Chapter 17
Idon’t know how long I lay there, in the grass, sobbing and screaming.
It seems like hours, but in reality, it is probably only minutes.
The chaos that comes is louder than the blast. Motorbikes, sirens, so many sounds filling the air.
Then someone bellowing my name, over and over.
Knox.
I can’t move.
I’m just glued to this ground, to this place, never wanting to leave. Zane’s face is in my mind, and every single time it flashes across my vision, I wail louder.
It is only seconds for Knox to find me out here, and when he does, his entire face sinks. I know that whatever I look like tells him that things went bad, and by bad, I mean his brother is dead. Someone who was far stronger than blood ever could be.
A club brother.
The strongest type.
He’s on his knees beside me in seconds, hauling me into his arms, and I’m screaming, my words babbled and making no sense.
I keep saying his name, over and over again.
Knox holds onto me so tightly I am certain I stop breathing, but right now, it’s the only thing stopping me from sinking completely.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens wail—muted, but closing in fast. Knox holds me like the world just went off its axis, his arms locked so tightly around my shaking body I can feel his heart pumping through his chest, like it’s trying to beat enough blood for both of us.
All I can do is sob into his shoulder, sucking air that tastes copper and smoke.
My mouth won’t stop saying Zane’s name, like if I say it enough, this will all be different.
Hands are on my back. He’s rocking me, muttering words that are just a drone in my ears until I finally choke enough to hear: “You’re okay, I got you—breathe, fuck, please—breathe.” The hot wetness sliding down my face could be mine or his, I don’t know.
I push off him, gasp for breath, and when I look up, his eyes are wild, rimmed red and desperate, searching my face for something human. “What happened?” he barks, voice sandpaper-raw.
I can only shake my head, mouth working but no sound coming out.
“It’s Zane,” I finally croak. “The bomb—he—he fucked up, and it—he—he held it, so it wouldn’t—” The rest disappears into a burst of sobs.
Knox’s head falls forward, just for a split second, like the sheer gravity of the truth made his whole body buckle.
He doesn’t ask again. Just pulls me up, one arm under my knees, another around my shoulders, and hauls me through the grass like a rag doll.
His strength is all rage and grief and necessity, body shaking with each step but never hesitating.
The world is chaos—men yelling, police shouting, smoke curling up to blot the late afternoon sun.
None of it touches us. He doesn’t stop until we’re at his bike, parked down the track where the trees merge into the pasture.
I am set on the ground, but my legs still don’t work, so I collapse against him, my hands curling into his shirt with a white-knuckle grip. I don’t even realize I’m digging into his chest until he peels them gently away, holds them both in his own trembling hands.
Knox’s eyes are empty. Hollowed out. This is a different kind of loss, bone-deep and echoing. He presses his forehead to mine, his voice a shredded whisper: “He’s gone?”
I can’t even nod. I just start to wail again, this animal sound I don’t even recognize.
He shushes me, rocking back and forth. “He did it to save you,” Knox tells me, jaw working.
“He fuckin’ always said he’d go out his own way.
He didn’t want any of us to have to—” He can’t even finish.
I watch the words back up behind his teeth until his jaw clicks.
Minute by minute, the world moves. Voices blur behind us, the fire department and cops rolling in.
Knox tucks my hair back from my face, wipes my cheek with his thumb.
He yanks his phone out, types something rapid-fire.
A minute later, the low thunder of bikes comes rolling down the shoulder of the distant road.
I see them at the top of the paddock, riding three across, not even pretending to obey traffic laws.
Knox lifts me onto the back of his bike, climbs in front, and tells me, “Hold on, we can’t stay here, it’s too risky.
” I do, arms snaked around his ribs, forehead to his spine.
I hear his heart pounding through his shirt.
He doesn’t wait for anything, just guns it, wheels pounding through the soft grass, away from the house, the cops, the mess left behind.
He takes us down a gravel road—one of the ones that just ends up in a forgotten stretch of woods.
The other bikes are already there. We are about to tell them the worst news of their lives.
I slide off when the bike stops, my legs wobbling.
Knox stands, face turned to the tree line.
Wolfe is first off his bike, and when he sees me, his whole face changes.
It’s like he knows.
He doesn’t need to ask.
“He’s gone,” Knox tells Wolfe, his voice low and broken. “Somethin’ went wrong, he got Callie out. Had no choice.”
Wolfe’s face falls, and the pain I see there is enough to start the sobs again. Mera rushes over, and when she sees us all, her face drops, too. “No. What happened?”
“Zane is dead,” Knox grinds out, his voice like gravel.
Mera screams.
Everything else is a blur after that.
There are cries of pain and roars of frustration, and so many arms around me, that I don’t even know who they belong to. I apologize, over and over again, telling them I tried, I begged, that I did everything I could.
It doesn’t make me feel better.
Even when they support me through it.
Because I can’t help but think that if I never came into town, Zane would be alive.
It gets dark before anyone decides to make a move. Knox finally stands, his voice a low growl “We gotta get out of here. Our brother didn’t die for nothing. Let’s go.” But he doesn’t look at anyone while he says it.
With that, we all get up.
It’s over, it’s finished, and yet the only lesson I learned today is this: freedom always comes at a cost.
Always.
“I ONLY HAVE A MINUTE, but I know what will happen if I don’t send this message.
You will all be pissed, and angry, and do stupid shit.
I don’t want you to. I made this choice, and I’d do it again.
It was me, or all of you, and I was never goin’ to allow that to happen.
Don’t blame Callie, either, I’m looking at you Wolfe.
She didn’t want to leave me. She begged.
She isn’t at fault. No one is. I mean that, Callie.
I know you’re going to blame yourself. Don’t.
You did everything you could. This ain’t on you.
So don’t sit around cryin’ for me, I need you all to move forward and live your lives, be done with all this bullshit once and for all.
Take the club in a better direction, and start doing good.
Don’t make my sacrifice for nothing. If I catch you fuckers drowning, I’ll haunt every one of you.
I love you all and I’m thankful for the life you gave me, I’m with my baby now. Peace out.”
Over and over we replay the message on Sable’s phone.
Zane managed to send her a video just before he blew the barn. She didn’t see it until we returned back, broken and barely hanging on, and when she saw it, her cries could be heard from across the compound. She rushed over and played it for all of us.
Now I’m crying again, big heavy sobs.
I don’t know if it’s a relief or if it just makes me feel worse.
“Even in his last moments, he’s still telling us off,” Mera croaks, her eyes welling with tears.
Knox scoops Sable’s phone off the table and replays the message one more time.
Mera curls herself into a ball on the couch, making little whimpery gasps between breaths, and Sable just sits with her elbow on the table, lips pressed into a straight line so tight it’s nearly white.
Nia is in Talon’s arms, her head buried into his chest. Every room in the clubhouse feels too small tonight, like all this pain is crowding out the walls.
I can’t sit.
I get up and walk down the hall, pacing, my heart pounding in my head.
Knox finds me and snags my wrist, tugging me towards the door.
“Come on,” he mutters, voice barely a scrape, “you need to wash that off.” I look down at my hands, my arms. Black smudges and rusty brown.
I don’t even know if it’s soot or blood. There is probably both.
He pulls me outside, not letting go, not even when I stumble or try to stop. His grip isn’t hard, but it’s unbreakable, and part of me is glad he’s not giving me a choice. If he didn’t drag me somewhere, I think I’d shatter.
He stops outside his room, nudges me inside, follows. The door isn’t even closed before he guides me straight to the ensuite. He just gestures to the glass stall. “Get in.”
I flinch at the abruptness, but then he tugs the elastic from my hair, and my knees almost melt.
He yanks his own shirt off like it’s nothing, and then helps peel mine over my head.
My jeans are wrecked, streaked with something mud-like, and I am grateful when he just crouches and strips them off, careful not to look at my face.
He’s gentle as he does it, hands strong but hesitant.
He undresses in seconds. For a moment we just stand in the foggy mirror, staring at our own destroyed reflections.
I look like a creature dredged from a river, eyes red to the rims and skin streaked gray.
Knox looks worse, because you can see every muscle in his chest jump and flex with each shallow breath he takes.
He isn’t crying, but his jaw is cracked so tight he could bite through steel.
He steps into the shower with me, still holding my hand.
The glass door thunks shut and for a moment it’s silent except for the ragged sound of Knox’s breathing.
Then he turns on the water. The spray hits us both—icy cold at first, and I yelp, but soon it’s warm, then hot, and I collapse against the tile.
He props my chin up, then cups the back of my skull, keeping my head out of the spray as the filth sluices off me in streaks. When my hair clings to my face, he combs it aside with his fingers. He doesn’t talk at all, just keeps steady hands on me, moving with care that feels like something holy.
My legs give out, and I start to slide to the floor, but he catches me, letting us both sink down until we’re on the ground together, the water beating down on us. The steam is heavy, almost suffocating, and I let my forehead rest on his shoulder. The only words I can form are “I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t answer.
For a long time, we do nothing but sit in the rush of water. My body is wracked with silent sobs, but I am empty, not even salt left to shed. Knox just holds me, his hand rubbing slow circles on my back.
“Maybe if I tried harder,” I whisper between sobs.
“Don’t do that, do not fuckin’ do that. He went out exactly how he wanted and that isn’t on you.” He kisses the side of my face, and I realize his stubble is wet with tears. I don’t know if they’re mine or his. “He chose this. It wasn’t your fault.”
I just sob. I have never been so tired. I think my bones are curling up inside me.
He must feel it, because he pulls us both higher, dragging us upright, and starts to lather up shampoo.
He washes my hair, fingers massaging my scalp until the pain in my head dulls to a manageable throb.
He washes my arms, my back, careful over the bruises starting to bloom there.
When he is certain I am mostly rinsed clean, he flicks the shower off, throws a towel around my body, and scoops me up, carrying me straight to the bed. He doesn’t bother with pajamas, just shoves me under the blankets and crawls in after, curling around me like something desperate.
“You gotta sleep, darlin’.”
I choke out a laugh, bitter and hoarse. “I don’t think I’m ever going to sleep again.”
He grunts in agreement.
His arms stay around me, banded so tight I can barely move, but I don’t care. For the first time in what feels like hours, my heart slows, just a little. His breathing is steady, deep, and after a while, I realize mine has matched it.
In the dark, with only the hum of Knox’s breathing and the distant echo of our shattered lives below, I finally slip under. No dreams. No nightmares. Just the comfort of him, and a bone-deep, soul-shaking grief that—for tonight at least—doesn’t have to be faced alone.
Tomorrow is a new day.