Page 38 of Beautifully Shattered
Her lower lip trembles, and she shifts, peering past me towards the sea of Southern Sadists.
“They must all hate me,” she whispers again, one tear escaping before she swipes it away through the visor.
“Trust me, they don’t,” I say, hoping she can hear the truth in my tone. “They are your family now, Angel. They’ve been worried sick over what happened to you and…” I trail off because fuck, even I can’t bring myself to speak about her baby today.
She blows out a breath… and then another, like she’s trying to gather every broken piece of her heart.
When her eyes lock with mine again, she gives me a nod, climbs off my hog, and tugs off her helmet.
Fuck me. What is it about a woman taking off a helmet and letting her hair tumble free?
“Where will they be buried?” she asks, setting her helmet on the back of my bike.
“No burials here, Angel. Our fallen have already been cremated. They’ll rest forever in a memorial wall, just over by the big oak tree.” I gesture across the yard, past the pool, to the massive tree.
“Oh…” she murmurs, and I turn to catch the frown pinching her brows. “I assumed your club would do a whole burial thing.”
Leaning in conspiratorially, I smirk at her. “Cremation burns the evidence. No bodies. No DNA. No loose ends. No digging up our dead, Angel.”
“But wouldn’t you want the police to have the evidence to find whoever did it?”
I shake my head. “Yeah-nah. That’s not how the Southern Sadists roll. We take care of shit ourselves. No pigs involved.”
“You have them as allies, though. Like that police officer in Fox Pines.” Her frown deepens, and fuck, it’s cute.
“We've got some in our pocket. But we’re outlaws, beautiful. We live by our own set of rules. Not theirs.” Reaching out, I graze my fingers over her cheek before brushing her soft blonde strands behind her ear. “Sure, the pigs help when it suits us, but justice?” I shrug. “That’s ours to serve.”
Her caramel gaze flicks up to mine, and something like understanding flashes behind them.
She’s starting to get it.
“Come on. I’ve got something to show you before the service starts.” I take her hand, ignoring the stares we’re getting, andlead her to the scrubby patch near the barn that reeks of stale piss.
She smells it immediately, pinching her nose as she cringes.
I chuckle.
“Are there no toilets here?” She sounds nasally with her fingers still closing off her nose.
“There are, but this is the sacred spot my brothers love to piss. Right where we usually keep the mangy dog tied up.”
Her brows hitch, and she drops her hand from her nose, her eyes snapping to mine.
“You’ve been keeping Wendy here?”
I nod. “She gets this sweet aroma, day in, day out.”
Abbey scoffs. “I wouldn’t call it sweet.” She shivers with another cringe. “It’s fitting for that bitch, though.”
This time, it’s my brows that hike up, taking in the fire in her eyes as she glares down at the chain looped around a tree that Wendy is normally locked to.
The old Abbey would find this unacceptable. Probably would’ve lost it over seeing this, her soft, gentle heart not able to take such inhumane treatment. But that girl is gone now. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
A bike horn blares, and we both turn as the crowd starts moving around the motorcycles parked in the centre of the yard.
“Service is starting,” I mutter, glancing down at my wife. “You wanna go into the barn?”
Eyeing the crowd, she pauses for a moment before shaking her head, and fuck, I didn’t realise just how much I wanted her to stay. To stand beside me and honour my club brothers.
