Page 69 of Hawk's Cry

“What have you got if you don’t work with me?” I dangle more carrots in front of him. “You don’t know how to access the compound, or have detailed information about the club. You can kill me, and Olivia, but Wizard won’t give a damn.” I inject a bite of anger into my voice. “They set you up, Archangel. They don’t care about anyone except their precious club.”

“You were VP. You played a part in me going down.”

I shake my head and scoff. “Five years ago I’d not long patched in. I was nothing but a lowly member. Drummer was prez, Wraith was VP. I only got the VP spot as Drummer begged Wizard to give it to me. He fuckin’ set me up when I couldn’t handle what went down.” I let a sneaky expression cover my face. “But as VP, I do know everything.”

“I know who’s to blame,” he insists, dismissing my embellishment. “Your father and Olivia’s. Hence why I should just take you out. Whatever you say, it will hurt your families if no one else.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him, mentally apologising to the prez of the club. “They just acted on the information Wizard found. If Wizard hadn’t been the driving force who kept digging, they’d never have found out about your wife. It’s Wizard who’s to blame. It’s he who decided I didn’t have what it took to ride at his side. Wizard’s the man we both should take down.”

“And now Wizard’s the prez.” He seems to think my answer is plausible. His face darkens, then he slaps me hard on the back. “Seems we’ve both got reasons to take everything he values away.”

I give a half-grin, half-sneer. “I’ve got a good plan for that.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Eli…

I ride in the back of the truck, sandwiched between his men. Men who are stoic and not open to conversation. Not that I bother to start one, but just notice they don’t talk amongst themselves.

The demon who seems to be constantly on my shoulder, whispering my inadequacies into my ear, tells me I’m out of my depth. That Liv’s depending on me to save her, but my plan won’t work. All I’ll succeed in doing is dying alongside her. Well, so be it. If I can’t save her, I neither want nor deserve to live.

My palms feel sweaty, and my heart starts to race. I focus on controlling my breathing, swearing at the demon to get lost. Telling myself I can, and will, do this. That there’s too much else at stake. Trying to draw on my memory that while I have no faith in myself, despite what I’d told Archangel, my brothers saw something in me that made them vote me in as vice prez.

I didn’t get that spot out of any nepotism. As a prospect I was tested more than the rest. I earned a reputation for thinking before leaping, directing the club to do what was best. Have I ever failed at anything?

I try to think back. The only wrong decision I made was to walk away from the club and not to share what was going on in my head. But I was someone who men looked up to, how could I admit to feeling lost? How could I tell them the effort it took every fuckin’ day just to raise my head off the pillow, let alone get out of bed? How could I speak to them when I hadn’t the words to describe my own thoughts?

Wizard referred to what I’m going through as an illness, a disease. The therapist told me there were ways I could regain my life and live normally again. Hound and Throttle accepted how I’d broken down in the street. Hell, they seemed relieved there was an explanation for behaviour they couldn’t otherwise explain.

I might not have the flu or a cold I can easily shake, but I am sick, even though that’s just bad connections in my head. My synapses aren’t firing in unison, the neuro-transmitters failing to do their work. I’ve just got to fight this as I would a viral infection.

I can do this. If I fail, I lose my wife. Not to another man, but worse, she’ll be dead. And my son? Well, I’d never have a chance to meet him.

Slowly my palms dry. My heart starts to beat strongly, but evenly in my chest. My slow breathing becomes natural and not forced as I prepare for the battle of my life. I clear my head of all and every insecurity as my determination grows. With the help of the Devils I will save Liv. I’ll play my part to lead Archangel into a trap.

The truck makes a sharp turn and starts bumping down a track. We arrive at a fairly nondescript mid-sized house set back from the main road. It’s not ostentatious, but then, Archangel wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself. There are also no close neighbours.

When we come to a halt, the men surrounding me get out, and I follow the first two, knowing the others are behind me. My eyes rapidly look around, cataloguing the environment. I notice an ancient saguaro riddled with bullet holes. The sight pains me, realising they must use it for target practice. Born and bred in Arizona, it’s a slight to my culture. The cacti are protected by law, even dead ones have to be left where they fall. The disrespect shown is just another black mark on Archangel’s stained soul. Soon, I comfort myself, he’ll be another fallen angel, explaining himself to Satan instead.

As I follow Archangel into the house, I see a guard standing outside a locked door. My heart beats faster, but with anticipation, not fear.

“I want to see my wife,” I demand.

Archangel halts his forward momentum and turns to face me, one eyebrow raised.

“I want to see for myself she’s unharmed. I’m not saying one word until I speak to her.”

He considers for a moment. I jut out my lower jaw and purse my lips.

Blowing out a breath, he turns to the guard and raises his chin. Another non-verbal communication which has me wondering whether I’ll need to learn sign language if I’m going to work with him.

A bolt is thrown, the door opened, then shut and locked again after I step in.

Liv stands disbelieving as she tries to process the apparition that’s appeared. Then she’s moving, flying at me as fast as a waddling heavily pregnant woman can, almost unbalancing me as she throws herself into my arms.

I hold her, breathing in that perfume which is so familiar, feeling that long silky hair brushing against my hands. I love this woman with everything that I am and always have. How could I ever have thought I could survive without her? I’ve been a fool. She’s as necessary to my life as oxygen.

Gently I push her away, just an inch so I can look down into her face, examining her features, looking for bruising or any sign she’s been hurt. Luckily I find no evidence else I’d not be able to keep my temper in check.

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