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Blade

Angel is avenged. It’s finished. Rogue Angels MC, of which I am the Vice President, came to exist from our feverish desire to find the psycho serial killer called Ghost who took her from us and kill him.

After ten years of trying, we have now done that.

It doesn’t feel as good, as satisfying, as fulfilling as I had hoped it would.

Rogue Angels MC got its name from our quest to get justice for Angel, but in the years of trying to do that, we’ve become more than just a vengeance seeking MC.

Or not. Depending on how you look at it.

We’re in the business of hunting down criminals that no one else is going after, be it due to lack of leads or the criminals’ connections in high places.

Every member of the MC also has a backstory that involves a criminal that got away.

Sometimes we’re lucky enough to hunt one of those down too.

Ghost is just one of many that we’ve hunted down.

He didn’t die well. He died screaming just as Angel did.

I wanted that to feel good. Or better than it does.

And as much as I hate to admit it, I think I know why.

For me, avenging Angel has always been tied to getting Bella back. She is my the one . I’d gladly have laid down my life for her and almost did. Ghost had abducted her too, but we saved her. She left me anyway. And she’s been gone for ten years.

Gone in the flesh but not gone from my thoughts. For years now, I’ve been telling myself I’m finally totally and completely over her. But she’s been constantly on my mind ever since we watched the psycho’s hut burn in the desert, with his screams echoing in the growing darkness and rising cold.

A vision of her visited me in the hospital after I took several bullets for my MC. She stood by my side as I floated in the air, watching as the emergency room doctors worked on my naked, bleeding body. She held my hand. As softly and warmly as only she can.

She didn’t say anything. She never does when she comes to me like that. Just smiles, her presence filling the whole room.

The last thing she said to me was, “Don’t come looking for me. It’s over.”

I didn’t want to hear that and so I didn’t want to hear anything else from her either. That’s why she’s always silent in my visions and dreams. And probably why she’s always on my mind.

Even my favorite philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre went soft when speaking about love. "In love, one and one are one,” he said.

As hard as I tried to fight it over the years, it’s remained largely true for Bella and me. At least as far as I’m concerned. I have no idea how she feels. I’ve honored her wishes. I stayed away from her.

JP also said, “Every existing thing is born without reason, prolongs itself out of weakness, and dies by chance.”

And of course, “Hell is other people.”

I agree with all that too.

As I floated there in the emergency room, watching myself dying, I wondered if I was already in hell.

And if my version of it included Bella by my side, silent forever.

Touching me softly but never giving me more than that while I could feel her everywhere.

It would make sense as far as that being pure hell is concerned.

“What’s our budget like for traveling these days?” I ask loudly, my deep voice echoing in the nearly empty clubhouse bar.

Rogue, our MC president and my best friend, looks up from some file he’s been reading, the unfocused look in his eyes suggesting he didn’t even know I was here.

“Where you thinking of going?” Creed asks, glancing at me over the edge of his newspaper. His inherited millions are the main money source for the MC, and he holds the purse strings very tight.

“New York City,” I announce.

Now Creed looks confused, but Rogue knows exactly what I’m talking about. He’s clearly been keeping tabs on Bella’s whereabouts too.

“Bella needs to be told,” I say. “She deserves to know too.”

Rogue’s usually very bright green eyes turn black. Clearly, he’s still not forgiven her for bailing on Angel’s funeral and all the rest of us. For bringing Ghost to our doorstep. For abandoning us all.

“You sure you need to tell her in person?” he asks. “It’s something a simple email can take care of.”

Creed is pretending to read his newspaper, but there’s no rustling of paper coming from his direction and he hasn’t moved at all since I started talking.

“Three o'clock is always too late or too early for anything you want to do,” I say sagely, quoting JP again and making Rogue grimace. He hates it when I quote philosophers instead of giving straight answers. But I love doing that.

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps. “I’m not in the mood for this philosophical bullshit right now.”

Creed folds up his newspaper, tosses it on the table and stands up. “I figure that quote just means it’s always a good time for a drink, since it’s three o’clock somewhere.”

He heads for the counter. I think he just doesn’t want to hear any more of this conversation than he absolutely needs to be a part of.

“Hey, don’t knock JP, he knew what he was talking about.”

“Do you?” Rogue asks.

“Everyone who latches onto that particular quote just ends up talking about the best time to start dinner if you wanna eat by 7PM, but I think it just means that there’s never a perfect time to do anything. So why not just do it?”

I could’ve answered his question plainly, but where would be the fun in that? No, I don’t know if going to see Bella is a good idea. I don’t know if it’ll help heal me, or make me worse. I just know that I want to do it and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

Rogue silently looks at me for a few moments, probably trying to come up with a good and kind retort.

He’s been extra attentive to me lately. Mostly because I almost died.

But partly also because Zane’s been hanging around more and more, angling to become one of us, and possibly taking my place as the VP.

He and Rogue have always been the Ying to each other’s Yang, or however that saying goes.

Where Rogue is all about doing good, Zane—or Unholy as he goes by these days—is all about mayhem and blood.

They balance each other out perfectly, no one can deny that.

“She broke your heart once, her family almost killed you, she brought Ghost into our lives and then walked away when the going got rough,” Rogue finally says. “I just don’t want you?— “

“What? To get hurt again?” I ask, trying not to sound mocking. But failing. “I’m a big boy.”

In stature, sure. But anything to do with Bella, and I regress back to the teenager who’d chop off his own head if she asked for it.

“What brought this on anyway?” Rogue asks.

I could evade the question again, give him some mindless answer about needing closure, tying loose ends or some other such new-age bullshit. Or another quote from some long dead philosopher. But we’ve been friends a long time and he deserves a straight answer from me on this.

“Getting shot and almost dying brought a lot of things into clearer perspective for me,” I say.

“And the way I ended things with Bella never sat well with me. She got abducted while trying to save me and I never fought very hard to make her stay after that. Plus, you know, if Zane’s getting a second chance, she should get one too. ”

He gasps and looks shocked for a moment. But I spoke truth and he knows that. It’s just harder for him to see it and accept it, because he loved Angel as much as I loved Bella. But he loves Melody now, and Zane saved her, so things are different.

“That could be debated, but we’re not gonna do that now,” Rogue says. “Do what you have to do. Take all the time you need. We’ll see what’s what after. She works at some place called?—”

“Sinful Creations, I know,” I interject.

“Sounds about right where she’s concerned,” Rogue mutters and I choose to pretend not to hear him.

“You might wanna pack your winter clothes,” Creed says from over by the bar. “New York can be chilly this time of year.”

I’m sure there’s a hidden meaning in there somewhere, but I choose not to hear that either.

I’ve been thinking about visiting Bella for weeks. Years even, if I choose to be honest with myself. Lately I have been choosing straight-up honesty and truth more and more.

But now that the time to go is here, I’m no longer sure it’s the best idea.

What if she turns out to be as silent in real life as she is in my visions? What if she’s moved on completely? What if I am just setting myself up to hurt some more?

Good. I’m ready to feel something again. Even if it’s pain. Anything to get over this numbness of wondering whether I survived that hail of bullets at all. And wondering if Bella still thinks we are one like I do.