Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
The Butchers are so focused on the turmoil in their midst, that they don’t even notice my arrival, so I pull out my gun and aim, eager to cover my man when the time comes.
For a second, I’m not sure whether he’s within sight, but the neon above the bar reveals a hunched figure kneeling in the dirt. I can’t see all of him, not with all the tall shadows surrounding him from all sides, but the long braid hanging down his back is a dead giveaway. My blood boils when someone kicks him to the ground, and I shoot without thinking to get their attention.
“Come at me, fuckers!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I could take on an army right now just to get them off him.
One of the dark silhouettes turns his head my way for a second, and I spot a gun in his hand. I fully expect to dodge a bullet, but the man aims at Clyde and pulls the trigger.
I stop breathing, and pain spreads through my chest, then down, into my legs.
At first I hope it’s torture, a way to humiliate him, but Clyde falls into a heap and… stills. He’s not trying to get away, or beg for his life. He’s… gone.
My Clyde is gone.
Tears blur my eyes, and I sob, breathing in the sharp scent of gasoline. A part of me hopes he will stir, show me that it’s all a bluff, that if I charge now, maybe he can survive, but the man who shot him grabs him by the ankles and drags his limp form away from the colorful glow of the neon light.
My lungs refuse to work as I watch the men argue. Some start running my way, one spits at Clyde’s dead body, then kicks it, and I pull the trigger, only to hear the dull click of the empty magazine.
What the fuck have I done?
It’s my fault he’s dead.
I came here. I got in trouble, prompting him to save me.
And now he’s no longer alive. I can never tell him how much he means to me.
A bullet whistles too close to my ear, and I speed off, awakened from my trance. The poison of Clyde’s fate penetrates every bit of me, killing any joy I might have found with or without him. My heart beats so very fast it’s making me lightheaded, but I don’t slow, because crashing right now and not having to live on with the terrible fucking knowledge that I’ll never again hold him would be mercy.
But I survive. Despite the recklessness of my nightly ride, the high speed, the choking sensation in my chest, I’m still standing by the time I slow down in the dark woods, far away from the men who killed the one person who ever made me feel like there’s something out there for me. Something soft, and peaceful, and tender.
Not only will I never have that, but once the Butchers go through Clyde’s phone, they will discover our affair, and they’ll let my club know.
I’m a traitor. And the Vultures have no use for someone like me.
My hands shake as I rub my arms, letting my emotions out in a roar to the cloudy sky. The moon is hidden, as if it too doesn’t want anything to do with a dirty liar like me. I shudder with guilt when I briefly let myself feel grateful for Clyde’s forgiveness at the end. I don’t deserve his affection, and I never did.
We both went into this knowing the risks, but I was the one who pursued him. I killed his brother and still went after him without shame. Because I was greedy.
And he invited me in. Into his life, to his little shack by the lake, and into his body.
I hate myself so fucking much right now I can’t stand it.
He killed one of the Butchers for me, and now he’s dead.
Should I go back there? Set their club on fire? Take revenge and go out in a blaze of glory?
I sob into my hands. There is no glory left for me. I don’t deserve shit. I was so frantic, I ran away and left him to those wolves.
I let down the man I love, lost him, and I’m a traitor to my club.
If I could turn back time, I would have made sure he was on the back of my bike. I’d work it out with my club somehow. Or left everyone behind and didn’t look back.
If it gave Clyde’s life back, I would have never touched him.
But reality doesn’t work that way.
I hate reality, and I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.
It’s a truth that hits me so hard doubts no longer have a place in my mind. I pull out the small pouch of pills and capsules, open it, and swallow each that rolls down my tongue.