Prologue #2
Addison stilled, scanning the room. She hadn’t even considered that the donor wasn’t a woman. She knew it was possible, but for some reason she assumed it would be a female.
“What’s his name?”
Andrea flattened her lips. “I don’t have that information. But even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to provide it to you. Privacy and confidentiality laws prohibit it.”
“Right.” Addison shifted on the bed and grasped the edge of the sheet. “Of course.”
“His next of kin will be given the option as to whether or not the donor’s information can be released to you. But there’s usually a grace period.”
Addison knew about it but hadn’t given it much thought. Because it wasn’t real months ago. Now it was.
She cleared her throat. “So, they can choose not to disclose his identity?”
“Yes. It’s left up to their discretion.”
Addison licked her lips, mulling over their position. If the roles were reversed? Would she want to meet the person who got her loved one’s heart? It was a complicated answer. Yes. And no.
Andrea clasped Addison’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m upping the ante. Dollar for your thoughts?”
Addison chuckled and settled deeper into the bed.
This seemed like an intimate conversation she should be having with her family or best friend.
Not a stranger. But the last thing she wanted was to dampen her family’s happiness.
It had been a long road for all of them, and they were finally seeing light at the end of the tunnel.
What kind of person would she be to darken their day with her own doubt and guilt?
As if reading her thoughts, Andrea whispered, “No one outside of this room will ever know about this conversation.” She squeezed her hand again. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
That was all it took. A kind, caring woman with motherly and best friend vibes became her instant confidante.
“I’m thinking about him. His family, if he had one. I’m twenty-seven, only five years younger than him, and it feels too young to die.”
Andrea’s face softened. “Because it is.”
Addison awkwardly nodded, trying to hold onto the last bit of control over her emotions. It was impossible. It was a strong wave devouring her.
“I get to live” —her voice shook as the tears streamed down her cheeks— “because he died. How is that fair?”
She was asking a question that she already knew the answer to. It’s not fair. Andrea didn’t respond. She was reading Addison’s thoughts and emotions.
“He gave me his heart,” she whispered. “And I don’t even know him.”
He was a stranger. Someone she’d never meet by chance, pass on the street, or serve a beer to at the bar. He gave her a second chance. And I’ll never get to thank him.
Andrea put her clipboard down on the table and sat on the edge of the bed. “You want me to tell you about him?”
Addison knitted her brows, slowly angling her head. “You said you didn’t have any information.”
“Not personal, no. But I can tell you the type of person he was, Addison.”
How? It sounded impossible. Still, she was intrigued.
Addison pushed up on her elbows and straightened on the bed. “Okay.”
“Being an organ donor is done with purpose. It’s a choice.
It’s a generous, selfless act. One that was intended for the recipient” —She pointed and winked— “you, in this case, to get a second chance. It’s saying, ‘if I can’t live, I want somebody else to.
I want someone who can’t see to see everything I’ve seen.
I want that person who struggles to breathe walking up the stairs to take my lungs and run a marathon.
I want someone to do all the things I never got to do.
And I want my heart to beat for someone else.
’ He gave you a gift, and the best thing you can do to thank him is live your life to the fullest. Because I believe that was his intention.
” She paused. “You didn’t know him, and he didn’t know you.
But I can say with certainty by donating his heart, he wanted you to live.
It’s probably the greatest gift anyone will ever give you.
So take it, appreciate it, and fulfill its intention.
” She smiled. “Be grateful, honor the gift you were given, but most importantly live your life, Addison.”
Live my life.
And do all the things, he never got to do. That was how she would thank him.
****
One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty hours. Ten thousand and eighty minutes.
And it still felt as though time stood still in an eternity of darkness.
The grief hadn’t lessened. The shock hadn’t worn off.
The anger had only intensified. Life as he and the Killcreek Drifters MC knew it had forever been altered.
They would never be the same. Life would never look like it had a week ago.
Cross grasped the empty beer bottle in his fist and threw it against the brick outbuilding behind the clubhouse.
It shattered into pieces from the force.
The remnants were starting to pile up. He was using this outlet as a way to release some rage.
A week and ten cases of beer later, it still hadn’t worked.
There was only one thing he craved. Revenge. And he’d get it soon enough.
He bent down, grabbed another bottle, twisted off the top, and dropped it beside him.
He stared at the brick wall and chugged half the beer.
Loss was hard for everyone. Cross had dealt with death plenty of times.
He’d lost his family, friends through the years, and more brothers than he could count.
But this? Knox’s death hit differently. It hit harder in a place he didn’t even know existed.
It was as if he’d lost a part of himself.
In a sense, he had. Knox had been more than a member of the club.
He’d been Cross’s closest brother. Cross had brought Knox into the club, vouched for him, and together they’d helped build the MC into a solid organization.
Well, not unbroken anymore.
Cross rolled his neck, shifting his gaze to the wooded path. Knox’s final resting place.
The club had been ambushed in an elaborate scheme to steal product from their onsite warehouse.
It’d been a well-planned attack. They’d done their homework.
The club had been scheduled for a long haul with every member and prospect in attendance.
Except Knox. He didn’t want to leave his sister alone.
He’d gotten a lot of pushback, and initially Knox relented, following the orders of Ace, their president.
Knox made arrangements for Cleo to spend the weekend at the local motel with Minnie and Ralph, the owners.
The irony? It wasn’t about her safety. Everyone knew better than to come into Killcreek without an invitation. Knox worried she would be lonely.
They’d been on the road for a few hours when Knox changed his mind.
He would sit this one out in favor of hanging with his sister.
None of the brothers agreed with his decision.
He got opposition from everyone, Cross included.
The only exception was Wraith, who backed his choice.
Either way, after a roadside discussion, Knox had made up his mind. He was going back to Killcreek.
And he did.
No one will ever know why he went to the clubhouse first instead of the motel to pick up Cleo. Maybe it was a premonition. Knox had always been intuitive, more so than anyone he’d known. And in the end, it had cost him his life.
Cross whipped back his arm and threw the bottle against the brick without even bothering to finish his beer. Glass shards scattered, and the alcohol wet the wall, dripping down slowly.
“Gonna have to get all the prospects out here to clean up this shit when you’re done.”
Cross didn’t even bother acknowledging his president. He bent down, grabbed another bottle, and flicked off the top.
“Not done yet,” Cross said and took a long swig.
“Yeah, I figured.” Ace stood next to him, staring at the building.
Even drowning in his own grief, Cross was aware he wasn’t the only one who’d lost a brother.
They all had. And the clubhouse reflected the mourning.
In different circumstances, for fallen brothers they’d plan a celebratory party for remembrance and reflection on the member and what he’d meant to Killcreek.
It was tradition. The world viewed them as ruthless, heartless, violent, and careless.
It was what the club wanted everyone to see and think.
It was their shield, in a sense. They’d lived up to their reputation, but what the outsiders didn’t see was their unity as a true family.
Fucked-up and dysfunctional, but a family nonetheless.
But there wasn’t a party being planned in Knox’s honor. Not yet. They had a more important task to complete. Vengeance. They would make sure everyone involved in his death would pay the ultimate price, with their own lives.
“What do we got?”
Ace sighed and folded his arms. “The crew. Cypher’s been on it all week. Not sure the brother has even slept. Wraith, Hyde, and Jekyll made contact with a few associates. Took a ride out to Lawry. Got confirmation.”
Killcreek had made a lot of enemies through the years.
Most were smart enough to not take a chance attacking them.
It had happened in the past, and the MC had proved they were not to be messed with.
Of course, not everyone heeded those warnings.
They’d get their revenge. They just needed clearance from the highest ranking.
Cross gripped the bottle. “Talk to Inez?”
Ace nodded. “Yeah.”
“What did she say?”
Ace’s gaze darkened. “You take one of my boys. I’m gonna fucking take all of yours.”
Cross expected nothing less.
“Waiting on Gent, Cue, and Oak to get back,” Ace said.
“Where’d they go?”
“Pick up supplies,” Ace said, and Cross glanced over. “We’re gonna take our time with these guys.”
I’m gonna make them fucking suffer.
They all would. Killcreek wasn’t known for showing mercy or restraint. They would get the wrath of the entire MC and beg for death in the end.
“We’ll meet in an hour. Get shit sorted and a plan in place. We’ll head out after midnight. Ambush for a fucking ambush.” Ace slapped his back and headed toward the door of the clubhouse.
For all his anger and rage, an innocent thought emerged in his head. He turned, calling out for his president.
“Ace?”
He grabbed the door handle and glanced back, lifting his chin.
“I want at least five prospects hanging back with Cleo.”
Ace furrowed his brows. “That’s more than half we got, brother.”
It was, and they’d need all hands on board with this attack. But? This was about Knox. Cross knew him better than anyone. If he was alive, he’d want his sister protected. And not alone. Cross would honor that silent request.
“Two is enough to cover her and keep her safe,” Ace said.
No. This wasn’t up for negotiation.
“And five is enough noise to make sure she knows she’s not alone.”
Ace sighed, grasping the back of his neck. “She’s barely left her room, Cross.”
Cross shook his head. “She’ll hear them. She’ll know they’re there. She won’t feel alone.”
Ace stared back at him without saying a word. Cross understood the hesitation. They needed as many members and prospects for their own safety to make this attack flawless. Numbers were key. But right now? Cleo was more important than anything else. That’s how Knox would see it.
Ace sighed, blowing out a heavy breath as he pulled open the door.
“She gets five.” Ace walked inside, and the door slammed behind him.
Cross dropped the bottle on the ground. He’d conserve his energy and rage for its intended target. He walked toward the back door and glanced over at the wooded path.
Revenge is coming, brother.