28. Funeral
Bones
I 'm drinking. Haven't stopped since the morning I woke up alone in my bed. No Temper.
A week. It's been a fucking week.
I haven't gone to her. I won't.
She doesn't need protection anymore. And she sure as hell doesn't need me. Hasn't needed me for four fucking years. Because the last time she did? I turned my back on her. No, worse. I betrayed her. I branded her. I broke her.
I see it now. We were over that night. The moment I made my choice, it was done. I was just too fucking stupid to accept it. Still holding on to the good, ignoring the bad. Like a stubborn fucking fool.
So I stopped.
No more gifts. No more texts. No more chasing.
I promised her I'd do anything to stop the bleeding of her wounds. And now I know. The only way to do that... is to stay the fuck away. Let her move on. Without my shadow darkening her life.
The clubhouse is far enough from her, but still not far enough. I need to get farther. I can't uproot the club again, not this soon, but I can make sure she never sees me again. At least until I make that move.
I hope — fuck, I hope — she finds the happiness she deserves. But it hurts. It hurts like a goddamn blade twisting in my gut knowing that it won't be with me. That it can't be me.
I used to make her happy. I know I did. She was my whole fucking world, and I saw it in her eyes every time she looked at me — I was hers, too. Until I destroyed it.
Until I killed us in one fell swoop.
I run a hand down my face, exhaling slow.
"We're all fucked up." My voice is gravel in the night air as I take a long pull from the whiskey bottle in my hand.
Joker, Ghost, and Luca are all sitting with me. Drinking. Because we're all fuckups.
"You're more fucked up than us." Luca's voice is slurred, glassy-eyed but full of judgment. "You got a tattoo in your little crusade to win back your woman. That shit is forever. Even if you remove it, the scars will still be there. On your throat, for the world to see your stupidity." He takes another swig, shaking his head. "Stupid tattoo. No woman. Stupid cazzone. So fucking stupid."
I don't even blink. My voice is flat. Emotionless.
"I have no regrets about it."
Silence stretches between us.
We're all staring into the abyss of our own fuckups.
Then Joker lets out a long, suffering sigh. "Layla wants me to get a dick piercing."
The bottle stops halfway to my mouth.
"The fuck?" I turn to look at him, brows furrowed.
He groans, rubbing a hand down his face. "Otherwise, she's not even considering mediation. Straight to divorce."
Luca snorts. "And what kind of dick piercing are we talking about?"
Joker shrugs, looking helpless. "Ampa-something-something." He waves a vague hand. "Didn't have time to research it, she put me on the spot. I'd do anything for a chance to fight for her, so I just... agreed." His voice drops into a whisper. "I'm supposed to be getting it this week."
Luca leans forward, eyes gleaming with unholy amusement. "Ampallang?"
Joker hesitates. "...Yeah?"
Luca grins like a fucking lunatic. "Oh, stronzo. You're so fucked."
Joker's face drains of blood.
"Why?"
"Because that piercing?" Luca slaps a hand on his knee, laughing. "That's one of the most painful fucking piercing in the history of piercings."
Joker looks horrified.
Luca keeps going. "No bike riding for months. Your dick could be out of commission for a year."
Joker is dead pale. "Well, fuck. Thanks for that. Fuck. Fuck." He jumps to his feet and starts pacing.
We all lose it.
Ghost wheezes. Luca is doubled over. I take a deep drink of my whiskey, shaking my head.
"The tattoo doesn't sound so bad now, does it?" I mutter.
Ghost suddenly sobers. The humor evaporates. His expression darkens.
"At least your women are talking." His voice is steel. "Even if they're screaming or drawing blood. Try apologizing to a statue. Looking right through you. Like you don't even exist."
His fingers tighten around his glass. "Adora turned me into a real fucking ghost." His jaw flexes. "I'd get any dick piercing or tattoo she wanted, if only she'd speak to me. React. Say or do anything. I'd cut off an arm. A leg. Just to make her see me again."
I exhale, leaning back in my chair. Stare into the darkness.
"I still don't understand why the fuck you did what you did." My voice is rough. "If you're so in love with her. If you forgave her — which I still think is fucking stupid, by the way — why the fuck would you burn it all down when you had her? You fucking had her."
Ghost doesn't even flinch.
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Silence.
Luca swirls the whiskey in his glass. "Theresa doesn't talk to me either." His voice is quiet. "It doesn't matter that I'm leaving the famiglia. Trying to fix shit." He sighs, then turns his gaze to me. To my throat.
"I honestly thought Temperance would give you a chance after that tattoo, Bones. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
I don't respond. Just keep staring into the empty night. I didn't get the tattoo for a chance. I got it because I deserved it. Everyone should see who the real traitor was. And it wasn't her.
Boots crunch against the gravel, and a voice cuts through the air.
"You're all pathetic."
I turn my head.
Tank stands there, arms crossed, judging.
I lift a brow. "Brave of you to talk shit when I have a whiskey bottle in my hand. It could end up breaking your skull."
Tank sighs. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"We're drowning in self-pity and liquor. What does it look like?" Luca slurs, pouring himself another drink. "Sometimes you just need to throw a pity party."
Tank ignores him. He looks straight at me.
"Bones. She hasn't left her house all week. At all. Ria's been checking on her constantly." He swallows. "Maybe... maybe you should go to her."
Something in me shatters.
But I shake my head. No.
"She doesn't need me." My voice is rough, raw. "I'm her past. Her ugly past. She'll get back to herself, she's strong enough. Stronger, even." I swallow. "She won't be fine if I keep following her around. Reminding her of all the shit."
Tank sighs, shaking his head.
Then Joker suddenly roars, staring at his phone like it just delivered his death sentence, one hand fisting his hair in sheer terror.
"It goes straight through my dick?! From side to side?! What the actual fuck!"
And we lose it again.
I ditch the whiskey a few days later. I can't keep drowning myself in a bottle when I have a club to run, brothers who depend on me, an Italian pain in the ass to deal with, a VP unraveling before my fucking eyes, and a Road Captain who might not be able to ride for months. It's a fucking disaster. A mess I don't have time to wallow in. But even though I stopped getting blackout drunk, the darkness inside me doesn't ease. It grows. Expands. Fills every fucking inch of me like a sickness.
I can feel it, this slow descent. A creeping weight in my chest, a whisper in my ear that one day, I won't outrun it anymore. It will consume me. And that will be my end. I just have to make sure I don't leave a mess behind when it happens.
The snow started falling, but I still take my bike out every night, cutting through the cold, riding until I can't feel anything but the sting of the wind against my skin. Until the roar of the engine drowns out the thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind. I'll stop when the ice comes, when the road is too slick to keep from losing control. But for now, the open road is the only place I can breathe.
I haven't gone back to my room since the night she ran from it like I was the fucking plague. Can't bring myself to step inside, to look at the bed where I held her, where — for a brief moment — I had her in my arms again. I crash on the couch in my office instead, barely sleeping, just existing in the silence.
She'll always be in my heart. Even after death. But I finally understand now — I stopped being in hers four years ago.
I just had to watch her break to see it.
Temper
The fire crackles in front of me, flames licking at the night air, turning paper into ashes, erasing the fucking eulogy I wrote for myself. For her. The girl I used to be. And I didn't have anything else from back then to burn during this cremation of my past self. So I wrote an eulogy.
For this funeral.
Ria's idea, of course.
She stands beside me, arms crossed, face serious, like she's attending a real funeral. Layla is next to her, silent but steady. And on the other side of me? Adora.
Fucking surreal.
Ria made this happen. Ria made everything happen.
Adora is here because of her. I can't lie. I like her. I really do. There's something inside her, something wounded that calls to me. We sat and talked, and when she told me her story, it was like she put a mirror in front of my face. I saw myself, the woman who chased revenge until there was nothing left to chase. Until she was just standing there, staring at the wreckage, realizing that revenge doesn't rebuild you. I got lost in my own anger. But hearing her speak, watching the way she carried her pain, drove the point home. I see the scars Ghost left on her heart, and I wonder...
Did I do the same to Bones?
It's been two weeks since I ran from his room in the middle of the night, like a coward, like a criminal fleeing the scene of the crime. Tears in my eyes, confusion in my chest, a war raging inside me that I didn't know how to fight. I went home, and Ria was waiting for me.
She didn't say anything. Just looked at me. Worried. Expecting answers. And I felt like absolute shit. Because when I fell apart, I didn't run to her. I ran to Bones.
She understood. But understanding didn't mean she let me wallow. After a week of sleeping, crying, and barely eating, she forced me to talk. And I did. About everything. Not just what I did to Jinx, but what happened with Bones after. How it felt. How it didn't feel. How I didn't understand.
It was the most intense therapy session I've ever had.
I told her about Dr. Monroe. About how she said I never got to grieve what I lost. Not just four years ago, but even before, when Jinx took me for the first time.
Ria listened. For hours.
And then she simply declared, "Maybe you should just hold a funeral for yourself."
Like those dramatic women in movies who hold funerals for their relationships, except this was for who I used to be.
And then Layla came back from her trip and I met Adora and they also liked the idea. They both held their own funerals first, each picking a night, burning their pasts to make room for something new.
Tonight is my turn.
And I can't lie. I was skeptical.
But standing here, watching the fire eat away at the words I wrote, at the goodbye I never let myself have, something inside me shifts. It feels... lighter. Like the last string still tying me to those memories is finally snapping.
Now if only I could move and throw the last piece of my past into the fire, too. But my arms refuse to release the leather that I'm tightly clutching to my chest.
"Tempe," Ria's voice is gentle but firm. "Throw the cut into the fire."
I tighten my grip. "But... but it's not really mine," I whisper. Excuses. Bullshit. "I stole it from Bones' room. It's... it's not nice to destroy other people's property."
Ria's eyes narrow. "It's your property. It became yours when he gave it to you. It doesn't matter that it was with him all these years. It's still yours to do whatever the hell you want with it."
Fuck. Why does she have to make sense?
My shoulders drop. My head bows. My voice comes out small. Weak.
"I don't want to burn it."
Ria steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay if you don't want to burn it, Tempe. It's your choice."
I look at her, my eyes sad. I don't know why I can't let go.
"Temper... what is going on with you?" Layla's voice is soft, worried.
I swallow hard, still clutching the cut like it's the only thing keeping me standing. My throat tightens, and before I can think better of it, the words tumble out.
"It's been two weeks. Why hasn't he come to see me?" My voice is barely above a whisper. But it carries. Layla's eyes widen. Ria shifts her weight like she suddenly got uncomfortable. Adora just watches. Quiet. Knowing.
"You know... like he always does?" I keep going, my voice getting stronger. "Butting into my life. Ignoring everything I say. Demanding. Taking. Being infuriating. Asking me to play fucking paintball. To go on a ride. Where are the gifts? The texts?"
Layla's expression turns sad. Too sad. Ria exhales sharply, like she knew this moment was coming and still isn't ready for it.
"Tempe..." Ria's voice is quiet. "He won't come. Not anymore." She hesitates. "Tank told me. He just...," she shrugs slightly, "...he thinks it's better this way. That he leaves you alone. Like you wanted from the start. He doesn't want to hurt you anymore..."
A flash of anger surges through me.
Now? Now he stops?
"So what?" My voice is sharp, bitter. "It was fine before, but now he gives up?"
Layla blinks, her brows shooting up. "Umm... so you want him to come? To keep bugging you?"
My mouth opens. Then closes.
Fuck.
What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?
Why am I still running circles around myself? Why am I hiding from my own goddamn truth?
I inhale sharply, my fingers tightening around the cut before I force myself to look at them. Look at the friends around me.
"I need help," I admit. The words feel raw, torn straight from my soul. I swallow hard, force the rest out. "I think... I think I can't let Bones go. I don't think I ever let him go."
My chin trembles. My vision blurs. But I keep going.
"I'm afraid of telling him that." I drop my gaze to the cut in my hands, then back at them. Layla. Ria. Adora. "I... I liked it when he held me. So much. Too much. And I just... I'm afraid to tell him that while he was playing his guitar for me, I couldn't even look at his face because all I wanted to do was go to him and kiss the life out of him."
Ria's eyes practically pop out of her skull.
"What?! You didn't tell me that!"
I look at her helplessly. "I didn't even admit it to myself until just now..."
"Tempe," Ria huffs, planting her hands on her hips. Dangerous. "You do know that if you kiss that psycho biker even once, you're never getting rid of him, right?"
She doesn't give me a second to respond.
"Now's your chance. You kicked the puppy, and you kicked him good enough that he's not coming back. But if you go to him? His stalker persona is going to go up at least a thousand levels. His obsession? Sky-fucking-rocketing. That's it. You're done for. You'll be adopting a biker for the rest of your life."
She levels me with a stare. "So you need to think real hard about what you want to do." Her eyes flick down to the cut still clutched in my hands.
I purse my lips. "I could get rid of him again if I wanted to..." I mumble, but even I don't sound convinced.
Then I sigh and tilt my head back, looking up at the sky.
Snowflakes.
They fall slow. Soft. Not enough to survive their trip to the ground, but they're beautiful while they last.
"Would you be okay if you never saw him again?"
Adora's voice is quiet. Almost fragile.
And the question hits me hard.
If someone had asked me before Bones found me, or even after, I would have laughed in their face. I was angry. So angry. It was the only thing I could feel. I couldn't see underneath it.
But now?
Now that those shadows have gone, I see it.
The longing inside me. The need to feel his arms around me again. The way his presence doesn't suffocate me anymore, but instead... steadies me. I don't know when it happened, but he feels like a tentative safe space again.
Like I could explore it. See if it sticks. See if it becomes permanent.
Somehow, he glued back together the shattered pieces his betrayal created. They aren't firm in place, and the cracks are still there, but for the first time...
I can see a future where they could hold permanently.
Fuck. Stubborn asshole.
I exhale. My heart pounds.
"No," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wouldn't be okay."
My own words shock me.
Adora smiles softly. "Then that's your answer."
"Damn him!" Ria throws her hands in the air, exasperated. "I knew you should have killed him when you had the chance. You wouldn't be having these kinds of problems now."
Layla laughs. Adora smiles wide.
Ria glares. "I'm serious. You let him live, and now you're going to have to deal with the consequences. You should have known better."
I roll my eyes. "Ria."
She sighs dramatically. "Tempe, it's your fucking life. If you want to do something, do it. It's better to be ninety and regret the stuff you did than be ninety and regret the stuff you didn't do." She pauses. "Except hard drugs. It's better to regret not doing those."
I narrow my eyes. "You smoke weed at least once a month."
She gives me a deadpan stare. "That's not a hard drug, Tempe. Stop being silly."
Layla and Adora giggle.
Ria crosses her arms. "Anyway, if you want the stupid biker, go for it. There's always some kind of poison to end him if he gets too annoying."
Then, suddenly, she softens.
"But if there's a chance he could make you happy again..." Her voice grows stronger. "Don't be a coward. It's not what I taught you all these years."
The kiss is life-altering. A shockwave rippling through my body. It's raw. Consuming. His lips claim, demand, own. Like I was always meant to be here, tangled up in him, drowning in the taste of whiskey and sin.
Who the hell is this man? And how can he kiss like this?
My mind is in a haze when he pulls back, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath uneven, hot against my lips.
"You're with me tonight, baby," he murmurs, voice rough, threaded with certainty. Like it's already decided. Like there was never any other option.
A sound leaves my throat. Not a word. Not a protest. Just something helpless and needy and not me. But fuck, I don't care. I don't care because I want him. Inside me. Around me. Everywhere.
I never wanted a man before. Not like this.
He leans back, tilting his head, studying me. Like he can already see inside my mind, like he already knows the answer before I even say it. His smirk stretches slow, indulgent, smug as hell. He knows exactly what he's doing to me.
"Let's have a drink." His voice is smooth, tempting. "What's your poison?"
I blink, trying to shake off the haze, trying to remember how to fucking think. I can't look away from him. I can't.
"Whiskey sour," I finally say, my voice stronger than I feel.
He motions to the bar, repeating my order to someone, never breaking eye contact. A corner of his mouth lifts. Dangerous. Confident. A little cocky.
"We'll take the drinks to my room." His tone is casual, but there's nothing casual about the way his eyes burn into me. "You up for that?"
The question stuns me for half a second.
Am I up for that? YES! Every nerve in my body screams yes. My mind howls it. There's no hesitation. No doubt. No regret waiting in the shadows. He's mine tonight.
"I'm up for that," I say, my smile matching his.
His victorious grin tells me he was expecting that answer. Smug asshole. But I like it. I like it too much.
A glass slides onto the bar beside us. He hands it to me, but before I can take a sip, his arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me against his side, leading me through the clubhouse crowd.
He leans in, his breath hot at my ear. "What's your name, baby?"
His voice is lethal.
Intoxicating.
Designed to ruin me.
"Elyna," I say, turning my head slightly, my lips almost brushing his jaw. Fuck, he smells good. "Ely for short. Yours?"
He points to the patch on his chest. Bones. President.
My eyes widen. Oh, shit.
"You're the Prez?" I blurt, my stomach plummeting.
I didn't mean to ask that out loud. Fuck. This is bad. Really fucking bad.
What am I doing? I should stop this. Right now. This is not a good idea.
His grip tightens. He feels it. The hesitation.
And then he stops walking.
The noise of the clubhouse fades, leaving us in the dim hallway, a door on either side, one in front. He turns to me, his fingers tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"Yeah, I'm the Prez." His knuckles graze my cheek, soft, soothing, despite the fire in his eyes. "It just means I rule a bunch of rowdy bikers. Nothing more." His touch lingers, his thumb barely brushing my skin. "Stay with me, baby. There's no reason to panic."
And just like that, I'm lost again.
How the fuck does he do that? Is he supernatural? Some kind of sorcerer?
I exhale shakily, reaching up, letting my finger trace over his lower lip, and his breath catches.
I rise onto my toes, my heels still making me too short compared to him. I press my lips softly to his, whispering against them.
"Show me your room, Prez."
His entire body tenses.
His eyes go black with hunger.
And then, I'm airborne.
"Hold on to your drink, baby."
That's all the warning I get before he lifts me into his arms and carries me through a door.
I don't hold onto my drink.
It crashes somewhere in the hallway.
I barely fucking notice.
We don't make it to the bed.
The moment he kicks the door shut, I'm pinned against it, his hands gripping my waist, his mouth slamming into mine with bruising force. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. He devours me like he's been starving his whole life, like I'm the only thing that can fucking save him.
My legs are wrapped around his waist, my back pressed against the cold wood, his body heat scorching through me. His lips leave mine, traveling down, tracing the column of my throat, his teeth scraping over my pulse point. I shudder. My hands tangle in his hair, tugging, guiding, silently begging for more.
His hands move, one gripping my ass, holding me up, the other sliding between us, pushing my soaked panties to the side.
"Fuck, baby," he growls, his fingers slipping through my wetness. Testing. Teasing. "You're dripping for me."
I whimper.
"Tell me you want this." His breath is hot against my jaw, his fingers pressing right there, making me jerk in his grip. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."
I can barely fucking breathe. "Fuck me, Bones."
He doesn't hesitate.
There's the sound of a zipper, the desperate rustling of fabric, and then he pauses, his breathing ragged, his forehead pressed to mine.
"Fuck. Condom," he mutters, pulling back just enough to dig into his back pocket. His hands shake as he rips the foil open, rolls it on, and then he's inside me.
One powerful thrust.
I scream.
My nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches me, fills me to the point of madness, a burning, overwhelming ache that I don't ever want to end.
"Jesus," he groans against my lips, his hands gripping me tight, holding me steady. "So fucking tight."
And then he moves.
Rough. Hard. Punishing.
Each thrust slams me harder against the door, knocking the breath from my lungs, making me see stars. My moans mix with his low, guttural curses, the sound of skin on skin, the sharp, ragged breaths between each thrust.
He buries his face in my neck, his lips at my ear. "You feel like heaven, baby," he groans, dragging his teeth along my pulse point. "Fucking heaven."
One of his hands goes between us, playing with my clit and I don't even realize I'm climbing until the pressure explodes, my body locking up, my vision whiting out as I shatter around him, my climax tearing through me like a fucking storm.
He doesn't stop.
Not until his own rhythm stutters, his muscles locking, his groan ragged as he jerks into me one last time.
For a moment, we just stay there, my back against the door, his body pressed to mine, both of us breathless, spent, still tangled together like we're afraid to let go.
My heartbeat barely comes back to normal when I feel him hardening again.
Oh, yes! We're not done.
I smirk, unwrapping my legs from his waist. "Give me more, Bones." My voice is hoarse, my throat raw from screaming his name.
His lazy, fucked-out grin is devastating. "Greedy little thing."
He carries me to the bed, dropping me onto the mattress. I stretch, watching as he rids himself of his clothes and the used condom, grabs another and throws it at me. His body is a fucking work of art.
"Put it on me." His voice is thick, dark, pure fucking command.
A delicious shiver runs down my spine. He gets on the bed and I take my time, rolling the condom on slowly, my nails dragging along his length, watching the way his jaw tightens, his body tensing beneath my touch.
And then I straddle him.
His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in, but he lets me set the pace, lets me take control, his head falling back against the pillows as I sink down onto him.
"Fuck," he hisses, his hands tightening, his muscles going rigid as I take every inch of him.
I roll my hips, grinding, teasing, relishing in the way his abs flex, in the way his fingers twitch against my skin like he's seconds from losing control.
"Ely," he grits out, his voice a warning.
I smirk, dragging my nails down his chest, loving the way he tenses beneath me. "What's wrong, Bones?" I tease, rocking slowly, tempting him further. "Can't handle it?"
His eyes snap open, burning blue-gray, and suddenly, I'm on my back, his body above me, his mouth crashing into mine as he drives into me with a force that steals every ounce of breath from my lungs.
"I'll show you what I can handle," he growls against my lips.
And then he fucks me so hard I forget my own damn name.
I wake up from the dream peacefully. So fucking peacefully. No gasp. No twitch.
I stay in silence, staring at the ceiling, for at least an hour.
It's been a month since I last saw him.