26. Paint
Temper
"T emperance, you've been staring at the wall for the last twenty minutes. You only have half an hour left of your session."
Dr. Monroe's voice is calm. The kind that's meant to ground people. But I'm too high-strung, too tangled in my own head for it to work. For months, I’ve been avoiding this session like the flames of hell.
I exhale sharply and tap my finger on my knee. Fast, erratic. I sigh and tilt my head back, looking at the ceiling instead of her.
"I know. I'm sorry. I just have no idea where to start. Things happened. A lot of things. And I honestly don't know if I can tell you all of it." I narrow my eyes slightly, looking at her. "If, hypothetically, let's say I did something illegal... would you have to report it?"
She tilts her head at me, gaze sharpening with a quiet kind of concern. "I am obligated to report a crime, Temperance." She leans forward slightly, her eyes locking onto mine, holding me there. "But not in hypothetical conversations. If, however, you confess to a crime, I'll have to report it."
She's giving me an out. A chance to tell the truth without actually telling it.
Well, alright then. Let's avoid a police visit.
"Bones is back!" The words fly out of my mouth like a shot fired in a closed room. "He's been back for months! A lot of months. Too many. Eight. And he's been a pain in my ass! He won't leave me alone, even though I told him I want nothing to do with him! He's always there. Saying sorry. Gifting me adorable and delicious things. Looking like a kicked puppy. Guilty as fuck. Letting me do things to him without fighting back or stopping me!"
I snap my mouth shut, eyes going wide. Fuck.
Dr. Monroe just watches me, waiting.
I clear my throat. "Not that I did anything bad to him!" My hands go up in a defensive motion, palms facing outward. "I just... I just had a... dream about hurting him."
I swallow hard, my throat dry.
"In my dream , I kept him in my basement for four days. Exactly as long as Jinx kept me after Bones handed me over. And, in my dream , I hurt him exactly the way Jinx hurt me. I just didn't cut his throat at the end. In my dream , that is! He is still alive and well in real life. And in my dream!"
I suck in a sharp breath, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Dr. Monroe's expression doesn't change. No shock, no judgment. Just quiet understanding.
"Go on," she says, voice even. "I get the sense that things didn't stop at your... dream."
I huff out a bitter laugh. "No... they didn't." I lean forward slightly, hands gripping my knees. "The fucker came back with a whole-ass tattoo of the word 'traitor' on his neck. Like the one he put on my arm." I pause. "Please excuse my language, Dr. Monroe."
She smiles, warm and patient. "That's okay, Temperance. This is a safe space. You can speak freely, any way you feel comfortable. Please continue."
I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. "So he tattooed himself. And then he started following me around. Leaving small gifts on my porch. Like the little things he used to give me when we were together. And then he started sending me texts." I roll my eyes. "Telling me why he loves me."
My fingers dig into my knee. "And I keep blocking him, but he keeps going. How many numbers does the man have?" I throw my hands in the air in frustration.
She just nods, waiting for me to go on.
I press my fingers to my temples and groan. "Anyway, I... ugh... well, you know Bones has his brothers. The men in his club. The ones who were there that night, who didn't say anything. Who just watched. Well... I might have... ugh... spanked them in revenge."
I wave my hands like I can erase the words from the air. "Hard. And destroyed their bikes."
Her eyebrows lift slightly, but she says nothing.
"But it's nothing illegal!" I blurt out. "They agreed to let me do it! I didn't force them! They just stood there and took it!"
Silence. Then—
"And also," my voice drops lower, "Jinx is getting another trial. Because of ineffective counsel, apparently."
The words taste like acid in my mouth.
"So you see, things are really confusing and fucked right now. I'm stressed. And freaking out a bit." My voice shrinks. "I thought that after I hurt Bones... in my dream , that is, it would get better. That I'd feel peace. But that lasted only a few weeks. And then... I started feeling myself randomly raging again. And the only moments when I calm down a little is when I see that tattoo across Bones' neck. It's like justice being served in front of me. For everyone to see. But then I look at his face and the rage comes back..."
I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose.
"This morning, when I woke up, I threw the glass I had on my nightstand at the wall because I had a dream. A memory. Of me and Bones. Again." I shake my head, eyes burning with unshed tears. "It's been happening more and more. And I don't understand why. I never had these kinds of dreams these past years. Only nightmares."
I meet Dr. Monroe's gaze, dejected and exhausted. "Why now?"
She sits back in her chair, watching me with those sharp, calculating eyes. The room is too quiet, heavy with everything I just dumped into the air. She folds her hands in her lap, tilting her head slightly, like she's picking apart the mess inside my head and deciding where to start cutting first.
"Let's break this down," she says finally. Her voice is calm. Even. But there's no softness to it. Just a steady, undeniable force. "You took your revenge on Bones. You hurt him in ways you thought would balance the scales. In your dream , of course. But now that the high of that vengeance has faded, you're left with something that doesn't feel quite as satisfying as you thought it would."
She watches me carefully, waiting.
I look away, my arms crossing over my chest like a shield. "Yes." The word tastes like defeat. "It helped for a while. But then... I don't know. It's like that hunger is never satisfied. I keep waiting for the relief to last longer. For it to be enough."
Dr. Monroe nods slowly. "That's because revenge isn't about healing, Temperance. It's about power. Control. You were powerless years ago, and taking your revenge was a way of reclaiming that control. But pain, whether it's inflicted on us or by us, doesn't just disappear. You've spent almost five years surviving on the need for retribution, but have you actually faced the grief underneath it?"
My jaw tightens. I don't answer.
She leans forward slightly. "What happened to you wasn't just betrayal. It was a death. The death of trust. The death of who you were before that night. The death of love. Of you and Bones. And when something dies, there's grief. In the years that you came to me before, not once have you allowed yourself to grieve, Temperance. You were always resistant to talking about your anger. Have you just been burning everything in your path, hoping the fire will somehow bring you peace?"
Silence. Then, my voice, quieter. "I don't know how to grieve something like this."
Dr. Monroe softens, but she doesn't let up. "Then maybe that's where we should start."
She lets that settle before continuing. "Now, let's talk about Bones."
I flinch at his name.
"He's back, and despite everything, despite the scars — yours and his — he's trying to be in your life again. You're angry, but you're also letting him in. Piece by piece. Why do you think that is?"
I let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through my hair, my fingers gripping at the strands like I can pull the frustration right out of my skull. "Because I don't fucking know what to do with him." My voice is raw. "He makes me furious. He makes me want to scream. And then he does something. Something stupid, like finding me a flower or remembering my favorite candy, and I... I forget for a second. I hate him."
Dr. Monroe doesn't even blink. "Do you? Or do you hate those moments when he makes you feel something other than anger?"
My fists clench. "Both."
She nods slowly, like she was expecting that answer. "That makes sense. You loved him once, Temperance. And love and hate aren't that different. They require the same mental energy. It would be easy to get confused. To forget for a second."
My throat tightens.
"What Bones did to you was awful." Her voice is steady, unwavering. "From what you told me, it seems he is trying to carry his guilt in a way that means something. He's wielding it like a weapon against himself. Maybe that's why you're so unsettled. Because you want to punish him, but he's already punishing himself."
The words slice through me.
"It's not enough." My voice is barely a whisper.
Dr. Monroe studies me. "Then what is? Will it ever be enough?"
I have no answer.
She lets the silence stretch, then speaks again. "You need to ask yourself something, Temperance. Do you want to let go of the anger? Or do you want to hold onto it because you don't know who you are without it?"
Something ugly twists inside me.
I don't know. I don't fucking know.
And then her voice drops lower. "And then there's Jinx."
Everything in me goes still.
"I can see it in your face. The fear. The rage. The exhaustion. You've lived for years thinking his punishment was set. And now, nothing is sure anymore. You want to see him suffer. But would that put a stop to your pain?"
I swallow hard. "I don't want him to exist anymore."
Dr. Monroe nods. "I know. And that's understandable. But do you want your inner peace, your mental wellbeing, to depend on someone else?"
My jaw locks. "No?"
Her eyes don't waver. "That's a question, not an answer. Temperance, you need to make sure you're the one in control of all of your emotions. Not the other way around."
The words settle into my soul.
She leans back slightly. "I can't tell you what's right or wrong here, Temperance. But I can tell you this — you have a choice. You can keep chasing vengeance, keep bleeding yourself dry, or you can start figuring out what true healing might actually look like for you. It doesn't have to mean forgiving. It doesn't have to mean letting go. But it does mean deciding if you want your past to define the rest of your life."
My breath shudders out of me.
Dr. Monroe meets my eyes, holding me there. "So, tell me. What do you see your future looking like, Temperance? Regardless of revenge. Of hate. Regardless of Bones. Or Jinx."
I stare at her and I have no fucking idea what to say.
Therapy is a fucking struggle. Digging into my own mind is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. It's been four days since my session with Dr. Monroe and exactly nine days since I last saw Bones.
And that... disturbs me.
Lately, he kept butting into my life even more, showing his face everywhere, making sure I see him. Never staying away for long. But now? Nothing. No smug grin. No stupid face.
He's still sending texts, though. Still leaving small gifts on my porch. But no sign of him.
I feel it deep inside me — the wrongness of it. Something is happening. And the fact that I don't know what makes my skin itch.
I sigh, gripping my coffee mug tighter. Ria has also been missing this whole week. She even closed Belladonna Brew temporarily. We've been talking on the phone and she keeps assuring me everything is fine, that she's "helping someone" and "it's not a big deal," but that's all I get.
Bullshit.
What the fuck is happening with everyone?
Layla left on a trip after the barbecue. But her, I understand. She needs space.
It's everyone else's shifty behavior that makes me suspicious as fuck.
Even the stupid bikers on watch duty have disappeared. I know they're still out there, shadowing my every move, but they've gone completely out of sight. Before, I could catch glimpses of them — Tank's hulking frame leaning against his bike, Ghost pretending to check his phone while blatantly keeping an eye on me. Now? Nothing.
Something is wrong.
I hate not knowing.
I'm lost in my thoughts, staring at the swirling steam from my coffee, when I hear it.
A knock at my door. Strong. Determined.
When I pull it open, I feel like I just summoned the fucking devil.
Bones stands there, broad and imposing, wearing a smirk that once made my stomach flip and now just makes my fingers twitch for a weapon.
"What the hell do you want?" I ask, alarms instantly blaring in my mind. Nine days of nothing and now he just shows up?
The bastard's smirk widens. Of course, it does. He drags his eyes over my entire body, and then he finally answers, his voice like silk.
"Hello, my fiery Temper. It's so fucking good to finally see you."
I cross my arms over my chest, my eyes narrowing into slits.
"No."
He smiles wide. "No, what? I didn't ask you for anything."
"Whatever it is, I'm not interested," I say, my voice dripping with boredom.
His smile doesn't waver. He leans closer, like he's about to tell me a secret, and asks in a whisper.
"How's your anger?"
I huff. "It was fine before. Now it's growing by the minute!"
I'd slam the door in his stupid face, but the bastard is already bracing himself against the frame, blocking me from doing exactly that. He's learned from his past mistakes, damn him!
"I'm thinking it's high time you released all that pent up fury. In a controlled environment, of course. With no blood." He pauses for a moment. "Or as little blood as possible."
"I'm inviting you to a war, my fiery Temper." His voice is smooth, taunting. "Paintball. I created an entire game zone behind the clubhouse, just for you. It's your chance to shoot me. Again."
I narrow my eyes. "You organized a fucking paintball match?"
"For you." He shrugs.
"Are we teenagers, all of a sudden? I'd rather shoot you with real bullets." My voice is sharp. But I can't deny it sounds good. I can feel excitement building. Fuck.
"I know you would," his voice is low. "But I promised I wouldn't let you spill my blood again. So it's paintball you're getting."
He sighs. "Your anger keeps growing, and you need an outlet. If you keep it up, you're going to burn yourself out before you even get your hands on Jinx. Your mind should be clear when the moment comes. So you can do exactly what you really want, not what your anger tells you." He pauses, lets that sink in. "And also, deep down, you really, really want to shoot me."
I raise an eyebrow. "Not that deep down."
He leans in, his voice dropping low. "Come on, baby. I'll even let you aim for my heart."
I snort. "Pretty sure that's already dead."
His lips twitch, but there's no real humor there. "Only when you're not near."
How does he always know just what to say to make my chest go tight?
I should tell him no and pretend this conversation never happened. But the idea of hunting him down, making him pay in bruises — it's like a siren's song that calls to me. And the asshole knows it! Dr. Monroe will be so disappointed in me. But no blood! That's a step forward, I guess. Progress!
I exhale sharply. "Who's playing?"
He grins, knowing he has me. "Me. Tank. Hellbat. Fang. Domino. And a few of the younger prospects who are ready to prove their worth." He pauses, letting the next part land like a well-aimed shot. "Oh, and I talked to Ria earlier. She said if I could convince you — which she doubted — she'd come just to shoot a paintball directly between Tank's eyes."
That does it.
I laugh — a real, full-bodied laugh.
"That might actually be worth showing up for," I admit, shaking my head. But then something clicks, and I straighten, my eyes narrowing. "Wait — You talked to Ria? I know you asked her to do the barbecue thing, but since when do you and Ria talk?" My voice pitches higher at the end.
Bones shrugs, completely unfazed. "She likes to torment me." Then, almost to himself, he mutters under his breath, "Demon woman."
I fold my arms, curiosity flaring. "How does she torment you?"
His face goes flat, serious. "I'm not talking about it."
The look in his eyes tells me there's no prying that information out of him. No matter. Ria will spill the details later.
He leans back, watching me, amusement glinting in his gaze. "So you're in? Paintball?"
I roll my shoulders, considering it for a second. "I guess I could use some target practice." I let the words hang for a beat, watching the anticipation flicker in his eyes before I add, with a slow, wicked smile, "On one condition."
His smirk deepens. "Name it."
"You don't wear a vest."
He exhales a quiet laugh, dark and knowing. "I wouldn't dream of it, my fiery Temper."
Bones
The empty terrain behind the clubhouse looks like a battlefield waiting for war. The trees loom in the distance, a natural border, while the barriers and obstacles we set up earlier create a maze of places to hide, ambush, and kill. Well, metaphorically speaking.
The air is charged, anticipation crackling between us as we load our paintball guns and split into teams. Me against her.
Temper stands across from me, adjusting her mask, her stance strong, determined. Fucking fierce. She's already in war mode, eyes locked on mine like she's measuring the distance between my heart and the paintball gun in her hand.
I want her to hit me. I also want to hunt her down until she's out of breath, pinned beneath me, cursing my name. I sigh. I need to control myself. This is for her. She needs to shoot me. Not anyone else. I know she does. It wouldn't work otherwise, it wouldn't bring down that fury always simmering under her skin.
Her team consists of Ria and a few younger prospects. She picked them strategically. The ones quick on their feet, with something to prove. She's smart. Always has been.
I smirk, tightening my grip on my gun. "You ready?"
She tilts her head, pretending to think. "To shoot you in the face? More than ready."
Ria cracks her knuckles beside her. "The real question here is — Are you ready, Baldilocks?" she grins, staring straight at Tank.
Tank mutters something under his breath, but I don't have time to listen.
We begin.
The game is on.
I take off into the maze of barriers, Fang and Domino at my back. I hear the fast-paced footsteps of the prospects on the other side, shifting through the terrain, the rustling of fabric against wood and plastic as everyone scatters to their positions.
And then, the first shot rings out.
"FUCK!" Tank's voice echoes, followed by Ria's gleeful cackle.
I bite back a laugh. She got him.
I press against one of the barriers, scanning the area. The younger prospects are moving fast, but they're sloppy. Temper, though? She's nowhere to be seen.
Another shot. Another curse. Hellbat is out.
What the fuck?
I hear Domino mutter, "She's fucking insane," right before he takes a hit and gets eliminated too.
Ria.
I peek around the corner and spot her stalking through the field like a true demon on a warpath. She's eliminating everyone.
Fang tries to take her by surprise from the left, but she's already expecting him. One shot. Dead. Out.
Holy shit. I can't help but grin.
Ria is a beast at paintball.
Temper is still hiding, hunting.
My blood thrums with adrenaline.
I make my way through the terrain, knowing she's close. The silence is too loud.
Then, I feel movement.
I spin just as she fires. I dodge, the paintball barely missing my shoulder.
She fucking found me.
I sprint behind one of the barriers, dodging another shot. She's quick. Too fucking quick.
But so am I.
I move left, she moves right. We're circling each other, both waiting for an opening. I can feel her watching me, feel the hunger in her aim.
Come on, baby. Shoot me.
Another shot, I drop low. She misses. Barely.
I grin. "You're getting slow, Temper."
Her breath hitches, and I swear I can hear her mutter, "Smug asshole."
She's gone before I can taunt her again.
I find her hiding behind a wooden barrier. I'm right behind her, I could take my shot. But that's not what she needs. So I circle around her, and I let her see me. The hunt has gone long enough.
I hear the shot before I feel it.
Right in my chest.
Then again. And again.
The impact rocks through me, bright yellow splattering across my chest. I don't even register the stinging pain. I'm lucky she's at a distance.
I look up, my vision filled with her.
Mask tilted up, breath uneven, eyes burning.
She just stares at me.
I don't raise my gun. Don't try to move. I just let her.
One more shot. Right over my heart.
My lips twitch. I can't fucking help it. "You finally got me, Temper."
She exhales sharply, lowering her gun. She blinks like she's just woken up from a trance. Like she didn't mean to hit me so many times.
She needed this.
And fuck, if it didn't feel right to let her take me down.
I don't move as she steps back. Ria whoops in the background, declaring victory for their team, but neither of us react. It's just her and me. Just this moment.
She lets out a breath and murmurs, "I win."
I nod, grinning through the pain. "Yeah, baby. You do."
She's sitting in one of the chairs we set up in the clubhouse's barbecue area, bent forward, tying the laces on one of her boots. The sight of her like this — focused, quiet, unknowingly beautiful — does things to me.
I grab a can of Coke, pop the top, and hand it to her as I drop into the chair next to her.
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine for the briefest second before she looks up.
"Where's Ghost? I can't believe he'd let you fight a paintball war on your own," she teases, a small grin curving her lips.
I grip the back of my neck, exhaling slowly, preparing myself for this conversation.
"Something happened with him." I glance up at the sky for a second, trying to find the right words. There are none. "He's not hurt or anything like that. It's just...," I sigh, shaking my head. "Adora is back."
Her entire body stills.
I push forward. " He brought her back. He's been with her for months. A year. Living with her. Fucking her. Since before we even moved here. Like fucking lovebirds. He didn't say a damn thing. No hint." I rub a hand over my jaw, my teeth grinding. "And he did something to her a few days ago. In revenge. It seems it was the wrong move." I laugh without humor. "It's a fucking shitshow. Mama and Pops are with him now."
The silence stretches between us. She doesn't say anything at first. Just processes. I see the wheels turning in her head, the calculations, the conflict.
"I honestly have no idea what to say to that," she finally admits, her voice flat. "I know what she did to him all those years ago. I understand his need for revenge probably too well. But since you say it was the wrong move..." She shrugs. Neutral. Detached. But I know her. She's thinking. She's wondering. She's filing it all away.
"Yeah," I whisper. Yeah.
Fuck. I take a deep breath, steady myself. What I say next will ruin this entire fucking day.
But I have to say it.
No more waiting. No more stalling.
"Temper." Her name sits heavy on my tongue.
She looks at me. No wariness. Not yet.
I'm about to change that.
"I've been gone these past few days because I had to make the final arrangements for getting to Jinx." I don't give her a chance to react before I finish it. Before I drop the blade.
"I'll have him here by tomorrow."
Her breath catches. Just stops.
Her eyes widen, her lips part — just a fraction — before everything shifts.
The tremble in her mouth disappears. Her entire face hardens. The shock burns away fast. Replaced by something darker. Something ruthless.
She looks me straight in the eye, her voice razor-sharp.
"I'm ready."