.
Carter is more valued here than I thought.
I find Otis and swoop him up.
“Mommy,” mutters his tiny voice, eyes cracking open.
“It’s okay, buddy. Hold tight. We’ll be home soon.”
“Carmen?” Skipper cuts me off. The confusion on his face turns into pain as he looks down to see Otis swaddled in my arms. His thick, iron-gray brows turn in. He looks betrayed. “You’re going?”
“It’s best for all of us. Please, promise me you’ll forget about me?”
“I can’t make promises I can’t keep.”
I zip under his arm and make it to the door, where I catch a snippet of conversation.
“Let her go.” It sounds like Vex.
I don’t stick around long enough to hear the rest.