Page 11 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

Had she been at the clubhouse that morning, and overheard his conversation with Sarah, a conversation he shouldn’t have been having in the sanctuary of his office, a conversation during which he and Sarah had discussed returning to?—

Holy fucking shit!

This was not good!

If she heard that shit about being “stuck” then she probably knew he’d taken Sarah to their spot , their one special place that was just for them, where the tree symbolizing their life-long love for one another was standing, it’s shade having now covered him and another woman.

Holy fuck.

No wonder his doors were locked, and his shit was tossed in his truck.

No wonder she’d tossed her property kutte away like it was garbage.

Em was done with him.

With a groan dragged up from the depths of his black soul, his knees gave out, and he slumped to the ground.

His chest heaving to pull in air, he blinked against the sudden wave of darkness threatening to cover his vision, to suck him under.

Leaning against his bike, he fought the overwhelming flood of emotions, but couldn’t keep his head above the murk.

He was drowning.

His wife, the very blood in his veins, the very breath in his lungs, had left him.

And he was dying.

What did you expect? The brothers were right—you betrayed your wife, and now you’re paying for it.

Closing his eyes, the truth too bright, too cataclysmic to absorb all at once, he pressed his forehead against the saddlebag, his thoughts racing.

How had it come to this?

You opened your mouth and bullshit fell out, and your wife heard it.

Just then, his cell rang, and he fumbled with shaking hands to answer it.

Emily.

Please let it be Emily.

It has to be Emily; she’s calling to talk—make things right! Fix it! Bring her home!

“Em?” he croaked, his heart in his throat.

There was silence, and then, “Dad?”

“War?”

Shit. His son was calling him…and he was kneeling in the shrapnel of his marriage, the mother of his kids trying to throw away decades of life together.

Fix it!

“Dad?” his son asked again, “what’s going on? Why am I getting notifications from the home system saying someone is trying to break in?”

He was still getting notifications? That meant that Em hadn’t changed the settings so much as remove him from the system completely.

He couldn’t stop the curling sickness from dropping into his feet.

What the hell had he done?

Pursing his lips, Frost closed his eyes, not even knowing where to start.

“I can see you in the camera, Dad,” War supplied, his tone confused…concerned. “What the hell happened? Why do you look like something drove over your Harley?”

The house had several cameras, one was a simple doorbell camera that faced the porch and the left side of the driveway, so it could catch who was arriving for a visit.

In that moment, though, his son was watching his own dad fall apart, on his knees.

Clearing his throat, though his voice still sounded like sandpaper over glass, he replied, “Things are a little…messy right now.”

Messy? You mean devastating, catastrophic, apocalyptic! Your world is over, asshole!

“Dad…what do you mean? What happened?” War asked, uncertainty and fear in his voice.

His son was a mama’s boy. Sure he loved his dad, looked up to him for his time in the service, and for being the provider and protector of the family, but…

Warwick Davis Flowers was the one looking after his mom while Frost was deployed or dealing with club business far from home.

It was War who took up the role of “Man of the House” when Frost was gone, and he took that role seriously.

He loved his mom and twin sister more than anything, and Frost knew that once the truth came out…

he was looking down the barrel of estrangement from his own flesh and blood.

Understandably, War and Sorsha would take their mom’s side… and he wouldn’t blame them for it.

God, I fucked everything up!

That was a fucking understatement.

Why had he been so fucking arrogant about that shit with Sarah, refusing to listen to Patriot, Locust, and Redtube—men who’d had his back from the very fucking beginning?

Those men were loyal, level-headed, brutal in their truth-telling, so why had he chosen to ignore their warnings, thinking he knew better, that he had things under control?

Nothing was under his control—not a goddamn thing, and now his wife, his old lady, had severed their souls from one another, leaving him bleeding, like a ragged wound, to fester and die.

Why had he let his immature need for validation, for reliving a little piece of the past, to ruin what was so good in his life?

Why had he taken Sarah to the red maple tree, the most sacred place on the earth for him and his wife?

How had he thought, for even a goddamn moment, that he could find something he was supposedly missing in a relationship with a woman who was not his everything?

Are you sure you aren’t just butthurt because you think everyone is leaving you behind?

Sucking in a breath, his chest trembling with the effort, he admitted, “Son…I’ve made a mistake…and I don’t think your mom will ever forgive me.”

Fix it!

“But I’ll fucking die trying.”