Page 47 of Beautifully Shattered
Their unity is everything I’ve craved in my life.
People who have my back. Who love me even if I’m broken.
I get what the Southern Sadists are now. And I want that.
I only hope what I’m about to do here tonight is something they can forgive.
10
Iwas expecting glares and even harsh words from the club brothers and the Doxies today. After all, eight of their own are dead because of me. But not one person has been cruel. Instead, I’ve been met with quiet sympathy, gentle hugs from Doxies, and more whispered condolences than I know what to do with.
I should feel anything but this rage that is waiting to explode from me, yet its claws are in deep, not letting me go. It doesn’t matter how many people offer their respects. It won’t bring my Bobbi back, and it won’t sate this violent beast unfurling inside me.
The sun is setting now, the club gathered around a furious bonfire, music of the eight dead still playing over the speakers. The motorcycles of the fallen are parked off to the side, theirleather vests draped back over the handlebars, like each man is still sitting there, watching on from the afterlife.
No matter how many times I try to look away, my gaze keeps falling to Stoner’s and Mule’s bikes. Tucker’s too.
They died at Ringo’s house trying to protect me.
No matter how many times I try to tell myself it wasn’t my fault, my brain comes to the same conclusion.
I was the reason they were there.
I was the reason Ian Allen and his men stormed the property.
I was the reason Ian arranged for the rival club to ambush the compound.
All of it… falls back to me.
A gunshot suddenly cracks through the air, making me jump. Ringo’s arms give me a reassuring squeeze as Smitty’s voice booms over the chatter, my eyes darting to him to see his hand raised, and in it, the gun pointing towards the sky.
“They rode hard. They died harder.” He lowers his gun, pointing it at the grass by his feet. “Now they ride free. In Valhalla. In the wind. In us.”
Someone hurls fuel into the fire, and the flames explode higher as heat licks our skin, even at the distance we are standing.
Some in the crowd cheer. Others weep. A few shoot bullets skyward, while others mount their bikes and rev their engines before tearing around the bonfire in donuts that kick up dust.
“You doing okay, Angel?” Ringo’s low rasp brushes my ear as he leans down, and I pull back from his chest to nod up at him.
“I’m okay…” I bite my lip, my eyes scanning over the chaos unravelling around us. “I guess this is kind of like a wake?”
His lips kick up slightly as he brushes some of my hair back behind my ear.
“Yeah. This is the part where we celebrate them. The life they shared with us.”
I nod, even though the wordcelebratefeels wrong. I know this is a normal process of farewelling someone who has died, but it’s hard to understand how anyone can smile, let alone laugh, at a time like this.
“What’s going through that head of yours?” Ringo asks, eyes locked on me, always observant.
“I guess… I just don’t get how they can laugh right now.”
He watches me for a beat, the fire casting shadows across his face, one side lit in gold, the other cloaked in black. His thumb grazes my cheek, warm from the flames that feel closer than they are.
“Well, Angel. It’s a form of honouring our dead. They aren’t here anymore, so we have to live for them.” He glances up, eyes skimming the groups around us, each one wrapped in their own conversations. Their own grief. “They’re telling stories. Laughing at the stupid shit they did. Remembering who they were. Keeping them alive by speaking their names, because today is about them. Our dead.” His eyes flick back to mine. “Grief is a fucking bastard. It’s messy and loud and confusing as hell. But if you let it run through you. If you stop fighting it… that’s when you start to get stronger. That’s how the healing begins.”
“I still stand by what I said on our wedding day.” I grin up at him. “You guys are poets. Nothing you say can change my mind about that.”
His lips stretch wider, a real smile tugging at the corners this time, and for a moment, we just stare at each other. Then, hissmile fades, and his eyes turn more haunted than I’ve ever seen them.
