Page 2 of Fanatic

As we passed HQ, I choked when I saw the street jammed with Phoe’s staff. It looked like every single one of them was present. I spotted other familiar faces, the Reading Nook, Made by Rage, Amber’s ranch… they were all there.

Everyone who Grey had touched. Some of Phoe’s staff headed towards vehicles dressed in black and joined the procession after the bikers. Fuck, my man had been loved, respected, and admired. Grey had become the face of the war. A former Fed who’d stood up and was counted on when times were dark.

Our love story was out there. How he’d been forced from the Bureau and left to give me my career. People spoke like they knew him. They hadn’t. But they did now, as renowned as he’d become. Just as famous as Unwanted Bastards, who’d been decimated. The war had created national heroes. What the news reports didn’t understand was they had already been heroes.

The journey to the church wasn’t long, but it took an hour as we passed through the streets. Strangers lined them, watching solemnly as the MCs mourned yet another fallen brother.

People threw flowers on the road, and that’s when the first tear escaped. I wiped it away and continued to stare. When we arrived at the church, I saw a huge flatscreen set up and cameras with microphones.

“It’s not big enough for everyone, the service will be played here, too,” Phoe whispered as I left the car. That was a common occurrence at recent funerals.

The allies attended every funeral. If they could walk or ride, they were present. There’d been a few exceptions: Drake, Calamity, Adam, for example. Those who’d had life-threatening injuries.

I nodded and headed to the top of the steps as the inner circle hefted Grey’s coffin on their shoulders.

“No one enters until I say so,” I ordered the rest of Rage, and confused, they nodded.

Grieving, I turned on my heel and took my place at the front of the coffin and led my man down the aisle. Dad’s pride hit my shoulders, but I kept Grey’s honour. I stepped to the side and allowed the inner circle to lay Grey on the altar.

They each said their personal goodbye and then walked back to the entrance. I turned to Dad and Fanatic, who handed me one of Grey’s cuts: Prospect of Rage MC. He’d never get brother, and posthumously awarding it meant nothing.

Grey had been a prospect. He shouldn’t have been there. But the hero inside him, the loyal man, the guy who couldn’t stand injustice, had chosen to fight. Drake had accepted his decision instead of forcing him away. That was on Drake’s head. But Grey’s skills as a former Fed would have been invaluable. That shit, though, didn’t bring Grey back.

Rigidly, I took the cut and placed it over his coffin. Grey wore one inside, I’d made certain of that.

For a moment, I was tempted to rip the coffin open and breathe life into him. A wild pain rose, and I nearly screamed. How could I live without him? I needed him, his sexy smile, his stupid jokes, and his laughter. Grey had been stolen from me, and I yearned to rage at the world and tear it down.

I clenched my fist against my chest as Dad wrapped me up tight. Fanatic came close and sandwiched me in. I clung to them both, struggling to control my grief. Huge, staggered gasps left me as I nearly collapsed.

Why Grey? Oh, I knew why. But I still asked the question. Grey had risked his life, and I lost him. An image of Serenity’s hand rose in my mind; oh yeah, it had all been filmed, and I’d seen it.

That tiny hand massaging Grey’s heart and keeping him alive. Only to lose him a day later in hospital. Calamity had come damn close to dying, as had Drake, but they pulled through by some sort of miracle. Not my Grey.

Fanatic stepped back and held another cut out to me. I shrugged it on over my dress. Grey’s old lady, it stated loudly and proudly, and I was. With one last lingering look, I kissed his cut and coffin and walked down the aisle to the doors.

“Now they may come in,” I declared. “Keep a space for me, Dad.”

Dad nodded, realising what I planned, and then helped Ellen down the aisle. Each brother, old lady, and Hellion who walked up the steps stopped and placed their hands in my open ones. Words weren’t required. The squeeze of hands said everything.

Once Rage was inside and seated, Hellfire took their place, one by one, entering the church.

Beside me stood Fanatic, his pain tangible. I shrugged Fanatic’s away. I’d my own agony and couldn’t deal with his.

Chance led Hellfire MC in.

Dylan Hawthorne, and his men followed. Dylan’s eyes were full of grief, like mine. He, too, had lost men. Ramirez and Ben, with Nando and Bobby Lucas came, grieving for their fallen colleagues too.

Master Hoshi, Akemi, the Juno group. James Washington and the Delta Group.

Friends, family, and the presidents of the allied clubs all passed me by. Inglorious stopped by me and held my gaze. Out of everyone, Inglorious understood my agony, it was matched byhis own. Inglorious reached out and took my hands, and drew me into a hug.

I don’t know how long I stood there, but I felt stronger for it.

Inglorious kissed my forehead and squeezed me tightly before he, Razor, and Chill continued into the church. Even with his own searing agony, Inglorious still put others first. MC officers approached and touched my hands and took their places on the lawns alongside other guests.

Finally, I had touched and received respect from everyone who attended my man’s funeral. I’d given them respect and thanks back. I turned on my heel and entered the church. Hundreds had turned up. Possibly over a thousand, to say goodbye to a hero who was a stranger to most.

I stopped, took a deep breath, and began a solitary walk down the aisle that Dad should have been walking me down as a bride. Instead, I walked down as a widow.

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