Page 48

There’s an urgency in my gut, a voice whispering in my ear to hurry before it’s too late.

We fly through the dark, empty streets of a town not far from Coral Cay, hurrying to the warehouse location that the man gave us.

Cyanide, Ducky, and Devious are escorting Birdie’s sister back to the clubhouse. She wouldn’t go unless it was with her brother, and as much as he wanted to be with us to rescue Birdie and the twins, he knew this new one needed him too.

Dimples’s car, Monster’s bike, and a pickup truck are the only vehicles in the lot of the empty warehouse.

Frankie must believe his dick is bigger than it is if he doesn’t have any other protection on them. Or maybe there weren’t many Demented Demons left after we killed the ones we’d come across during our search for Birdie and the twins.

I pull my precious off my back and swing her around as I stroll toward the door.

The sounds of flesh smacking against flesh and pleasured grunts ring out as we step inside.

Dimples is bent over the back of a ratty couch while a big, hairy motherfucker rails her ass. He has her hair wrapped around his meaty hand, and he’s so focused on watching where his dick disappears that he doesn’t register us at first.

She does, though.

And boy, do her terrified screams sound fucking delicious.

Butcher takes care of the other man who was stroking his dick while I aim my sights on this one.

The man’s head jerks up, and his eyes widen as he sees my axe spinning through the air toward him. He only gets as far as sliding his dick out of her gaping asshole before the blade slams into his forehead.

Blood spurts from him, coating Dimples’s naked body.

She screams.

And screams.

And screams until Pretty Boy slides a knife across her throat.

Her screams turn to gurgles as she grasps at the smile on her neck.

Only when she falls quiet do I hear it.

The cries of my children as they beg for their mom to open her eyes, to come back to them.

I rush to the closed door off to the side, and with a roar, I kick it in.

Something under my skin breaks free as I take in the scene before me.

Frankie’s on his knees over Birdie’s still body, a bloody knife resting against the floor next to him. The twins are chained against the wall, staring at their mom with scared eyes, their little voices breaking as they plead with her to wake up.

Then I hear it.

Her broken laugh.

And her motherfucking call to me.

“One, two, my beast is coming for you . . .”

“Get my kids out of here,” I order Malice.

Frankie struggles to his feet, but I’m quicker. I kick the knife away from him without watching where it lands and spin him to face me.

Pride fills me when I see the damage already done to him, knowing instinctively that it came from my woman.

I pull my gun from the holster and aim it at him. “You deserve a worse fate than an easy death.”

“So, pull the trigger,” he says, lifting his chin.

My hand shakes as I fight my natural instinct to protect my woman. But I shake my head.

“Your life is not mine to take.”

Butcher, Manic, Savior, Joker, Tomcat, and Pretty Boy surround him as Gavel, Giblet, and Hannibal go to Birdie. Once I’m sure Frankie won’t go anywhere, I join them at her side.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, Pope,” Giblet says. “I can’t see how bad the damage is here.”

“Get her to the hospital,” I order, locking down the fucking emotions that try to swallow me whole.

Her cold hand finds my cheek and I cover it with mine. “You came for us,” she whispers.

“I’ll always fucking come for you. Always .”

“He told me to tell you to make it hurt.”

My brows furrow. “Who are you talking about, little mama?”

“Jonah,” she says so low that I almost miss it.

Frankie lets out a scream. “He’s mine. My brother. Mine.”

“What the fuck?” I mumble.

Birdie’s eyes flutter, and her hand goes slack under mine. My chest tightens as I watch her struggle to stay awake.

“We have to go. An ambulance is meeting us on the way,” Giblet says.

My eyes burn as I slide my arms under her. Hannibal tries to help, but I snap.

“I got her. She’s mine. If she takes her last breath, it’s going to be in my fucking arms,” I choke out, ignoring the wetness on my face as I climb to my feet.

Birdie sighs, her body shivering. “I love you.”

“Don’t. You wait to tell me that, goddammit. Don’t you dare tell me that as you’re bleeding out in my arms.”

“If something . . .” She pauses to cough, and the wetness of it has tears falling from my eyes faster. “They’ll need you.” She finds the strength to grab a hold of my beard. “Promise me you won’t leave them, too.”

“Then you better not fucking leave me either, little mama,” I tell her.

“Saints never surrender, and outlaws never die, baby. Don’t you know that?” she whispers.

Malice turns the kids away as I carry Birdie past them and outside to the cage.

I place her inside gently and brush my lips against her cool forehead.

Then my kids scream for me.

My soul tears in two directions.

Gavel’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Let me take care of this piece of your heart while you take care of that piece of hers.”

No matter how hard I try to stop it, a sob breaks from my chest. “How do I let her go?”

“You don’t. You just place her in my hands for a bit.”

I blink rapidly, flushing the tears from my eyes, and straighten my shoulders. With one last look at Birdie and a whispered thanks to my grandfather, I hurry to my kids.

Their arms wrap tightly around my neck as soon as I fall to my knees in front of them.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

I don’t know how long I sit on this dingy warehouse floor, rocking their tiny bodies as we cry out our fear for the woman on her way to the hospital right now.

My brothers move around us, cleaning up the mess Frankie left behind, ensuring none of this will come back to us. Someone stops to inform me they found Monster’s body. As much as I want to burn him with the rest of the trash, Coco deserves to bury the man she loved. I order them to take him home.

Dimples gets dumped with her fuck buddy.

Frankie gets taken to the cellar at the clubhouse until I’m ready to deal with him.

“Valkyrie is here to take the kids to the hospital, Prez,” Basilisk informs me.

The twins cry when I buckle them into the back seat but quiet down after I reassure them we’re all going to the hospital to be with Birdie.

My brothers watch me again. Concern etched onto their faces as if they’re waiting for me to break.

What they don’t know is that I already have.

They just don’t see it.

I broke the moment I had to let her go seven years ago.

I spent the last week in the hospital recuperating. Pope has barely left my side. Instead, choosing to sit in the chair at the side of the bed and keep his eyes on me. As if I’m going to die if he looks away.

No matter how many times the doctor tells me I’m healthy, that I’m healing. Even after they gave me my discharge papers today, he’s still there. Still watching. Still protecting. Still loving me.

I told him about Jonah when I woke up the next day. He was stunned, unable to comprehend the depths of Frankie’s depravity. He was sad that he never got the chance to know the good twin.

Pope was skeptical when I told him about seeing Jonah that day in the warehouse. He has reasons for his disbelief, and I’ll never try to persuade him any differently.

It’s been hard to accept that all the times I swore there were two versions of Frankie, there actually was.

I thought there was something wrong with me for the longest time because I cared deeply about the good parts of him.

Once I understood those parts were just Jonah, I chose to give myself grace.

My room has been a constant state of visitors, as everyone needed to see for themselves that I’m okay.

Cyanide and Valkyrie told me about the guys finding Shae.

They explained the state she was in, how our names were the ones she recognized when Pope told her who he was.

I still don’t know how to feel about her, but after everything I’ve been through, I don’t think I want to push another innocent person out of my life.

It’s not Shae’s fault that Dad couldn’t stay faithful, and it would be unfair of me to hold it against her.

Gavel has brought the twins to see me every day. They cry when it’s time to leave and beg to stay. It breaks my heart every time Pope has to explain to them that it’s not helpful to my healing if I have to worry about hiding my pain from them.

The doctor brought in a therapist for me and, although I wasn’t too receptive to her at first, her patience won me over. She’s been by to see me every day, and with each piece I unload to her, the lighter my shoulders feel.

I was worried about what I could say at first until Pope reassured me that she’s on the club’s payroll.

She gave me her card after my session with her this morning and asked if I’d consider continuing to see her. I only agreed if she would find someone who specialized in childhood trauma for my kids. They need it as much as I do.

It’ll be good to see if I can get Coco to make an appointment with her, too.

Pope said she’s withdrawn from everyone.

She’s locked herself in their house and refuses to come out.

Scorch is the only person she lets in, and that’s only because Pope threatened to have a wellness check done on her if she didn’t.

He told me she just wanted to have Monster cremated.

She didn’t want to hold any kind of memorial for him.

I think she should because regardless of who he turned out to be, she loved him.

I have to believe that there was something good she saw inside him.

She’s refusing to see or talk to me, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s ashamed or if she blames me for what happened.

Either way, I’m going to be here when and if she’s ever ready.

Pope was pushing me out the hospital doors in a wheelchair when my therapist rushed out to us and handed me another card with her recommendation on it, along with a scheduled meeting already set for us.

I’m resting my head against the window, watching the scenery pass by, when Pope speaks.

“You have a decision to make.”

“What do you mean?”

“Frankie is chained up in the cellar at the clubhouse,” he states bluntly.

My shoulders tighten, and I whip my head around to stare at him in horror. “He’s still alive?”

“His life isn’t mine to take.”

“Then whose is it?” I ask incredulously.

He nods my way. “Yours if you choose.”

“No, it’s not.”

Pope shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road. “Fine by me. I just needed you to make it. I promised I’d never take such a big decision from you again.”

I bite my lip as I consider what he said. Do I have it in me to take another person’s life? Even someone as evil as Frankie?

Just the thought makes me sick.

But how can I be sure it’s truly over if I don’t?

I peer over at Pope, running my eyes over his face. To his thick tatted arms, and the way the muscles in them bulge when tightens his fingers around the steering wheel. The ‘Born Free’ inked over them, draws my attention.

Is anyone ever truly born free or are we born already shackled by the blood that runs through our veins?

“Do you trust me?”

He asks the question that would have had a quick, absolute answer in the past. Now, it’s a convoluted inquiry weighted with betrayal, with love, with redemption.

Then I see it in his eyes.

His love.

His regret.

His devotion.

His promise.

To love me.

To cherish me.

To always protect me.

And my answer comes easily.

“I do.”

“Then his death will be yours tonight.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, leaning across the console of the SUV and kissing his cheek. “I love you, Apollonos.”

His hand captures mine, and he brings it to his lips. “I love you too, Birdie. With everything in me. Until long after I take my last breath.”

My therapist told me that I can’t let my past define my future. If I hold on to what Pope did instead of paying attention to what he’s doing to show me he’s changed, then we’ll never make it. I either let the trust continue to build or knock it back down and walk away.

Loving Pope is going to hurt.

But it’s the beauty in it that is worth it.

It’s watching my kids call him ‘Daddy’.

It’s falling asleep in his arms every night and waking wrapped in them every morning.

It’s listening to him walk around the house singing fucking nursery rhymes while knowing he’s probably thinking about the enemies he took out earlier that day.

Loving Pope is freedom.

It’s chaos.

It’s a maddening surrender to the tempestuous emotions within my soul.