Page 13 of Victorious, Part 2 (The LA Defiance MC #6)

SOUTH

The Chapel doors swing shut behind me with a heavy thud that echoes through the LA Defiance clubhouse. The weight of everything discussed in that meeting sits on my shoulders like a lead blanket. The Cartel, the coordinated strikes, the war that’s about to consume us all.

But right now, none of that matters as much as the buzzing phone in my pocket.

I pull it out, seeing Ingrid’s name on the screen, and my stomach drops. She’s been texting me throughout the meeting, and each message has gotten progressively more urgent.

My Angel: Bella’s getting worse.

My Angel: Hospital called. You need to come to the hospice now.

My Angel: South, please. She can’t breathe. Doctors say it’s time.

The last text was sent twenty minutes ago, and I’ve been stuck in that fucking Chapel listening to strategies and battle plans while my sister is… I can’t even finish the thought.

“South!” Alpha’s voice cuts through my panic. I turn to see him standing in the main room, his expression shifting from my president to genuine concern as he takes in my expression. “What’s wrong, brother?”

I hold up my cell, my hand physically trembling. “It’s Bella. Ingrid says the hospital called. She’s…” I swallow hard, the words feeling like shattered glass in my throat. “She’s going downhill fast. They think it’s time.”

Alpha’s face softens immediately, and for a moment, I don’t see the hardened president of an MC.

I see a man who has just lost someone he loved.

Who understands exactly what I’m going through.

“Go,” he says without hesitation. “Right-fucking-now.”

“But the club, the meeting, everything we just planned—”

“Will happen without you if it has to.” Alpha steps closer, his voice firm but gentle.

“South, I just lost Livvy. I know what it’s like to have regrets about time you didn’t spend, words you didn’t say.

Family is everything, brother. After losing Livvy, I know that now more than ever. You need to go. The club’ll be fine.”

I run my hands through my hair, torn between duty and desperation. “Pres, we’re about to go to war. You need every man—”

“I need my brothers to be whole when they fight,” Alpha interrupts. “And you won’t be whole if you’re not where you need to be right now. And that’s with your sister. That’s an order, South. Go to the hospital.”

The relief that washes over me is almost overwhelming. I nod, not trusting my voice, and Alpha clasps me on the shoulder. “Give Bella my love,” he says quietly. “And tell Ingrid and Louis we’re thinking of them.”

I move toward the door when Alpha calls out again. “South, you call if you need anything. Anything at all. We’re family, and family takes care of family.”

With a simple nod, I spin on my heel and race out to my bike.

Jump on and take off as fast as I can. Twenty minutes later, I’m weaving through LA traffic, pushing every speed limit and running yellow lights that are probably red.

The urgency in Ingrid’s messages has my heart racing faster than the engine beneath me.

When I finally pull into the hospice parking lot, I spot Ingrid’s car and immediately see her pacing outside the main entrance, Louis balanced on her hip. Even from this distance, the tension in her shoulders and the way she’s clutching our son as if he’s an anchor, make my anxiety peak.

I kill the engine, then jog over to them. Ingrid’s eyes are red-rimmed, and tear tracks stain her cheeks. “How bad?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

“B-bad,” she whispers, her voice breaking on the word. “South, she can barely breathe without the machine. She hasn’t been able to talk for weeks now. The doctors said—” She stops, glancing down at Louis, who’s looking between us with wide, confused eyes.

I take our one-year-old son, Louis, from her, kissing his forehead before settling him against my chest. “What did they say, Angel?”

“They don’t think she has much time left. Maybe hours.” Ingrid wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I’ve been here since this morning. She’s been using her eyes to ask for you, South. She’s been holding on for you.”

The guilt hits me like a physical blow. While I was sitting in that meeting talking about war strategies, my sister was dying and asking for me. “I’m here now,” I say, reaching out to pull Ingrid against my side. “We’re all here now.”

As we walk into the hospice, Louis babbling softly against my shoulder, I try to prepare myself for what I’m about to see.

But nothing could have prepared me for the reality of Bella’s condition.

She’s so much smaller than when I saw her last week.

The motor neuron disease has ravaged her body, leaving her looking fragile and skeletal in the hospital bed.

Her breathing is completely dependent on the machine that hisses and clicks rhythmically beside her.

Her limbs lay motionless, her hands resting on the blankets as if they were mere scraps.

When she sees us enter, her eyes light up.

It’s the only part of her that can still express anything.

It’s as though she’s entombed in a shell, screaming to break free.

No, more like a fucking coffin, trapping her inside, just waiting to die, and her body is the coffin that’s killing her.

Even as her eyes continue to scream at me, telling me that my big sister is inside, desperately trying to claw her way out, there is no hope.

I know it.

She knows it.

And as my eyes meet hers, all I can do is comfort her, let her know I’m not going anywhere.

I’m here.

To the very end this time.

So, she can finally rest.

Letting out a long breath, I step closer. “Hey, beautiful,” I say softly, moving to her bedside. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Bella’s eyes track to mine, and I see her trying to communicate something.

A nurse nearby notices our arrival and approaches.

“She’s been more alert today, I think she’s been waiting for you,” the nurse explains quietly.

“The disease has progressed to the point where Bella can’t move or speak anymore.

She communicates only through eye movements.

But she can still hear and understand everything you say. ”

It kills me knowing inside she is aware of everything, it’s just her body has let her down.

Sitting in the chair beside her bed, I shift Louis so he can see his aunt. “Look, Bells, Louis got so big since last week. Tell her hi, buddy.”

Louis reaches out toward Bella, making his happy baby sounds, and her eyes fill with tears of joy, the only way she can show emotion.

Ingrid takes the chair on the other side of the bed, reaching out to gently stroke Bella’s arm. “I brought pictures from last weekend,” she says, pulling out her phone. “Remember when Louis figured out how to clap? Well, I got it on video.”

I fucking hate this.

Seeing my sister, the woman who was the best music producer in LA, reduced to this is more than I can bear .

What a fucking waste.

I sit back, stewing in my own mental anguish, and over the next hour, we stay with Bella, showing her videos of Louis, telling her about our life, about the club, about everything and nothing. After that, she fights to stay alert, to absorb every moment with the only tools she has left— her eyes.

Around mid-afternoon, I hear the rumble of motorcycles outside, and Ingrid and I exchange glances.

“Expecting someone?” she asks.

Before I can answer, there’s a commotion in the hallway, and I recognize Hurricane’s voice trying to keep his volume down but not quite succeeding.

“Where the fuck is his room? Ma’am, we ain’t gonna cause trouble, we just need to find our brother.”

I can’t help but smile despite everything. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Ingrid before kissing Bella’s forehead.

Stepping into the hallway, I find Hurricane and Bayou standing there looking completely out of place in the sterile hospice environment. But what surprises me most is seeing Nash here, too, Ingrid’s biological son, who isn’t a part of the club.

“What the hell are you guys doing here?” I ask, though I’m honestly touched they came. “And Nash? Brother, you didn’t have to—”

Nash steps forward, his expression serious. “She’s my mom, South. Of course, I had to be here. And in some crazy way, you’re kind of my stepdad, even though we’re around the same age. We are family. And Bella’s family. We didn’t want you guys going through this on your own.”

I inhale sharply, trying to keep my emotions in check while Hurricane claps me on the shoulder. “Ingrid called Kaia, told her what was happening. We couldn’t let you go through this alone, brother. And when Nash heard we were coming, he insisted on joining us,” Hurricane states.

“We drove straight through,” Bayou adds. “Wanted to be here for Bella. And for Ingrid.”

I feel my throat tighten with emotion. “You didn’t have to—”

“Bullshit,” Bayou interrupts. “Family’s family, South. Bella’s family. And Ingrid’s our mom.”

Hurricane nods toward the room. “How’s Bella?”

“Not good,” I admit. “Not good at all.”

Hurricane grips tighter on my shoulder for support. “Then let’s go see her.”

When we all file back into the room, Ingrid looks up and her entire face transforms. The exhaustion and grief are still there, but suddenly she’s lighting up with the thought of having her family there with her.

“Hurricane? Bayou? Nash!” She stands so quickly she nearly knocks over her chair, tears streaming down her face as she rushes toward them.

Hurricane reaches her first, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around despite the solemn setting. “Hey, Mom,” he whispers into her hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“God, I miss you so much,” Ingrid sobs against his shoulder. “All of you.”

When Hurricane finally sets her down, Bayou immediately pulls her into his own embrace. “We miss you, too, Mom. So, fucking much.”

But it’s when Nash steps forward that Ingrid completely breaks down. “My baby boy,” she whispers, cupping his face in her hands. “You came all this way.”