Chapter Thirty-Three
Bane
Pain had become my companion.
The constant ache was now my friend, and the only thing that let me know I was still alive.
I blinked, the weight behind my eyelids heavier than the ache in my bones.
The world blurred as shadows shifted across the cracked concrete and rusted chains.
My only constant was the raw throb in my guts and the iron taste of blood in my mouth.
Each breath burned, a reminder that survival was never guaranteed—just a gamble paid in flesh.
A guttural groan escaped my lips, a pathetic rasp against the deafening silence.
My fingers, stiff and caked with dried blood, scrabbled at the rough surface beneath me, seeking purchase, any anchor in the disorienting haze.
The sharp tang of my own blood lingered on my tongue, a harsh melody resonating in the shadows.
I tried to push myself up, a futile attempt that sent jolts of fire through my already protesting frame.
Each movement was a negotiation with agony, a price extracted for the illusion of control.
The chains, cold and unforgiving, bit deeper into my wrists with every twitch.
They were a second skin now, a constant, heavy reminder of my captivity.
Were they real, these chains, or just figments of a mind so desperate to define the boundaries of my torment?
I couldn’t be sure.
Then, a flicker. Not a physical light, but a spark within the suffocating blackness.
A memory, sharp and clear, of sunlight on my face, of laughter echoing in open air.
It was a cruel tease, a phantom limb of joy reaching out from a life that felt impossibly distant, a life I was beginning to forget.
She was pure joy. The happiest part of life, and she was all mine. Just standing there, I watched as she stood before the mirror rubbing her growing stomach. The awe of anticipation evident on her face. Her smile of contentment and pure love exuded from every pore.
She was stunning, and I would never tire of looking at her.
“August, look.” She smiled heavenly as she turned, holding her tiny little stomach. “I’m showing.”
Grinning, I walked over to her and placed my hand over hers, kissing the side of her head. “I can see that.”
Smiling up at me, she beamed. “I love you.”
The memory shimmered, fragile and golden, until reality dragged me back into the gray suffocation of my cell.
Her laughter lingered in the air, mingling with the foul scent that clung to me.
My echo of happiness drowned in the relentless tide of pain.
I could almost feel her fingertips tracing gentle circles over my hand, the warmth of her body pressed close, the rise and fall of her breath a promise that life could be beautiful.
But beauty felt like blasphemy in this place.
The walls pressed in, and time lost all meaning, as the hours bled together into a tapestry of suffering.
Yet I clung to her image like a talisman, letting it flicker in the darkness, illuminating the emptiness with hope so faint it barely registered, a desperate, defiant ember against the endless night.
In the silence, her voice was my balm. I mouthed the words she had once spoken, I love you , and found a strange comfort in the shape of them, a reminder that there was something left inside me worth salvaging.
Maybe survival was more than just a gamble; maybe it was a promise made in the quiet moments, the kind held sacred, even here among the shadows.
The door creaked above, and I closed my eyes.
It was that time again.
More pain.
Footsteps stomped down the stairs as I lay there waiting for the next round of torture, and I immediately told myself to brace.
That I could withstand whatever they did to me.
The truth was, I was barely hanging on. I didn’t know how much more I could take, and when the cell door opened and I was hauled to my feet, I knew right then and there that I was done.
“No more,” I groaned as rough hands gripped me tightly, dragging me from the cell and up the stairs. I didn’t know what the hell was going on. Was this some new psychological test to get me to talk? Present me with the illusion of freedom only to yank it away at the last minute?
“You have a visitor.”
Barely able to walk, they dragged me through the clubhouse as if I weighed nothing, while brothers stared resolute but remained silent as I passed. Entering another room, I heard someone curse as they shoved me into a chair forcefully, before I slumped over, unable to hold my own head up.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” a firm, familiar angry voice seethed. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
“My brothers were bored,” Morpheus said easily, as if nothing were wrong. “My club. My rules.”
“He’s no good to me if he can’t walk.”
Morpheus chuckled. “Not my problem.”
“This isn’t funny, Morpheus.”
From the small slits in my eyes, I watched as Morpheus leaned back in his chair and stared at the man I hadn’t seen in over a year. “Oh, I think it’s fucking hilarious, asshole. Your president did this. Not me. I’m only playing by the rules he enacted all those fucking years ago.”
Rubbing the back of his neck, the man looked at me and then sighed. “Alright, Morpheus. What’s it gonna take for me to leave with him?”
“You already know.”
Groaning, he pulled out a chair and sat, shaking his head. “I can’t give you what I don’t know.”
“Well, someone knows.”
“You’re right about that.” The man smirked as Morpheus stiffened. “And you let her go.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that bitch you had in your grasp and let slip through your fingers. You want to know the truth, then you find her. Bane had nothing to do with that shit, and you fucking know it.”
“His father owes me a debt.”
“No, a dead man owes you a debt,” the man countered, leaning back in his chair, glaring sternly at the man before him.
Morpheus’s jaw ticked, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the arm of his chair. “His father’s debt is old blood. You know what that means here.”
The man’s lips curled into a tired, bitter smile. “Yeah, I do. But maybe it’s time you started collecting from the right ghosts, Morpheus.”
The air in the room grew dense, thick with old grievances and secrets none of them were willing to voice just yet, and I shifted in my seat.
The silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the club brothers beyond the door, a reminder that the world kept spinning even as they clung to grudges best left buried.
Finally, Morpheus broke the silence, voice cold as steel. “Find her. Bring her to me. Maybe then we can talk about forgiving debts.”
The man didn’t move. His eyes never left Morpheus as he revealed. “I don’t have to look for her. She’s in the mailroom at the Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse.”
Morpheus’s gaze flicked toward me, unreadable. “Fuck!”
The man nodded once before glancing at me with something like regret etched across his features. “And the man you’ve beaten the hell out of is the only man who can get her to talk.”
“August?” I vaguely heard his voice as I slowly gained consciousness. The second Morpheus learned I was the key to getting the information he needed, he reluctantly let me go, much to the annoyance of Zephyr, who was eager for another round of torture.
Sadistic bastard.
“August, I need you to wake up.”
Groaning, I could barely move as I slowly woke to find myself in a hospital room. The machine’s annoying beeps let me know I was still alive, even if every bone in my body wished otherwise.
“The doctors said you will survive, but it’s going to take time. That motherfucker did a number on you.”
“Where am I?”
“Brian Medical Center in Lincoln, Nebraska.”
“Amber?”
“She’s safe, brother. Reaper has her and Massacre locked down in Purgatory. Dante is with Sypher here in Lincoln. They are at the Lincoln clubhouse getting everything up and running again.”
Slowly shaking my head, I grunted, “Not safe.”
“Don’t worry about them. Ghost is with them, and my brother is keeping a close eye on them. Trust me. They are safe.”
Opening my eyes, I looked at the club brother I declared dead last year and asked, “Tell me you found her, Shame?”
His smile told me everything I needed to know.
He found her.
Gripping his hand tightly, I demanded, “Tell me.”
“She’s alive, brother,” Shame admitted, pulling up a chair.
“She’s being held at the Lyssa Asylum for the Criminally Insane in upstate New York.
She’s been close to us all this time, brother.
Right under our noses. That fucking bitch had Diana declared mentally insane and dumped in our own backyard. ”
Trying to sit up, I growled, “Get her the fuck out of there.”
Pushing me back down on the bed, Shame nodded. “We will, brother, as soon as you can walk out of here. Right now, you are of no use to her. She’s going to need your strength, August.”
Gripping his hand tighter, I slowly shook my head. “No, Shame. You need to get her out now. Morpheus has a traitor in his club.”
“He knows.” Shame grinned. “It was what got you out of there. Gotta say, brother, I don’t envy Zephyr right now. With the way Morpheus was looking at him, my bet is Zephyr has a lot of pain in his future.”
“Good.” I smirked and then winced, knowing that paybacks were a fucking bitch best served one painful dish at a time. I hoped Morpheus took his fucking time with the son of a bitch. I watched Shame’s face, the hope warring with the agony inside me.
Lyssa Asylum.
The name itself was a cage, a place designed to break minds and shatter spirits.
Diana. My Diana; declared insane and hidden away.
The injustice of it, the sheer venom in that act, sent a fresh wave of fury through my broken body.
I imagined her there, trapped, just as I had been, and the need to reach her, to shatter those walls as they had shattered me, was a physical ache beyond the pain.
“Diana’s my priority, Shame,” I rasped, my words rough and uneven. “Whatever it takes. I have to get to her. War is coming. We can’t stop it. I need to get her to safety before someone else uses her as a pawn.”
The thought of my Diana in this sick, twisted game, the years of lies and betrayals that had led to this, was a bitter pill to swallow. But Diana was the real prize, the reason for all my suffering, and I would not rest until she was free.
Shame squeezed my hand again, his eyes holding mine with an unspoken understanding.
“We’ll get her, August. Just hold on. Get strong enough to walk, to ride, to fight.
She needs you. We are all going to need you.
” The promise hung in the air, a fragile thread of hope in the darkness.
I clung to it, letting it fuel the burning desire to heal, to reclaim my life, and most importantly, to reclaim Diana from the darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.
“My son? Our son?” I asked hopefully and watched Shame’s smile falter.
“I don’t know, August.”
“I saw a picture of him,” I admitted. “It was in the ghost file George compiled. He survived. He’s out there somewhere, and I need to find him.”
“He’s got to be what, twenty-one by now. He’s an adult, August. He could be anywhere, going by any name.”
“There has to be some way to find him. He’s my son.”
Taking a deep breath, Shame nodded. “There is someone, but you are not going to like who it is.”
“I don’t fucking care if I have to make a deal with the Devil himself.”
Shame smirked. “Remember you said that.”