Page 15

Chapter 15

Mira

I wait.

I wait until Ghost calls church and I hear the club brothers head off to their meeting room. Then I wait exactly seven minutes more before moving. My hands shake as I climb the stairs to our room. No. His room. I can't think of it as ours, not now.

The few possessions I brought fit easily into my duffel. As I fold his borrowed t-shirt and place it carefully on the bed, memories of last night flood my mind—his hands, his lips, the way he made me feel cherished and whole and…loved.

A tear splashes onto the shirt and I hastily wipe it away. I can't break down. Not yet. Breaking down comes later, when I'm far away from here. Far from him.

I pull out paper and pen, but what can I possibly write? How do I explain that I'm leaving because I love him too much to burden him with my broken heart—literally and figuratively? In the end, I simply write: I'm sorry. Please let me go. Don’t come after me. You deserve better than a dying charity case.

The word 'dying' blurs as more tears fall. I fold the note and prop it against his pillow.

Creeping downstairs is like navigating a minefield. Every creak of the old wooden steps makes me freeze, certain someone will stop me. But the prospects are focused on their duties, the patches are in church, and the club girls are pointedly ignoring me.

I make it to the gate before my luck runs out.

"Going somewhere?" The prospect—not Rash, thankfully—eyes my duffel suspiciously.

"Shopping." I force brightness into my voice. "Ghost gave me his credit card, see?" I flash the black card he gave me yesterday, the one I have no intention of ever using.

He shakes his head. "Sorry, but I can't let you leave without at least two prospects escorting you. Prez's orders."

"But I?—"

I finally catch a break when a commotion on the road behind us draws his attention. Two bikes roar through the gate, their riders wearing patches I don't recognize. When the prospect turns to verify their credentials, I seize my chance, slipping past him while he's distracted.

My heart pounds erratically as I speed-walk from the compound. Each step feels like a blow to the gut, but I force myself to keep moving. I'm doing this for him. Ghost deserves a whole woman, not one who will bleed every last penny from him. Not one who needs expensive surgery just to stay alive.

The late morning sun beats down heavily as I walk. And walk. And walk.

By the time the diner comes into view, my breath is heaving and my chest feels like it's being squeezed in a tight fist. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision, but I push on. Just a little further. Just...

The world tilts sideways. I reach for something to steady myself but my hands grasp empty air. The last thing I see is creepy Dave's shocked face in the diner window.

The concrete rushes up to meet me, but I don’t even feel the impact. Instead, I float in a void where there's no pain, no fear, no heartbreak. Just peaceful nothingness.

Somewhere far away, I hear voices. Urgent. Worried. Someone saying my name. Someone else screaming to call 911.

Let me go, I want to tell them. It's better this way.

But it's too much effort to respond.

My last coherent thought is of Ghost—of steel-gray eyes and gentle hands and a love so fierce it terrifies me. Of everything I'm leaving behind because I'm not strong enough, not healthy enough, not whole enough, not enough. Never enough...

Then, blessed darkness swallows me whole.

Ghost

"The warehouse on Pier 12 is our best—" Blade's voice cuts off as the chapel door bursts open.

Rage builds at the prospect's audacity to interrupt church.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" I rise slowly, deliberately, letting him see the threat of death in my eyes. I’m ready to tear this asshole a new one.

The prospect's face is ash-white, his chest heaving. "Prez... it's... it's Mira."

Two words. Just two words and my world stops spinning.

"She collapsed outside the diner in town,” he rushes on. "Manager called 911, then called us. Ambulance is?—"

I'm moving before he finishes speaking, shoving past him with enough force to slam him into the doorframe. Behind me, chairs scrape as my brothers rise, but their voices fade to white noise.

I care about nothing right now. Nothing but my angel.