Page 22 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

FOURTEEN

She took another day off work, and she didn’t even bother denying the fact that she was hiding from him .

And from ballsy bitches.

And from the truth of what her life had become.

She ached. So much. So deeply.

She hadn’t slept at all the night before, Sarah’s voice and words echoing through her mind…and then Frost’s words.

It’s just a fucking tree….

So that’s what he thought about it, their tree, their spot, their shared memories of a place that was once sacred to them both.

It was where they’d had their first moment, their hands touching as they, together, held the little sapling as it was planted.

It was their second moment, when they were sitting beside the young tree, it’s thin branches sprouting green leaf buds as they talked about what they wanted their futures to look like—and she’d realized she wanted her future to be woven with his.

It was their third moment, when Madsen Flowers asked her to be his girlfriend, cupping her face as he pressed his lips to her for their first kiss.

It was their fourth moment, when they’d given their bodies and their hearts to one another in the dark and holy, their names carved into the healthy trunk as a memorial to their love, something she’d believed would last forever.

But those moments were gone, extinguished, slashed from their history, the hallowed testament to young love and endurance.

What was once beautiful, pristine, precious, was now toxic, poisonous, and hideous.

No, to the eye, nothing had changed, that shady spot, just beneath the spread branches of the red maple was still idyllic, still quiet, still peaceful.

But the very thought of it, the meaning of it—to her—had become morass. Black. Rank. Disgusting.

It needed to be ripped out, root and all, leaving nothing but disturbed earth and painful memories behind.

It was the first cut that killed the most, slicing right into her soul, chainsaw teeth ripping and shredding and biting and gnawing through the healthy bark and trunk and heartwood—to the very meat and vein and sap.

She’d chosen a very strategic place, too, for that first cut.

Right beneath the carving Mads had made that beautiful, starry night so many years ago, back when they were so young, so bright, so hopeful. Right through the lie, the broken promise, the faith of a betrayed little girl who’d hoped and dreamed and loved so purely.

With Tim Noches’ help, they determined how Em would make the first cut—at which angle to determine where the top of the tree would fall.

She hadn’t hesitated, fueled by her husband’s words pounding through her skull, by Sarah’s words scraping her insides. Once the chainsaw she’d borrowed from Cheri had bit into the tree, she let it eat.

She kept going, following Tim’s directions as three of his men stood around, watching, waiting to get to work at dismembering the tree once it was felled. They’d cut the tree into smaller pieces, load it into a dump truck, and transport it to the clubhouse.

Because there was no better place for a bonfire.

It had taken six hours to cut down the tree, dig out the trunk using a backhoe and chain system, and then excavate the roots which had spread deep underground, feeding and nourishing a tree that had become a symbol of something that had once been just as alive and vital.

But was now decaying, diseased.

This was a culling. An execution.

And she was the one holding the axe, covered in sticky sap rather than blood.

Now, as the sun began to set over the mountains in the distance, Em sat on the grass facing where her dreams had once been planted. All that was left of the red maple was a heap of brown dirt flecked with bits of shale dug up from the compressed clay.

It was empty, the look out, now bare and naked and vulnerable against the elements that would batter it.

The tree, though only twenty-four years old, had been a refuge for small animals, a break against the wind, a calm and cool respite against the summer sun, and a silent, slumbering sentinel in the winter, when the branches were leafless but cloaked in cool and white and glittering snow.

Em didn’t give herself a chance to mourn that red maple, because mourning what once was was pointless. She’d already cried enough over the last couple of days. Her head ached, her eyes burned, and the skin on her face was chapped from wiping away the tears.

She needed to get up off the ground, to move, to wipe the debris from her ass and get back into her car and move on to the next step.

It wasn’t enough to just remove the tree, it needed to be burned.

It would be a statement, one Frost couldn’t ignore.

Rising to her feet with a groan and a grunt—she was too old and chubby to be sitting on the ground—she cursed when her phone rang.

Both wanting it to be Frost and really hoping it wasn’t, Em was surprised to see Cilla’s name on the screen.

“Hey,” Em answered, not really in the mood for conversation but also looking for any excuse to remain right there, in that place, in that spot…for just a little longer.

“Hey, Em,” Cilla chirped happily.

Ever since she’d finally gotten her man, Cilla had blossomed. She was happier, always humming, and never seemed to let the past get her down—even though the past hit her in the face whenever Stallion was around.

“What’s up?” Emily asked, brushing loose soil and bits of dead leaves and sticks from her butt.

“I know it’s last minute, but I was wondering if you’d like to join Stephie, Nadia, and me at my place for dinner and wine. Val might come, but she’s working on a project with a deadline, and Redtube probably wants her all to himself once she’s done—so, more than likely, we won’t hear from her.”

Em snickered. Val was a freaking delight. Snarky, sassy, hilarious, and insightful, the woman was the perfect match for the sexy, arrogant yet adoring Redtube. Once a social media thirst trap with an explosive following, he’d given it all up for Val.

That was the kind of sacrifice people told stories about, that little girls built their princess and prince, happily ever after fantasies on.

I thought I’d had that, too….

Closing her eyes to push back those thoughts, Em replied, “I’d love to come. What should I bring?”

Em, though she had a perfectly wonderful house to sleep in, was currently staying at Cheri’s and Cheri was a freaking delight.

Cheri had a “date” that night and wouldn’t be back until late, if at all.

If the man she’d was meeting, whom she met on Tinder, was any good, she’d stick to him until morning.

The woman had a voracious appetite, and if she found someone who could feed it, she used him up until he had nothing left.

She was praying for the man’s stamina, because Cheri was worth it.

But Em didn’t want to go back to empty house.

Cilla kept talking over Em’s thoughts. “Bring that Moscato you brought to Stephie’s bachelorette party! That stuff was freaking delicious!”

Chuckling at Cilla’s delirious energy, Em said, “I’ll bring three bottles. Give me an hour. There’s something I need to do first.”

“Okay! See you then!”

Ending the call, Em walked to her SUV and climbed inside, her limbs aching from working the chainsaw and then sitting in one place too long.

Sending a quick text to Sorsha and War to check in on them, Em started her car and headed toward the Unchained MC clubhouse.

The dump truck filled with the dismembered remains of the red maple should have dropped off the load already, which meant the brothers were probably confused as hell about the out of the blue delivery of a pile of supposed firewood.

She’d called ahead and asked Cluster—full road name Clusterfuck—to get a couple of the guys to build a pyre. He’d been confused, of course, but when she said she just wanted to get rid of some wood for a client, he didn’t bother asking further questions.

The guy was simple like that.

She was the president’s old lady, she said something, he did it.

Simple.

I won’t be his old lady much longer….

Her property kutte was already trash, it was only a matter of time before her title as the club queen was garbage as well.

It took longer than it usually would to get to the clubhouse, but, then again, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Molasses in winter.

Waving at Tony Dos at the gate, she drove past, then headed around the back of the clubhouse to park in the rear lot closest to the large open space made of gravel and dead grass where the club usually held their community BBQs.

Through the windshield, she could see that Cluster had been busy; there was a proper pyre crouched there, waiting to be set ablaze.

Where is Frost?

She hadn’t spoken to him since last night, not that she even knew if he tried to call her back. She’d blocked his number, and she hadn’t gone home. She’d slept at Cheri’s place again. Cried into another bottle of wine. And tossed and turned in a bed that didn’t smell like home.

Like him .

Our bed hasn’t smelled like him in weeks…because he’s been too busy playing cheating asshole to bother playing at being a husband.

Sliding out of the car, she forced her feet to walk toward the pyre, her gaze immediately landing on a two-foot section of trunk.

Mads love Em 4-ever.

It was at the top of the pyre, like the dented, mangled crown set atop a false king’s head.

Cluster, looking sweaty and disgruntled, called out, “There you are! What the hell are we doing with all this wood? We burning a witch at the stake?” He snickered, and Em grinned evilly, making him come up short, blinking. “I wasn’t serious.”

Em shrugged. “I dunno; I think there is at least one witch in need of burning.”

She knew that Cluster knew exactly who she was talking about. It wasn’t a secret in the club that she and Sarah weren’t simpatico, and that Frost was dipping his toes in murky bathwater.

How much do they actually know, though? Do they know their loyal leader and president is cheating on his old lady with the club doorknob?