Page 35 of Perdition (Unchained Hearts #4)

TWENTY-ONE

The ground beneath him was hard, unyielding, cold.

It had once been soft with green grass, scattered leaves, and maple seeds.

There’s was once a tree there, right where he was sitting, but now it was freshly compacted dirt, pressed down, over and over, by the running tracks of a backhoe and the wheels of a hydraulic crane.

The tree they’d planted with a hand trowel, a watering can, and joy in their hearts had been ripped from its home by industrial steel, diesel, and scorn.

All that was left was grief.

Echoing and persistent.

The night before, after Sorsha’s call and Em’s hurried departure, he’d felt lost, unmoored, completely and utterly fractured.

He’d been left standing in the living room of the home he was no longer welcome in, and he knew he should leave, but the idea of going back to the clubhouse, a place he one considered his second home, his place of rest during times of chaos, the heart of his brotherhood, was like contemplating jumping—bloody and naked—into a shark tank.

Those men would smell the blood in the water, and they’d circle, concerned, wanting to know what was going on, how things were going between him and Em, and what could he tell them?

He’d fucked all the way up, and his wife honestly believed that he wanted another woman, had already strayed with another woman, and that he had given that other woman the confidence to think she’d be his new old lady.

And Em hadn’t been wrong.

He had wanted to be with Sarah—though not sexually, at least not sober.

Yes, she was attractive, and there had been that single moment when he’d been curious about what going there would be like, but he’d never, ever taken the steps to get there.

Never touched her inappropriately, never kissed her, and he’d never gone into her room or let her into his.

His room at the clubhouse was his and Em’s.

But it had long lost Em’s scent…and the warmth of her presence within it.

Had he strayed with Sarah? Was what he’d done equal to actually putting his dick inside her?

That was the danger in limerence, he decided.

You fool yourself into thinking that because you didn’t get physical, it can’t be betrayal.

The truth, however, is betrayal isn’t just the physical act, it is the small decisions, the little adjustments to manner and routine and boundaries.

Men who’d never lie to their wives were suddenly “fibbing” a little about why they were late.

No harm, right? They weren’t cheating, they were just helping that female co-worker change her flat tire.

Then they’re helping her move. Then they are helping her fix the leak under her sink in the kitchen, then the faucet in the bathroom, then the light fixture over the bed—and with each intentional, harmless “fib,” they are making the decision to lie.

And suddenly, they’re lying naked in the bed beside that co-worker, wondering how the fuck they got there.

That was where Sarah had gotten her confidence to confront Em—step by step, little by little, he’d shifted from being a husband to Em to a “friend” to Sarah, and he’d rationalized it as him helping her.

She was sad, so he helped her feel better.

She was lonely, so he helped cheer her up.

She was feeling unloved, so he told her she was young, and she had a whole life ahead of her to worry about locking herself down—all the while, his own wife had been sad, lonely, and feeling unloved.

God, he was a fucking asshole.

And the empty earth beneath him was a consequence of that.

Their red maple tree was gone.

Mads loves Em 4-Ever was gone.

Forever.

Burned on the pyre of his own mistakes.

Looking out over the hills in the distance, the world around him twilight and fireflies, it all felt wrong.

Out of place.

Hallow.

And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do.

Pulling out his cell to make the first call, he immediately noticed a text from Patriot.

VP: Tomorrow. Cool Hands. 8PM.

Frost checked the time.

It was going on 3 AM, and he was still wide awake. Still thrumming with restless energy that no manner of lifting or running or sparring could dispel. And he’d tried.

His body was exhausted from the punishment he’d put it through at the clubhouse gym, but his mind was whirring madly, like clockworks wound too far.

Prez: I’ll be there.

Because, hopefully, Emily would be there, and he could see her.

It was the first club sponsored costume party and fundraiser—Stephie’s idea—and he’d left the planning to Stephie, Kiki, and Cilla.

He’d been intending to tell Em about it, invite her and take her with him, but…

he fucking forgot. Another thing he failed to do—bring Em back into the Unchained MC’s embrace.

VP: Sarah was here looking for you a couple of hours ago. Sent her to her room with Cluster. He said he’s taking one for the team.

Frost grunted, shaking his head.

Prez: I’ll give him a cookie for being such a good boy.

VP: He says he wants your Fatboy. Fair trade, I’d say.

Frost growled, then chuckled, unable to stay mad at that unhinged fucker for too long.

Prez: Over my dead body.

VP: I told him you’d say that.

Frost went to put away his phone when it dinged again. He growled again, this time because of the name on the screen.

Sarah was texting, and he didn’t give a fuck what she had to say.

He’d already texted her a message about being at the clubhouse tomorrow afternoon.

The silly bitch probably thought she finally landed her big fish, but what she didn’t know was she was going to be tossed back into the ocean, like the rotten skank she was.

Sliding his cell into the pocket of his kutte, he leaned back on his hands, elbows locked, and dropped his head back to look up into the wide, open sky.

His heart aching, his eyes burning with tears etched with her name, he sat there alone.

Desperately hopeful.

Terrified of what may come.

Disgusted with he’d done.

And praying, with all his heart and soul, for a chance to make things right.

The moment Frost walked into the clubhouse that afternoon, after trying and failing to grab some sleep in his truck, he grabbed Tony Dos from the bar.

“Go to Sarah’s room, grab her shit, and throw it outside the gates,” he commanded, ignoring the confused look on the prospect’s face.

Frost handed it to him, though, the man was confused but he didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, Prez,” Tony Dos saluted before hurrying off to do as ordered.

Heading toward his office, he unlocked the door, walked inside, then closed and locked the door behind him.

If she was as predictable as he realized she was, Sarah would be knocking on his door in the next ten minutes. It was like she had some sort of radar that pinged whenever he stepped inside the compound.

She just might; I have no idea what Redtube has discovered.

The night before, before he’d gone to the red maple’s empty resting place to grieve, he’d called Red and told him his suspicions about Sarah—her knowing about the mole on his ask, the piercing scar on his dick, and the tattoo on hip should have been impossible.

That meant that somehow, somewhere she’d seen him naked and, again, that was impossible.

He’d only ever gotten naked for his doctor, his wife, and for a quick outdoor shower, on base in Riyad.

Like he was summoned by the Devil, Redtube knocked on the door.

Frost let him in, and immediately knew from the look on the man’s face that something was up.

“Got something,” Red said, his dark gray eyes flashing with anger. He held up his tablet, hit play, and lifted it so Frost could see.

In silence, Frost watched the surveillance video, and with each second, the rage within in grew hotter.

“That fucking bitch!” he growled.

“You can’t confront her about this yet, though,” Red informed him.

“Why the fuck not? That bitch needs to be locked in the shed with a rabid junkyard dog.” Frost wanted to choked her to death with his own hands, but he was trying to fix his marriage, and the worst thing to do was get himself locked up for animal cruelty.

And again, the Devil delivered.

A knock on the door sounded, making both men turn to look.

“She just drove in,” Cluster called through the door. “Should I make her wait in the common room?”

“Yes,” Frost answered, barely getting the word out through clenched teeth.

Red swore, shaking his head. “That woman cannot take a hint—then again, she’s meant to be persistent, isn’t she?”

And that was the truth, which was something Red and his contacts were slowly unraveling.

Another truth? He’d been deliberately blind to what Sarah had been doing. Yes, he enjoyed her attention. Yes, she made him feel good, needed, seen, and like the man he’d been before his twins left home, and Em poured into her business, leaving him afloat.

Alone.

Ripe for the picking.

And he’d fallen right from the branch into Sarah’s manipulative hands.

Frost grunted, handed the tablet back to Red, and then headed out to stand face to face with the woman who’d been instrumental in helping him ruin his own fucking life.

Without breaking stride, he strode down the hallway and into the common room where Sarah was standing, dressed in a pair of short shorts, a tank top—without a bra, and heels.

“We fucked, Sarah, that don’t mean shit. Besides, I was only taking one for the team to keep you from bothering the prez,” Cluster was saying as Frost came up behind them.

“Come on, Cluster, just tell me what’s going on; why am I here?” Sarah asked in that whiny voice Frost just not recognized as a voice she used with him often.

He stopped just behind Sarah, crossed his arms, and waited.

He needed that last few seconds to get his head on straight, because, just seeing Sarah, made him want to turn the fuck around, find his wife, and hug the hell out of her.

Hindsight was 20/20, and now that he knew the truth about Sarah and her schemes, the depth of his own betrayal became that much more devastating.