Page 44 of Beautifully Shattered
Kite
Roadie
Barts
Bowey
Zeus
It’s permanent, and poetically brutal.
Reaching out, I run my finger gently over the names, feeling the skin raised beneath the black ink.
“I’m bound to them now. Through blood and ash,” he chokes out, clearing his throat as our eyes meet. “It’s how we keep our fallen brothers with us. Always.”
I swallow hard, my vision blurring my view of his ruggedly handsome face.
His hand dives into my hair, tugging me against the heat of his bare chest, and I wrap my arms around him, never wanting to let go.
He turns us away from the crowd, shielding this moment of raw grief. It gives us a sliver of solitude to mourn a tragedy that should never have happened.
We stay wrapped in each other for a long time. The music changes from heavy to soft rock, then to something quirky I’ve never heard, before we finally ease apart.
“I’ve been pissed at Smitty lately… for trying to drag me back into club business.” He trails off, his eyes drifting over my head to the gathered crowd beyond. “I didn’t want to think about any of this,” his gaze flicks down to me, “because I wanted to keep my focus on you. My beautiful, grieving wife.” He brushes my hair back with both hands, cradling my face between his rough palms. “You’re my number one priority. I’ll do anything for you…”
He trails off again, and I blink up again, my stomach knotting as dread seeps in.
“But?” I ask, because it sounds like there should be a but.
He sighs, bringing his forehead to mine in that way he loves, so close now that I can see flecks of black in his whiskey eyes.
“But they’re my family. Andyou’remy family.” He eases back slightly, his gaze flicking to my lips before returning to my eyes. “Somehow, I’ve got to figure out how to make that fit together.”
I frown, not sure where he’s going with this, but he keeps talking, like the emotions of the day have cracked him open, and now the dam inside him is pouring out.
“Men like me don’t get much by the way of happiness during our shitty existence, Angel. We get fleeting moments, few and fucking far between, and most of us don’t ever find real love.”
My heart flips, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he looks at me like I’m the most precious thing on Earth.
“Instead, I found acceptance. Community. In the club. In my brothers. A found family, built not by blood, but by choice and loyalty. For a lot of the guys, it’s the only family they’ve ever had.” His gaze shifts over my head to the crowd again, but his hold on my head never wavers. Like he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll run.
He knows me too well, but I’m done running from him.
“Me… well, I’ve got my ma and sisters. I’ve got the club, and my fucking ride-or-dies in JD, Murf, Trunk, Stocky and Jols.” His whiskey eyes lock onto mine again. “And now I have you.”
I nod against his hands, and he releases my head, one arm sliding around my back to hold me close, all while his eyes stay locked on mine as I crane my head back to meet them.
“Youdohave me.”
“I don’t know that I deserve all the love I’m getting, Angel,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “But I’ll fucking take it. Because we both know too fucking well, how fast it can all be ripped away.”
My lip trembles as I give in to my own emotions.
I think he’s trying to make a declaration. Trying to say what he can’t quite explain. How torn he is between me and his club. Two polar opposites. Two worlds that were never meant to blend.
But here’s the thing… The violence that runs through the veins of the Southern Sadists is now coursing through mine, too. I’m not the same girl I was a week ago.
Now, when Iclose my eyes, I picture violence. Blood and gore. It’s always there now, lurking under the surface like it’s always been there waiting. I just couldn’t see it until now.
