Chapter Forty-Two
Bane
“Bane, we have a problem,” Shame said, walking into my office at the clubhouse with Sypher and Dante hot on his heels. Looking up from my computer, I waited for him to lower the boom.
“Sinclair’s in a coma.”
“He’s in a medically induced coma. There’s a difference,” I explained.
Last night after everything settled, and I couriered Dante’s DNA to the lab, I called over to the hospital to check on Sinclair.
I spoke with his doctor, who informed me that because of his blood loss and the damage done to his body from the beating he survived, the doctor thought it best to put Sinclair in a medically induced coma, giving his body time to heal.
I agreed.
“So what’s the problem?”
Shame looked at Dante, who spoke up. “The problem is, Danny and I were over at Sinclair’s house this morning and found his personal drawer open. The files he kept in there are gone.”
“Still not seeing a problem here, Intern.”
Dante growled, “Not an intern, Dad .”
“What Dante is trying to say is that Sinclair had files on those he considered family. He guarded that information himself. He had files on Dante, Rowen, Silas, Malice...”
“And Diana,” Shame cautiously admitted.
“Diana isn’t family,” I said, trying to understand the urgency when Shame sighed.
“It’s my fault. That day at the hospital. The day of Amy’s accident. You told me to take Diana and hide her. Remember?”
I nodded.
“Well, I took her to Sinclair. I thought he might help. They met. She met Dante that day too.”
“She did?” Dante asked, frowning. “I don’t remember her.”
“You were six, almost seven, I think. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Sinclair knew Diana. Who she really is. Who her parents are.”
“How?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“I don’t know, but he fucking knew, and now Dakota and Meredith know.”
Just then, my computer pinged, alerting me to a new email. Glancing over at it, I sighed. “The DNA results are back.”
“Well, open it,” Dante demanded.
“I’m not sure I want to.”
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Sypher huffed, pushing me out of the way as he slid into my seat and started typing away on my computer.
“I’ve had enough of this DNA shit. I’m so fucking glad Reaper doesn’t mess around with this crap.
Can you imagine testing his family? That fucker probably has relatives in every fucking state in the union thanks to William and then.
..” The young tech guru’s voice trailed off as I watched him lean back in my chair.
Turning around with a big smile on his face, I didn’t need to see the results.
He was mine.
Dante was my son. Grabbing him, I pulled him into a big, bone-crushing hug and whispered, “You’re mine. I knew it.”
Shame congratulated me and Dante as Sypher turned back around, typing something else into my computer. Releasing Dante, I snapped, “Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Erasing my husband from your fucked-up database. Got love for all of you, but he’s mine, and I’m not sharing him with anyone else.”
“That’s club property,” I growled.
“Either I do it here, or I break in and do it later. The choice is yours.”
Dante chuckled. “He’s so possessive.”
“He’s a pain in the ass,” I huffed as Montana strode in.
“What the hell is going on in here?” Montana asked before his eyes landed on Sypher, sitting in front of my computer. Groaning, Montana rubbed his forehead and sneered. “Boy, if you are fucking with club shit, I will gut you and send you to Reaper in pieces.”
“Just fixing something.” Sypher said cryptically right before he hit enter, then pushed away from my desk. Getting to his feet, Sypher smiled and rubbed his hands together. “Now that that’s taken care of. What’s up?”
Montana narrowed his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling that you just did something really stupid?”
Sypher shrugged, clearly unbothered by Montana’s suspicion, and leaned back against my desk.
The tension in the room lingered, electric and sharp, everyone eyeing each other like the next move might set off fireworks.
Dante nudged me gently, a crooked grin on his lips, and I rolled my eyes, barely suppressing a smirk.
“Relax, Montana,” Sypher said with a wink. “If I wanted to bring this place down, I’d have started with the coffee machine.”
Montana shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel, but before he could retort, Malice walked in with an apple in his hand. “Sinclair is awake. He’s asking to see you and Diana.”
Confused, I asked, “Why?”
Malice shrugged as he walked away, saying nothing more.
“I still don’t like you,” Montana snapped, glaring at Sypher before he, too, walked away.
“I don’t understand why I have to be here?” Diana murmured a few days later, her voice a frayed whisper as she clung to my hand like a lifeline, while we navigated the heavy presence of my brothers in the cramped hallway.
When I’d gone upstairs to tell her that Sinclair was in the hospital, and requesting to see the both of us, a primal terror had seized her.
She’d flat-out refused to leave the bedroom, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and locked herself in.
It had taken Torment and me nearly an hour of relentless coaxing, of pleading with a desperation that scraped my throat raw, to finally pry her out.
For days, we’d circled her fear like wary predators, and I, the protector, had sworn to myself I wouldn’t force her, wouldn’t push her into anything that would shatter her further.
My loyalty to her, to the woman I’d promised to cherish, warred violently with the urgent need for answers, for some semblance of normalcy.
In the end, it was Largo, with her quiet, unnerving calm, who’d managed to coax her to agree to see Sinclair, offering herself as a shield, a silent promise of protection.
As it was, she still couldn’t be in the same room as Montana; her aversion was a visceral, almost physical thing that threatened to undo all the painstaking progress Torment was making with her.
Torment’s words, delivered with the weary gravity of someone who saw too much, echoed in my head: “ Right now, your wife’s mind is fragile, and you need to tread carefully where she’s concerned . ”
He didn’t need to say that, because I already knew.
The gnawing guilt was my constant companion, like a sharp shard of ice lodged in my gut. I’d wanted to protect her from everything, to build a fortress around her, but here I was, pushing her back into the very inferno she was desperately trying to escape.
Was my need for closure, for answers about Sinclair’s betrayal, worth pushing Diana to breaking point?
My morals screamed no, that her safety and well-being were paramount.
But the other part of me, the part that craved retribution, that yearned to understand the depth of the wound Sinclair had inflicted, whispered that I couldn’t afford to be lenient.
I’d failed her in so many ways already; the thought of failing to confront this, to stand by and let the truth remain buried, felt like a betrayal of the deepest kind.
Largo was going with her, a concession that felt like another failure on my part, another sign that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t be the sole anchor she needed.
I’d made a choice, a quiet, internal one, to prioritize the potential for understanding over her immediate comfort.
And as I watched her pale, trembling form disappear through the door with Largo by her side, I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was about to regret it.
“Diana. I’ve got your back. Don’t forget, I promised to get you out of here the second you’ve had enough.
Got Mercy waiting outside with the car running the second you say so.
” Largo winked, walking on the other side of her, their arms linked as if they were best friends.
Largo was a good woman, a loyal one, but her optimism, her easy confidence, grated on my nerves.
It was a luxury I couldn’t afford, a comfort I hadn’t felt in years.
Every word felt like a prod, a reminder of the promise I had made, a promise that felt increasingly fragile with each step closer to the opulent, gilded cage we were entering.
“I know,” she whispered, looking down at the white floor. The starkness of it mirrored the emptiness she felt, a void that even Largo’s cheerful presence couldn’t quite fill. “I’m being difficult.”
Stopping dead in my tracks, I grabbed her shoulders and spun her toward me.
“No,” I growled vehemently, the sound tearing from my throat with a raw desperation I tried to hide.
“You have every right to be difficult. If you want to throw a fucking fit, then do so. You want to scream, cry, hit something, someone? I volunteer Montana. He needs a good ass-kicking. The fact is, none of us will say a damn word, not even Montana. We all know you’ve suffered enough at the hands of this fucking club, and the Stone family, so whatever feels right to you, do it.
” But even as I spoke, a cold dread settled in my stomach.
Was this what I wanted for her? To descend into the same mire that had consumed so many others?
To let her pain fester into more pain? The club’s violence was a sickness, a contagion, and the thought of her succumbing to it, even in her righteous anger, felt like a betrayal of everything I was supposed to protect her from.
Diana smirked, reminding me of the woman I fell in love with long ago.
Her eyes, though shadowed, held a flicker of that fire.
“I’m not a child, August. I do know how to behave in public.
” But her words, meant to reassure, carried a subtle weight, a subtle challenge.
Did she not see the desperate hope in my offer, the wish for her to unleash the pent-up rage?
And her composure, while admirable, felt like another barrier, another lock on a door I yearned to blast open for her.
“Well.” I grinned, forcing a lightness I didn’t feel.
“Maybe you should. Maybe you should just say, fuck it and do and say whatever the hell you want. Who knows, it could be cathartic.” I hated that I was pushing her toward the edge, toward a precipice of uninhibited emotion that could easily swallow her whole.
I was supposed to be her anchor, not the one dangling the bait of reckless abandon.
“I agree.” Largo chuckled. “A little drama makes life more interesting.” Largo’s easy acceptance was another sharp contrast. She lived in a world of black and white, of simple loyalties and clear objectives.
I, however, was drowning in shades of gray, in the agonizing knowledge that sometimes, the only way out was through the very darkness I fought to escape.
Diana said nothing as her hand tightened in mine, her grip a desperate plea, a silent question I couldn’t answer.
Did she want me to urge her to break? Or did she want me to pull her back from the brink?
Every instinct warred within me, a battle between protecting her innocence and setting her free.
Taking the hint, I simply advised, “Let’s get this meeting over with. She doesn’t want to be here any longer than necessary, and honestly, neither do I.”
The truth was, I didn’t want to be here, but I also dreaded what would happen if she did choose to unleash the storm.
Could I live with myself if her act of defiance led to her downfall, a consequence I’d inadvertently encouraged?
The weight of that potential failure pressed down on me, a heavy cloak of responsibility I was desperately trying to shed, and failing.