Chapter 8 - Holly
I can't stop staring at my right hand as I gather my meager belongings in the small guest room. The sting has long faded, but I swear I can still feel the impact of my palm against James's cheek.
In all our years together, through his gambling, his obsessive behavior with women, his drinking, his endless broken promises, I've never once raised a hand to him. I've yelled, I've cried, I've begged, but I've never struck him.
Until today.
The look of shock in his eyes replays in my mind.
Not anger, not hatred, just pure, undiluted surprise that his doormat of a sister finally pushed back.
And what triggered it? Not the gambling that's destroyed our finances.
Not the restraining orders from women he's stalked.
Not even his attempt to leave the clubhouse and potentially get us both killed.
No, it was him calling me a whore.
The old Holly, the one who existed before bullets tore through our apartment, before Jacob's hands and mouth taught me what my body was capable of feeling, would have swallowed the insult, made excuses for James, shouldered the blame as she always did.
But I'm not that Holly anymore.
I fold the clean shirt Luna provided, placing it in my backpack alongside the photo of our parents I managed to grab during our escape. So little to show for twenty-one years of life. Everything I own could fit in a child's school bag, and yet I feel strangely unburdened by the realization.
A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.
"Come in," I call, expecting Jacob or maybe Luna.
Instead, James stands in the doorway, his posture uncharacteristically hesitant. The bruise on his cheek from Beast's fist has darkened to a mottled purple, now complemented by the reddening mark my own hand left. He looks terrible: disheveled, hungover, diminished somehow.
"Can we talk?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
I straighten, crossing my arms over my chest. "Are you sober enough for a conversation?"
He winces at my directness. "Yeah. I am."
I gesture to the bed, and he sits on the edge while I remain standing. James stares at his hands for a long moment before finally looking up.
"I'm sorry, Holly. For what I said. For... everything."
"You've been sorry before," I reply, not unkindly but not offering easy forgiveness either. "What makes this time different?"
He rubs his face, wincing when his fingers brush the bruises. "King just showed me something. Security footage from the night of the clubhouse attack."
"What kind of footage?"
"The Iron Eagles hit this place a week ago," James explains. "Full assault, automatic weapons, explosives, the works. They were trying to kill everyone inside."
"And?" I prompt, still not seeing the connection.
"King's woman was here. Luna. And other women. Children. A little girl named Anna. A boy, Eli." His voice catches. "The Eagles didn't care. They came to slaughter everyone, innocent or not."
I feel a chill run down my spine, imagining gunfire tearing through the clubhouse where we now stand. Imagining Luna, the kind-faced woman who brought me clothes and coffee, caught in the crossfire.
"Why did King show you this?" I ask.
"To make me understand what we're up against," James says, meeting my eyes directly. "To show me what Vulture is willing to do to anyone associated with the Savage Riders. Including us."
The gravity of our situation settles over me anew. This isn't just about James's debt or my night with Jacob. We're caught in a war that's been raging for years, between men who kill without hesitation.
"After watching that footage," James continues, "I realized I've been focusing on all the wrong things.
Blaming the Riders for our situation when the real threat is the Eagles.
And..." He pauses, swallowing hard. "And I've been blaming you for taking care of me all these years instead of being grateful. "
I blink, stunned by this admission. In all our years together, James has never acknowledged the sacrifices I've made to keep us afloat.
"What happened to you?" I ask, only half joking. "Did King brainwash you or something?"
James gives a bitter laugh. "No. He just showed me reality. And then he said something I can't stop thinking about." He hesitates. "He said I was worse than their enemies because at least their enemies fight their own battles. I let my little sister fight mine."
It's exactly what I've felt for years but never articulated, even to myself.
"James—"
"No, let me finish," he interrupts, standing now, agitation evident in his movements.
"You've been cleaning up my messes since Mom and Dad died.
You gave up nursing school to work double shifts at that diner.
You've paid off my debts, made excuses for me, protected me from consequences I deserved.
And how have I repaid you? By gambling away every cent we had.
By embarrassing you in front of these people.
By calling you..." He can't even repeat the word.
"A whore," I finish for him, refusing to flinch from it.
He nods miserably. "I didn't mean it. I was angry and hungover and jealous."
"Jealous?" I repeat, confused.
"Of Steel. Of how he looks at you. Of how you've found something good in this nightmare while I just keep making things worse.
" He runs a hand through his hair. "I saw you together in the kitchen, and you looked.
.. happy. Despite everything. And I hated that it wasn't because of me.
That I've never made you happy like that. "
This is a side of James I haven't seen in years. The self-aware, emotionally intelligent brother who existed before our parents' death sent him spiraling.
"I don't know what to say," I admit.
"You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. Really sorry, not just saying it to smooth things over." He takes a deep breath. "And I want to do better. I'm going to do better."
I've heard these promises before, but something feels different this time. There's a steadiness in his gaze, a determination that's been absent for too long.
"What does 'better' look like, exactly?" I ask cautiously.
"First, I'm going to pay back what I owe the Savage Riders.
King said I can work it off by helping at their garage and doing runs.
Real work, not just busy tasks." He straightens slightly.
"And I'm going to stop gambling. Period.
King promised to connect me with someone, a therapist who works with addiction.
I talked to him on the phone while you were with Steel. "
I'm stunned by this development. James has always refused therapy, claiming he could stop gambling anytime he wanted, that he didn't have a "real" problem.
"That's... that's great, James. Really."
"There's more," he continues. "Once this situation with the Eagles is resolved, I want you to go back to nursing school. I'll support you this time, not the other way around. I'll get a second job if I need to."
Tears spring to my eyes unexpectedly. The dream of finishing my nursing degree—a dream I buried years ago beneath the weight of responsibility—suddenly feels possible again.
"You don't have to decide anything now," James says quickly, misinterpreting my tears. "I know I've broken too many promises for you to trust me right away. I'll prove it with actions, not just words."
I cross the small room and do something I haven't done in a very long time. I hug my brother. He stiffens in surprise, then wraps his arms around me, holding on tightly as if afraid I might disappear.
"I'm proud of you," I whisper, meaning it. "For wanting to change. For admitting you need help."
"I should have done it years ago," he says, his voice trembling. "Before I dragged you into this mess."
We stay like that for a long moment, the embrace healing something broken between us. When we finally separate, both wiping away tears, I feel lighter somehow. Not naive enough to believe everything is fixed, but hopeful in a way I haven't been in years.
"We should finish packing," I say, gesturing to his empty hands. "Jacob will be waiting for us."
James nods. "About Steel... Jacob... whatever his name is. Are you sure about him? About this thing between you?"
It's a fair question, one I've been asking myself all day. Am I sure about a man I've known for less than twenty-four hours? A man who belongs to a motorcycle club? A man whose gentle hands with me have undoubtedly done violence to others?
"I'm not sure about anything right now," I answer honestly. "Except that when I'm with him, I feel... seen. Not just as your sister or the reliable waitress or the girl who gave up everything for her family. Just as me."
James considers this, then nods slowly. "For what it's worth, I think he really cares about you. The way he stepped between us in the kitchen, ready to protect you from me... I've never seen anyone look at you that way before. Like you're precious."
"I care about him too. I don't know where it's going, but I want to find out."
"Then I won't stand in your way," James promises. "You've sacrificed enough for me. It's time you got to live your own life."
The simple acknowledgment of my sacrifices, coming from the person I've given everything for, feels like a weight lifting from my shoulders, a weight I've carried for so long I'd forgotten it was there.
"Thank you," I say simply.
James gives me a small smile. "I'll go pack my stuff. Meet you in the main room?"
I nod, and he turns to leave, pausing at the door. "Oh, and Holly? I'm glad you slapped me. I had it coming."
After he's gone, I finish gathering my few belongings, my mind swirling with the events of the past twenty-four hours.
My life has been completely upended. Apartment destroyed, safety compromised, virginity gone, brother finally facing his demons, and yet, strangely, I feel more centered than I have in years.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts again.