Page 77 of Burning Ember

My heart soars when I realize I’ve searched everyone and she’s not here.

Cap snatches up the brick and orders D to flush the shit. Cap’s not a fan of drugs either. He lost his only blood brother to heroine. It’s the why behind him stepping down as VP of the Greenbacks, and him and Griz starting the HOCs. He was done smuggling that shit into our borders for the cartel. He’dalready lost more brothers as a Greenback dealing drugs, than he ever lost in Nam, and when he couldn’t convince Pappy to steer the club to a new course, he left. And Griz left with him.

“Mav.” Goose calls my name from down the hallway and the sick feeling permanently residing in my gut crashes up like a tidal wave against the walls of my stomach. I enter the hallway. Goose stops me by putting his hand on my shoulder. His eyes close and he slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry, brother.” He squeezes my shoulder hard.

My body is a bomb . . . ticking . . . fucking . . . ticking.

My skin itches like it wants to detach and float away.

A barbwire coils around my heart, becomes hot, like it’s been lying in the pits of hell and it shreds my heart in as many seconds as it takes for me to understand what his apology means. His pain is my pain. Mine . . . his. Every muscle in my face constricts and my teeth crack from the force I’m using to hold it together. I will not let the moisture rising behind my eyes push forward. . . .

She’s in the third room on the right. And she’s not alone. Some dark-skinned fat fuck is lying naked beside her. She’s on the bed, passed out, wearing only a dirty midriff. Everything else is visible. Her red hair has blonde roots, and the ends are almost crimson with sweat and grease. She’s thin. Too thin. Her stomach is too flat. Where there should be a baby bump, there’s not one. And I know. Know what she’s done whether intentional or not.

It’s gone. She’s gone. She never even gave her a chance.

Everything I wanted. Everything I’d planned for us burns to ashes before my eyes.

I pull out my piece from its holster. Arms—it feels like a million of them—grab at me and there’s a shit ton of shouting. My brothers drag me from the room as I do my best to fight while at the same time I try to get a clear shot at her. I never do.

Someone needs to pay though.

Cap must recognize my need for vengeance because he throws a man to his knees before me and mouths two words. “The dealer.” The arms around me disappear as I leap forward gun in hand.

Shooting him would be too quick. Too painless. Too easy. So I use the butt of the gun to beat his face into a puddle of flesh, blood, and broken bones.

I don’t regret killing the dealer. What I regret from that night is not taking the life of the woman who took the life of my child from me.

She was always weak. I knew it from the day we met. But I still gave her something precious to carry. To protect. I gave her my trust too. I believed her when she promised to stay clean and that she’d do the right thing.

But just like Doll, she lied to my fucking face.

I kick once, and Dozer’s door flies back and hits the wall. I don’t have my gun, but I have my knife. I pull it from its sheath as I bear down on her. She’s in the middle of the bed, her red hair fanned out behind her. Her eyes are wide. She’s propped up on her elbows and when her eyes lock with mine, her hand comes up to ward me off as she scrambles backward.

I pin her to the bed. Straddle her legs, hold down her arms with one hand above her head, and I press my blade into her neck.

“Mav, stop!” she screams. Her clear blue-green eyes flood with fear.

I snarl, “You fuckin’ swore you weren’t a junkie.” I punctuate each word by inching the blade deeper into her skin. “Said you were clean. But you were takin’ a hit when you went to the bathroom, not cleanin’ shit up. You lied to us. Lied to me.”

“No! I didn’t.”

“I can’t fuckin’ believe it. You’re just like her.”

“I’m not,” she whispers. Then again louder. “I’m not like Dana. You’ve been drinkin’ and you’re not—”

“She saw you!”

“Who?”

“Lita saw you snortin’ coke in the bathroom!”

She struggles under my grip and she snaps, “Look at me!” A desperate demand. “Do I look like I’m high? I mean it. Really look at me and this time see me and not her.”

“I’m looking at you!” I growl.

“Are you? Really? Because I didn’t lie to you. And I’m sick of you looking at me and seeing me for something I’m not. I’m not a junkie or a liar or your ex.” She raises her head up and gets closer to my face. By doing so, she digs the knife deeper into her neck and something inside me snaps as I watch blood droplets slide down her skin.

The light from the doorway mixes with the moonlight, both are illuminating her face and reflecting off her clear, and undilated eyes.