Page 7 of Beautifully Shattered (Secrets & Scars #3)

F ive days. That’s all it’s been since Bobbi died, yet it feels like weeks, because every passing minute that my Angel isn’t herself is another minute I’m watching her slip further away.

She has every right to be angry. To want vengeance. To demand justice.

But I never imagined those broken words she whispered to her dead baby meant that she was literally going to take that justice into her own hands. I figured she’d want someone else to do the killing for her.

Shit.

I was expecting some sort of remorse after killing that Rebel. Tears. Guilt. Something for taking the life of another human. And while she has fallen in a heap, it’s not because she killed that Rebel fucker .

It’s because I won’t let her leave. Because I refuse to let her go out and kill more.

“She talking to you yet?” Jols asks, handing me a steaming cup of coffee as I sit on the deck of the lake house we’ve been hiding out in.

It’s a Marx safe house, just a few doors down from Griffin’s digs.

Redfield Lake is calm. There are no boats on the water nearby. Probably because it’s fucking cold out here.

But fuck, it’s colder inside. Colder in the bedroom upstairs. The one I’m supposed to be sharing with Abbey.

“Barely.” I grunt, blowing on the steam before taking a scalding sip.

Fuck, Jols makes a good coffee.

“Maybe after Bobbi’s funeral, she’ll start to come around.” Jols offers a glimmer of hope, but fuck, I’m just not sure there is any.

“What if she’s gone?” I rasp, dragging my gaze from the still water to where Jols sits in the other rickety deck chair, sipping her own brew.

She takes a long moment to respond, her eyes dropping to her cup as she considers my question.

“It hasn’t even been a week. She just needs time.”

I grunt. “How much time?”

Her brows hitch. “I don’t know. How much time did you need?”

My gaze falls away from hers at the reminder. “There’s no amount of time.”

Sighing, Jols settles back into the chair, ignoring the way it wobbles like it’s ready to give out .

“Exactly. This isn’t something you recover from. She’ll be forever changed because of this.”

My eyes flick back to hers. “I don’t want her to change. I want my sweet wife back.”

Sympathy washes over Jols’ face. “This isn’t about you, though. This is about her. What she lost. Her grief. How she comes out on the other side might be influenced a little by those who rally around her, but ultimately… it’s all on her.”

I stare at my friend for a long moment.

How the fuck is she only twenty-four? She’s too young to have this sort of life knowledge, but then again, you don’t run with an outlaw MC unless you’ve had it rough.

I know she’s had a fucking tough time of it. Her attack and the medical issues that followed. Learning how to trust men again after being torn apart.

Why the fuck is life so hard?

“So you think I should let her go on her so-called killing spree?” I ask, the thought alone making me want to fucking puke.

“Hell no. She’ll get herself killed in the first five minutes.” Jols scoffs, taking another long sip of her steaming drink. “But maybe it’s worth thinking about inviting her to go with you.”

I shake my head, eyes drifting back to the lake.

“I don’t want her to kill anyone else. One day, she might snap out of this rage and drown in her regret.” I glance back at Jols. “She’s got a big heart. Too big. She’ll never be able to forgive herself for taking lives.”

“So don’t let her. Do the killing yourself, or most of it, anyway.” Jols shrugs, voice calm like we’re talking about groceries instead of murder. “But let her see it. Let her know it's happening. Give her the closure she thinks she needs.”

I nod at that. It’s a better option than her pulling the trigger again, yet I can’t help but worry.

What if, when her head clears, she looks at me and sees the man who became her weapon?

I guess that’s still a better option though.

Better for her to hate what she sees in me rather than what she sees when she looks in the mirror.

Finishing my coffee, I head back inside, taking a moment to rinse my cup and leave it on the dish drainer before heading upstairs.

There are two bedrooms up here in the attic-style house.

One room Jols is using, and the other is meant to be for me and my wife… But in the three days we’ve been holed up here, there’s been nothing remotely marital about it.

As I always do, I tap lightly on the door before slipping inside. I don’t know why I do it. It’s my room too, but fuck, I don’t feel welcome in it.

My eyes fall to the bed, and the lump under the blankets.

Abbey is hiding again. Wrapped up tight like the world can’t touch her if she stays buried deep enough.

She’s been sleeping her days away. Or at least, pretending to so she can avoid interacting with everyone.

With me.

I get it. I really fucking do. But watching her disappear like this is fucking breaking me.

I don’t want to lose her. Not when I only just found her. Not when, for the first time in years, she’s the reason I feel alive .

Jols is right, though .

This isn’t about me.

This is about Abbey.

Her pain. Her way of coping.

Moving around the bed, her face is mostly hidden under the blankets, eyes closed, but her lids are twitching, like she’s really awake and is pretending to be asleep.

Sliding down the wall, I sit on the floor beside the bed, my back resting against the cool plaster as I stare at her face.

Then she sighs and slowly blinks her eyes open.

“I can feel you staring.”

I smirk, but it’s barely there. It’s too fucking hard to pretend right now.

Her caramel stare is lifeless. Like the light in her orbs has been snuffed out.

“How are you feeling about killing that man?” I ask quietly, and she rolls her eyes.

“The same way I felt the ten other times you asked me,” she mutters, shifting slightly under the blankets, and for a second, I think she is going to roll away, but all she does is bunch the pillow under the side of her face a little more.

Good. She’s not pushing me away just yet.

“Do you understand why I’m asking you?”

She just shrugs at my question.

“The Abbey I knew a week ago would be struggling with taking someone’s life.” I point out, my voice soft, but the truth of it hits hard.

“The Abbey you knew a week ago is gone.” Her tone is flat. So matter-of-fact. And fuck, her words slice through me like a fucking blade.

My face falls at her honesty, but I don’t like it one fucking bit .

“So what?” I snap. “Now human life is worthless? Expendable?”

Again, she rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Only the ones that deserve to die.”

I lean forward a little, my tone low and steady. “And who deserves to die?”

She sits up quickly, taking me by surprise, and starts reeling off the names like she’s been keeping a list in her head.

I guess it’s no different from the list I asked her to write out for me when I first took her.

“Ian Allen, Donny, Daniel, maybe his dad, Darnel, Minister Banes, all of Ian Allen’s cronies, the Satan’s Rebels… oh and my mum, maybe my dad and sister Maggie.”

Fuck.

She has put way too much thought into this.

“You want to kill your sister?”

She nods. No hesitation.

“Mags is too far gone. Her first instinct was to drug me at that chapel so I’d stop fighting when my mum wanted to shove me into a wedding dress.

She helped those men hold me down so my mum could get it on me.

” Her voice is low, fast, and dripping with venom.

“I tried to tell her the church is a cult, but she wouldn’t hear it.

She’s just like my mum. Doesn’t see what Daniel and his friends did as rape.

And then…” She throws her arms up in the air, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“Then she offered herself up to marry Daniel instead of me after they found out I was already married. There was this whole weird discussion on bloodlines, and who the real father is… like they need to know who he is because only he can marry Maggie in my place, since Maggie shares the same blood as me. ”

“The fuck?”

“I know, right?” she snaps, eyes blazing.

As fucked up as this conversation is, my heart fucking thrashes just knowing she’s finally talking to me.

“None of what that church has done is right,” she says, voice shaky but gaining strength, “but it wasn’t until I heard that conversation that I really realised it’s truly a cult.

And they wanted my baby, Ringo. They wanted her for whatever fucked-up ceremony they were talking about. And I don’t think it was a wedding.”

“What?” I frown, shifting to my knees, moving to the edge of the mattress. And fuck, when she doesn’t shift away, that gives me hope that what we had is still there. “Do you think they were talking about… some sort of sacrifice or something?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice trembles as her gaze falls distant, like she’s trying to recall the memories.

“Maggie said she’d sacrifice herself for the family…

” Her eyes go wide and her breath catches.

“You don’t think she meant… I mean, I thought she was referring to becoming a wife, but what if it was more than that?

What if I was meant to be the sacrifice… or Bobbi was?”

I stare at my Angel for a long beat, my eyes wide with the horror of what she’s saying. It’s just too unbelievable to even consider, but fuck, isn’t that exactly how cults work? Twisting the sickest shit into some kind of holy order?

“I want to say it’s absurd,” I admit quietly as our eyes meet, “but the truth is… I don’t fucking know.”

She nods. “Same.”

Her brows pull together as she sinks into thought again .

“I wonder why they’re still after me,” she murmurs. “They came to the hospital to take me, not kill me. But why?” Her voice cracks. “Do they know Bobbi is…”

She doesn’t finish that sentence, and I don’t blame her.

Even on the best days, saying the words out loud is like a fucking knife to the centre of your chest.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” she mutters, voice flat. “They are bad people. And they must die.”

Staring into her caramel gaze, I watch as whatever light had flickered in there moments ago, snuffs out again.

“I agree.” I nod. “They must, which is why I have a proposal for you.”

Her brows lift slightly, the smallest spark of curiosity catching in her eyes.

“I know you want to kill them yourself, but it’s too dangerous. So here’s what I’m thinking. You use me as your weapon. We hunt them down together . And you watch while I make them pay. Every last one of them.”

She’s silent for a long beat, just staring at me. Her caramel eyes remain fused to my face like she’s trying to read between the lines. Trying to figure out if there’s a lie in them.

Then she speaks.

“I want to be the one to kill Daniel, Donny, Darnel and Ian Allen myself .”

“But—”

“Take it or leave it,” she cuts me off, and I frown.

“I get Daniel, Donny and Darnel. They raped you. But why Ian? Why him too?”

The moment her eyes cloud over, glassy and distant, my gut fucking sinks .

Dread barrels into me like an eighteen-hundred-pound bull.

“We can add him to the list of my rapists now,” she says, voice trembling, yet her glare is pure ice. “He told me he wanted to know what all the fuss was about… then tag-teamed his nephew in to have at me next.”

My blood turns to fucking ice.

“No.”

“Yes,” she snarls. “They all wanted one last piece of me before I was married off to Daniel.” She shivers, full-bodied, like the memory is crawling across her skin.

A roar rips from me as I lurch to my feet.

Abbey gasps, whimpering, and scurrying back on the bed as I spin and slam my fist into the wall, the plaster crumbling from the force of my punch with a sickening crack.

I spin, storming across the room to the chair I’ve sat in every fucking night, trying to keep myself from crawling into bed with her, to give her the space she needs, and I heft the fucking thing up, and hurl it across the room.

It shatters to pieces, slamming into the far wall, splintering wood and tearing through the plaster like paper.

The bedroom door bursts open, and JD hurries in just in time for me to take a swing at him.

He ducks my fist, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

I need to hurt someone, and I need to fucking hurt them now .