Page 24 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)
24
SAM
“ Y ou bought the wrong bolts.”
A simple mistake. Could happen to anyone, right? No.
Not to me. Not in ten years of working on bikes. My hands have always been steady, my mind sharp, my focus unshakable. Now my head is a mess. The need for vengeance gnawing at the edges of my thoughts mixes with grief at the loss of what I opened myself up to.
I grip the neck of the exhaust, fingers tightening until my knuckles go white. Heat surges through my veins, my pulse pounding in my ears. In a flash, I raise the damn thing and hurl it against the wall. Metal crashes against concrete, a sharp clang ringing through the garage. The thick pipe dents on impact, then drops to the floor with a dull thud , flakes of white paint fluttering around it.
Still seething, I lunge for the door and yank it open, the solid wood slams into the wall so hard the hinges groan. Stepping outside, hands on hips, I tilt my head and stare at the sky. The endless blue expanse stretches away, indifferent to my rage.
“Sammy?”
Raul’s voice cuts through my fragile grasp on control. Damn it. I close my eyes for half a second, willing him to disappear. He doesn’t, of course. His boots crunch on gravel as he comes closer.
I want to get on a bike and ride. Ride for the horizon. Ride until I run out of road, at the ocean or what the fuck ever. If it wasn’t for this damn leg… Raul waits, silent, but not leaving. I rub my thigh, trying to ease the ache. The break is healed, thanks to healing fast by nature, but it’s nowhere near a hundred percent.
“Dude, are you alright?”
I laugh bitterly, lowering my gaze to the horizon.
“No, I’m not alright,” I snap. “I haven’t been alright since that goddamn night.”
“I know,” he says. His voice is steady and calm in sharp contrast to the chaos I feel. “I see it every day.”
I whip my head around to glare at him.
“Then why the hell do you even ask?”
“Because you’re my brother,” Raul says, stepping closer. “I’ve been wracking my damn brain trying to figure out how to help, but I got nothing Sam. If you’ve got any ideas, shoot.”
“I don’t,” I say, letting out a long exhale. The words are hollow, lacking anything useful. “That’s the problem. I’m trapped in that memory, and I can’t find my way out. Stop wracking your brain, man. You can’t help me with this one. No one can.”
The screen door of Raul’s cabin creaks as it opens.
“Guys…” Monica’s voice cuts through the thick air, halting whatever argument Raul is about to throw at me. She steps onto the porch, her face drawn.
“I just got off the phone with Erica,” she says, walking toward us. “She is almost here.” She looks right at me, pinning me in place with a sharp, no-nonsense stare. “Sam, she has bad news. Really bad, so I’m asking for a favor. Go easy on her. Please.”
“As usual, huh?” I mutter, looking away. “Doesn’t matter she was unfair to me. Doesn’t matter she dumped me for no damn reason. I should go easy on her.”
Monica frowns, shifting her weight, but she doesn’t back down.
“Like I said, I’m asking you as a favor,” she repeats, voice calm but firm. “You’re mad at her, and for good reason. I get it, Sam, but she’s devastated. Please, hold it off. For a little bit, don’t make this worse.”
“I’ll try to keep my mouth shut,” I concede. “Out of respect for you and Raul. But I swear to God, if she starts up with that bullshit about her infecting people, I’ll kick her ass all the way back to New York.”
“Fair enough,” Monica says with a nod.
We barely finish the conversation when Erica’s BMW rounds the corner and my pulse spikes. I force myself to stand still as the car rolls up. Its sleek shape fills my vision like a storm front rolling in. Raul lays his hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but brief is a silent warning and a quiet reassurance. The look in his eyes says everything. No one understands you better than I do. Too bad only my own blood can do what the woman in that car never could.
Erica steps out, her face pale, her hands clutching a white envelope like it’s the only thing holding her together.
“Hi,” she says, her voice small.
Monica doesn’t greet her, doesn’t offer so much as a nod before rushing over to her. That makes my stomach tighten. She snatches the envelope from Erica’s hands and rips it open without a word. She scans the paper then, pulls Erica into a tight hug. No hesitation. No explanation.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, the words barely carrying across the space.
“I found out last night,” she says, sniffling, her voice thick. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I can’t blame you.” Monica eases back, her hands lingering on Erica’s arms. “Do you want to tell them? Or should I?”
“I got it,” she says, taking a deep breath and holding it before she turns to me and Raul. She hesitates then she is looking right at me. “Sam… Raul…” she hesitates, swallowing hard. “I had my parents’ bodies exhumed and tested. Their DNA… neither of the bodies are a match for mine. They’re not… it’s not my parents.”
“Holy shit…” Raul whispers, his gaze moving from Erica to Monica, like he can’t process the words.
I feel a slow sinking realization. This isn’t just a family secret. This is betrayal, pure and simple. Erica wasn’t just abandoned. She was lied to, manipulated, and trapped into a reality built on nothing but deception. The people who were supposed to love her unconditionally had orchestrated an entire life of lies. Despite that, all I feel is a cold detachment.
“Your parents tricked you,” I say, stepping forward. The cold gripping my chest is in my voice too. “I am sorry. That’s sad, but it doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“She needs my support,” Monica cuts in, arms crossing like she’s bracing for a fight. “Is that enough for you?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t she have another friend? Stacy, right? Lives in Queens?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
Monica’s lips press into a thin line and she leans in, ready for the fight. I am too. The pain in my chest rages. Seeing Erica is too much. I should be at least a little empathetic, but any empathy I feel is drowning in anger. Anger at what she did to me. What she’s said.
“Alright, Sam. You win,” Erica says sharply, lifting her chin and meeting my glare head-on. “I need Helena’s help. That make you happy? What you wanted?”
“Happy?” I laugh with nothing but bitter humor. “No.” I step closer, clenching my jaw. “Confused? Angry? You bet. When you found out you were a witch, Helena offered to help you. And what did you do? You ran. You rejected her and broke up with me. Now you show up, expecting what? A warm welcome?” I snarl. “Hats off for stability, Ms. Connors.”
“God damn it, Sam—” Monica says, stepping up.
“He’s right,” Erica cuts Monica off before she finishes.
Her voice is quiet and controlled, but the weight in her eyes says she knew this was coming. She exhales, steeling herself.
“Can you guys give us a minute?”
Monica hesitates, but Raul nudges her toward the cabin.
“Sure,” he says, taking Monica by the arm and leading her inside.
Monica glares over her shoulder but goes along with Raul. I clench and unclench my fists watching them disappear. I can’t look at Erica. Anger and confusion tangle in my head and guts like a raging storm without end.
“How long have you known about your dual nature, Sam?” Erica’s asks, her puffy eyes fixing on mine with nothing but desperation in them.
“All my life,” I shrug, waving my hand. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything!” she says, her voice rising. “You’ve had almost thirty years to get used to it. You grew up knowing it, learning about it. Understanding it, for you, is innate.” She takes an imploring step closer. “I found out I’m a witch a few weeks ago. Weeks , Sam. I’m trying to wrap my head around it. I’m bound to make mistakes.”
“You didn’t just make a mistake,” I say, hands curling into fists again. “You pushed away the people who want to be there for you. Me, Erica. Me . And you treated me like garbage.” My throat is raw with the anger I’ve been choking down for days. “You want Helena’s help? Fine. Ask her. Do it without me.”
“Sam—,” her breath hitches but I don’t let her finish.
I can’t trust myself to stand and listen to whatever excuse she’s about to throw. Without another word, I turn and stride back into the workshop. She made her choice. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was confusion. Maybe she has a damn good reason. But I don’t care.
I can’t care.
Caring got me here. Angry, broken, and carrying the weight of a love that was never enough. A torch I refuse to carry any longer.