“One thing at a time, darlin’. First, you got to let Gunter know that you’re not goin’ back.”
“You realize sending him this message is like firing a starting gun?” I ask, holding his gaze. “I tell him I’m leaving him, and it’s all downhill from there. He’ll lose his head, let Eddie know, and send a shit storm our way.”
“Yep,” he exclaims, clearly becoming agitated. “I realize that.” Bronx reaches out and pulls my phone closer. “Send the message.”
I draw in a deep breath, my chest shuddering as I fill my lungs to capacity. I always thought this day would be easy, that I’d dance to the music of their surprise when I took what I wanted and left. But I’ve been kidding myself—this was always going to be a mess.
My index finger taps out a rhythm as I carefully select the words that will not only set me free, but also condemn me to a different kind of hell. However I slice it, Gunter won’t take it well, and all I can hope is that with Tommy in his current state it does something to temper Gunter, for a little while at least.
“Done,” I announce, pushing the phone from under my hand.
“What did you say?”
“The truth. That I can’t live his life—I need to start my own.”
“How does it feel?”
“Like suicide. Like I’m setting myself free, but losing so much in the process. They might be ignorant assholes, a bunch of sexist pigs, but they still looked after me in their twisted way for years, you know?”
Bronx shifts so he’s sitting on the very edge of his stool, lifting both hands to cup my face. “But were you happy?”
My eyes glass over as I shake my head in his hold. “I haven’t been truly happy for a fucking long time.”
“So isn’t that proof in itself that things needed to change?”
I nod, my chin scrunched tight as I try to sniff away the tears. “I just want to know why they had to die,” I sob. The pain surfaces from the depths where I’ve kept it jammed all these years that I’ve been pretending to be somebody else. It unfurls, spreading its petals across my heart and showing the scared girl who’s been held captive inside. I cry openly, for the first time since I watched the firemen douse the flames from my hiding spot.
A firm hand wraps about the back of my head, tucking in beneath my hair to pull me to a warm shoulder. Bronx rubs his free hand in long strokes up and down my back, offering nothing but a safe place to let it all out. It’s all I’ve ever needed.
“I miss them so fucking much,” I tell him as soon as my tears have subsided enough to allow me to speak. “It hurt so bad every time I thought about it, so after a while, I just taught myself not to think about them at all.”
“It’s called coping,” he says. “You found a way to be able to carry on.”
“Yeah, but how fucked is it? I chose to forget my parents, rather than remember the good times we had.”
“It’s never too late to turn it around.”
I ease out of Bronx’s hold, wiping my nose with the hem of my T-shirt. “Such a lady,” I mutter with a laugh.
Bronx smiles, nodding toward my phone. “You better check that. You got a reply while you were cryin’.”
Shit. I stare at the damn thing for an age before I muster up the courage to open the reply. My stomach’s still swimming with acid, but I urge the creeping panic aside and force myself to focus on the words.
What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you in Lincoln?
“What the . . .?” I frown at my phone before it hits me—he’s tracking me through it.
I launch off the stool and tear around to the serving side of the bar, running my hands over the shelves, and ripping drawers open until I find what I need. Bronx is on his feet, confused as hell when I lean over the bar to reach my iPhone, a wrench in my other hand. I’ll question why there’s a damn eight-inch tool in the bar another time, but for now, I’m just grateful the thing’s there.
“What are you doin’?” he asks as I swing it high.
The phone shatters with a dull crunch under the steel head. “Cutting all ties.”
“Bit extreme isn’t it?”
I can barely hear him over the noise I’m making smashing the device into a puddle of plastic and metal. “He asked what I’m doing in Lincoln,” I shout. “I forgot he has the finder app on our phones. I don’t know if he paid attention to where in Lincoln I am, but he won’t be able to look it up again.”
Bronx runs a hand over his head. “You do realize it will still show him the last known location?”
The wrench drops from my hand, narrowly missing my foot. “No.”
He smiles awkwardly at me. “Yeah. It’ll still show him where it is, just that it’s not active.” He fails to hide the concern in his eyes.
“Fuck!” Every time—they always get one up on me. Why can’t I damn well get it right? Anger, pure and hot, surges through my veins: at Gunter for tracking me, at myself for not thinking about the fact he can still find me if my phone’s alive or not, and at the fact I now have a damn expensive pile of trash that I’m still making payments on. Bronx backs up as I reach out in a fit and swipe the pieces off the counter, sending them raining down on the floor.
It dawns on me that the room’s gone quiet, as in, a pin drop would be deafening at this moment. Peering out from under my lashes, I take in the two men beside the pool table, gawking with their cues in hand. A scantily clad woman is frozen mid-stride at the base of some stairs, and even King is hanging out in the door to his office, an amused smile on his face.
Low, reverberating laughter fills the void, breaking the otherwise heavy silence. I stare at King, raising my face fully to frown at the guy as he damn near wets himself where he stands, holding on to the doorframe with one hand.
“Shit, Bronx. That’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all day.” He sucks in a few breaths, making loud whoops as he does. “Can’t tell you how much of a relief it is to know I’m not the only asshole goin’ crazy over a psychotic bitch.”
Bitch? I open my mouth to say something, but snap it shut when Bronx holds out his hand. “Don’t,” he urges. “It’s not said as an insult around here. Plus, it’s the first time he’s laughed like that in a while—the guy needs it.”
I look at the mess I’ve created, and then at King, sharing his smile and the joke. His face drops at the sound of my laughter, and he points a finger between the two of us.
“Funny as it was, you said something that disturbed the fuck out of me while you were busy smashin’ that up, sweetheart. Both of you better tell me exactly who it is that knows where she is, and I better like it, otherwise you two will be wishin’ you’d kept this little love-fest in Omaha.”
I glance across at Bronx who’s staring up at the ceiling, nostrils flaring. I’ve been here all of half an hour, and I’ve got him in the shit twice. Honestly, if the guy isn’t questioning what he’s got himself in for by now, there has to be something seriously wrong with him.
Or seriously right.
SADDLE UP
Bronx
The look on her face says it all. After King finished tearing us a new one, she bolted across the common room and holed herself up on that sofa, knees tucked into her chest as though she was a frightened child. I guess in some ways she still is. But that look, the vacancy in her eyes—she’s wondering why she’s even alive, what the purpose to all of this pain and heartache is.
A feeling I know too well.
Dawn passed an hour ago, and still no sign of Gunter. Either the skinhead doesn’t fancy leaving his brother behind, or he hasn’t figured out what he’s going to do about Ryan yet. The guy’s pretty thick in the head, but I don’t think he’s enough of an idiot to charge down a whole fucking clubhouse of bikers single-handedly.