Page 44

Bane

Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse,

The stench of stale beer and cheap cologne hit me first, a thick, suffocating wave as I bulldozed my way past my brothers, their slack-jawed stares burning into my back. My boots thundered on the polished floor, each step a hammer blow against the silence.

Montana’s office door splintered under my rage. The empty room mocked me, a hollow echo of his cowardly absence.

“Motherfucker.” I spun on my heel, a whirlwind of fury, and slammed open Mercy’s door from its hinges. “Where the fuck is Montana?” I roared, my question a raw, guttural sound. I was so over this fucking shit.

Mercy’s voice, weak and raspy, dripped from the shadows. “Running down a lead on Dakota. Why?”

“So he’s fucking off?” I spat, my words sharp as shards of glass.

A groan, a shuddering exhale spoke volumes of despair. Mercy looked like death warmed over. His eyes hollow, his face a roadmap of sleepless nights and bad decisions. He swiveled in his chair, a slow, agonizing movement. “Bane? I’m not sure if you are aware, but shit hit the fan while you’ve been drying out in Nebraska with the Silver Shadows. What do you want?” His words hung in the air, thick with unspoken accusations.

My voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “Crispin Sinclair took my son.”

Mercy’s face paled, the blood draining from his lips.

He rose, his movements stiff and jerky. “Sinclair took... Pippen?” His question was barely a whisper, choked with disbelief as he held up his hand. “And before you jump on your soapbox and chew my ass for not telling you, I learned that shit a few weeks ago.”

“Are you fucking deaf?” I snarled, the roar tearing through the silence, the pain a white-hot brand on my soul. “That son of a bitch took my son. I need Montana’s help to get him back!”

A guttural curse ripped from Mercy’s throat. He bolted, a blur of motion down the hallway, a raw, animalistic urgency driving him. He burst into Payne’s office, the lights snapping on like a sudden, blinding flash, revealing the disheveled figure sprawled across a couch.

“What the hell?” Payne’s voice was thick with sleep and irritation. “I was fucking sleeping, man.”

“Call Malice. Tell him to get his ass here, now. Sinclair has our intern.”

My voice cut through the room like a knife. “Not an intern anymore. Storm branded him.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to choke an elephant. Payne and Mercy stared, their mouths agape, faces etched with a mixture of shock and dawning horror.

Their unspoken questions hung heavy in the air.

“Excuse me?” Mercy stammered, his voice small and unsure.

I leaned in, my voice dangerously low. “Seriously? I’m making you an appointment with an audiologist. Today.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bane,” Mercy snapped, pushing past me again and yelling, “OFFICERS, IN THE BOARDROOM. NOW!”

“Where the hell is everyone?” I asked, looking around the boardroom at the empty seats.

“Fury is in California with the Golden Skulls. The second Carly woke from her coma, he got her the hell out of dodge. Storm is still M.I.A. No one has heard a word from him since the tree lighting ceremony and last I heard, Vicious is refusing to leave Linsey’s side.” Torment yawned.

“And Montana is playing hide and seek with his fucking brother?” I asked, clarifying as my club brothers nodded.

“Yep,” Payne muttered. “That about sums it up.”

“Well, then we’re fucked.” I groaned as Malice walked into the boardroom without a care in the world and took his seat at the end of the table.

“Sin’s not at the Playground.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?” I snarked, and the grumpy fucker shrugged.

“Bane, calm down,” Malice groaned, as if he were already bored with the conversation. “We’ll find him.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, fucker,” I snarled. “It’s not your son in the hands of that motherfucker!”

And when the fucker shrugged, his nonchalant attitude ignited a fire in my chest. “You son of a bitch,” I growled, lunging across the table. My hands wrapped around his throat, my fingers digging into his flesh. “This isn’t a fucking game! That sick bastard has my son!”

Malice’s eyes bulged, his face turning purple as he tried to pry my hands loose. Mercy and Payne rushed forward, pulling me away, but my rage had taken hold.

I swung a wild punch, connecting with Payne’s jaw.

He stumbled back, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.

“Get a hold of yourself, Bane!” Mercy’s voice cut through the haze of my anger. I stood there, chest heaving, hands curled into fists, ready to strike again. “We’re on your side,” he continued, his tone steady and firm. “But we need to think clearly. Losing our cool will not help Pippen.”

I took a deep breath, the fire in my veins slowly ebbing.

They were right. I had to get a grip if I wanted to save my son. “Okay,” I said, my voice steady.

“Let’s focus. We need a plan. Sinclair took Pippen for a reason, and we need to find out why.” Mercy sighed, then looked at me and asked, “Do you know of any reason Sinclair would take our intern?”

Payne nodded, his hand rubbing his jaw. “Might have something to do with Val?” he said, his voice almost happy as he slowly smirked at me, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Since she’s his mother an’ all.”

My words caught in my throat, a dry, strangled whisper. The plush velvet of the chair felt suddenly abrasive, a physical manifestation of the turmoil churning within me. It wasn’t just shock; it was a sickening blend of relief and betrayal. Relief that Meredith was alive, a burning hope I’d almost extinguished. But betrayal—a brutal, gut-wrenching betrayal of my own carefully constructed reality. Had I been a fool? A pawn? Had my relentless search, the sacrifices I’d made, all been for naught because of a secret I’d never suspected?

The carefully maintained wall of stoicism I’d erected around myself crumbled.

“Excuse me?” My question felt weak, pathetic, even to my own ears. My muscles locked, a vise gripping my spine. A cold sweat slicked my palms. This wasn’t just about finding Meredith; it was about the lie I’d been living. The lie I’d told myself, that I was strong, that I could handle the truth. The truth was a brutal punch to the gut, a cruel awakening.

“Yeah.” Torment’s voice, laced with a knowing amusement, broke the silence. “Missed a lot while you were away, brother. Valhalla is Thena Hartley. The woman Sinclair’s been hunting. Her real name is Meredith—”

“Doherty,” I croaked, my gaze snapping to my brother’s. My blood pounded a galloping rhythm against my ears, drowning out everything but the frantic, desperate calculations racing through my mind. Find her. Protect her. But at what cost? The image of Sinclair, his relentless pursuit, his ruthlessness, flashed before my eyes. Saving Meredith might mean betraying everything I believed in—my own code of honor, my loyalty to those who had become my family. The thought was agonizing, a choice between two equally unbearable options.

My question hung in the air, thick and suffocating. It wasn’t just where was she? It was, what am I going to do?

Mercy’s voice, a reassuring counterpoint to Torment’s, cut through the stunned silence. “She’s more than alive,” he muttered, a sly smile playing on his lips. “She showed up here weeks ago, right before the explosion. She’s been here ever since. In fact, she’s upstairs right now, brother.”

The gasp that choked in my throat was not just surprise; it was a raw expression of my internal conflict. To see her again, to hold her, to finally feel the relief... but the price. The knowledge that to protect her, I might have to become something I loathed, to compromise my principles beyond repair. The choice was not just one of action, but of becoming someone else entirely.

My chair crashed to the floor, a forgotten relic as I launched myself toward the stairs, a raw, primal scream building in my chest, a desperate, wordless cry tearing through the suffocating stillness—a cry of not just relief, but of profound desperation to see the woman who tormented my soul.

“MEREDITH!”

I didn’t wait for a response, didn’t consider the consequences. My feet pounded against the wooden staircase, each step bringing me closer to her, to the answers I desperately sought. The hallway loomed before me, long and shadowed, seeming to stretch into eternity. My heart raced, thundering in my chest like a war drum, pushing me forward, urging me to face the truth.

The door to the room was ajar, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. I pushed it open with trembling hands, my breath hitching in my throat. There she was—Meredith, or Thena, or whoever she had become. The woman who had been my beacon, my torment, my driving force. Her gaze met mine, and in that moment, the world fell away. It was just the two of us, suspended in time.

I took a step forward, then another. The distance between us was closing. She looked different, yet heartbreakingly familiar. The same eyes that had haunted my dreams, the same presence that had been a ghostly whisper in my mind. My voice, when it finally came, was merely a broken whisper, laden with emotion. “Meredith,” I breathed, her name a lifeline, a plea, a promise.

She stood, her expression a mix of relief and apprehension, mirroring my own. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I never wanted you to get hurt.”

I shook my head, fighting back tears. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re here. You’re alive.”

The space between us vanished, and I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly, as if fearing she might disappear again. The world outside was chaos, but in this moment, we were a fragile peace. Together, we faced an uncertain future, but for now, the past could wait. We had found each other, and that was enough.

The space between us imploded, almost as if a vacuum sucked us together. My fingers dug into the silk of her hair, a frantic need to possess her, to anchor her to me for all time. The air crackled with the raw energy of a thousand storms raging outside, a symphony of destruction. Against my chest, her heart hammered a frantic, fragile, desperate rhythm. The scent of her skin—a wild blend of rain and something fiercely, intoxicatingly her—filled my senses, a heady drug against the encroaching darkness.

This wasn’t just peace; it was a defiant bloom in a wasteland.

Our future was a jagged cliff, promising a perilous fall, but damn the consequences. Let the past rot in its own hell. I had found her, the woman who held my soul captive from the moment our eyes first locked, a woman whose darkness mirrored and ignited my own. Her lips, bruised and trembling, tasted of defiance and desperation, a bittersweet echo of all we’d endured. Cupping her face, my thumbs tracing the delicate bones beneath her skin, I devoured her. A ravenous kiss that stole the very breath from her lungs, a desperate plea carved into the flesh of our desperate embrace. This wasn’t enough. It was everything.

The truth could wait.

The lies would unravel.

But for now, in this fleeting moment, we were together, and that was all that mattered.