It is a sickening, yet oddly comforting thought.
As the undertaker takes over filling in the hole, the crowd disperses. Across the crowd, I see Maxi, the third brother, walking away from everyone else and toward an older section of the cemetery.
Someone catches my elbow and I turn to see Jase with a look of thunder on his face. “Come on,” he says, walking abruptly in Maxi’s direction, with me tripping on my heels trying to keep up.
“Where are we going?” I hiss, struggling as he walks faster.
“My car,” he says, pulling me along. We are walking away from most of the crowd, who are offering condolences to Dornan and Chad’s wife at the cemetery gates.
As we pass older gravestones, I see Maxi, the third brother, clearly drunk and pissing on a grave. I continue walking behind Jase, mildly disgusted, until I see the name printed on the headstone.
Juliette Portland.
I look at Maxi’s face, and realize in an instant that he is not so drunk, and that he knows exactly what he is doing. He is laughing as his stream of urine hits the dry stone slab covering my grave, the noise of the liquid against the stone buzzing angrily in my ears.
My knees buckle, and Jase turns to catch me. “Are you okay?” he asks. I tear my gaze away from Maxi and smile weakly at Jase. “Yeah,” I say. “These heels are a bitch to walk in.”
“They look fuckin’ hot, though,” a cloying voice sounds from behind me. I turn to see Jazz, the fifth brother ogling me, his hands on his hips. I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I know,” I reply, looking him up and down before steadying my gaze on his. “That’s why I wear them.”
“It’d be better if they were all you were wearing,” he leers, undressing me with his eyes. He doesn’t scare me. I grew up with my father the president of this motorcycle club. I’ve been dealing with shit like him all of my life.
“That’s the way your daddy likes it,” I say, with a wicked smile and a wink.
Jase suddenly notices Maxi doing up his fly. He looks from the wet patch on my grave to his brother, his hands balling into fists.
“Max,” he says, his voice barely controlled, “did you just take a whizz on that grave?”
Maxi laughs, rearranging his pants. “Bitch deserves it.”
Jase snaps, leaping at his brother so quickly, I barely catch the action with my eyes. He easily pins his bigger, but clumsier and inebriated brother to the ground, laying into him with a series of well-placed punches. I watch at first, fascinated and oddly moved, until it becomes clear that he won’t be letting up any time soon. I jump with a start as Jazz appears beside me, close enough for our arms to brush together.
I fight the urge to step away, instead standing my ground.
“That’s the first time little Jason’s left your side all day,” Jazz says. “You might be Pop’s girl, but it looks like there’s more than one Ross ready to stick his dick inside you.”
I fight to keep my face neutral. “What the fuck do you want?” I blurt out, my nerves fraying.
“Sweetie,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m just calling it how I see it. My baby brother’s been following you around like a lost puppy ever since you showed up. And I meant what I said about those fucking shoes. The minute Dornan’s done with you, you’re wearing them while I bend you over a bike and show you a real good time.”
I laugh. “Over my dead body, buddy.”
He shrugs casually. “That can be arranged, darlin’.”
I just shake my head, looking at Jase as he steps in front of us. His hands are covered in blood, and his white shirt is splattered with red, as well. I cast a dirty look at Jazz before I push off on my heels.
I seethe as we walk back to the car, Jazz’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head.
Maximilian Ernesto Ross has just earned himself a spot at the top of my hit list. And Jazz, if he isn’t careful, might just find himself next.
Six
The wake is held, not at the clubhouse like I assumed it would be, but at Dornan’s actual house. The one where his current wife lives; the mother of his fifth and sixth sons. It’s nothing special; a single-storey bungalow-style affair, as drab as they come, to match the drab expression on his wife’s face when she sees me.
As I walk in the door with Jase, she gives me the most withering stare.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, reaching out to grasp her hand.
She rips her hand away as if my touch has burned her. I’m not offended. I’ve been fucking her husband for a good month, and everybody here knows it.
“Celia,” Jase says sharply. She turns to him, her body language dismissing me as if I don’t exist, and pulls him into a hug.
When Jase finally breaks free, I already have a glass of wine in my hand, plucked from a tray. I won’t drink too much—I don’t like not being in control of myself around this family—but one drink to celebrate the collective misery won’t hurt. I am surprised when Jase takes the wine from me and downs it in two gulps, handing me the empty glass.
He didn’t say one word to me on the way to the wake, making the fifteen-minute car ride pretty uncomfortable. I know he’s hurting. And I don’t think it has much to do with his brother dying.
I’m pretty sure it’s about me. About Juliette Portland’s grave.
“I guess you should go find my father,” Jase says derisively. “You know, he’s probably expecting you by now.”
I glance at Jase. “I don’t think his wife would appreciate that. I’ll just hang around in the background and stay out of the way.”
I grab a fresh glass of wine and wander down the hallway, passing Dornan, who is speaking with a group of guys bearing the club insignia and patches from around the country. I make eye contact with him and offer a small smile, getting a wink and a resigned look in return.
A little girl, no older than four comes running in, giggling as an older boy chases her with a plastic toy gun.
She collides with my knees and I steady her with my hands so she doesn’t fall. She is a tiny thing, gorgeous, with blonde ringlets and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
She looks up at me, her eyes the size of dinner plates. “I’m sorry,” she says, her voice delicate and I look around, wondering whom she belongs to.
“That’s okay,” I say, crouching down to her level. “Where’s your mama?”
She points to Chad’s wife, whose own big blue eyes are spouting tears like an uncontrolled fire hydrant. Something dies inside of me as I reach out and tuck a loose ringlet behind the girls ear.
“She’s sad,” the little girl says. “My daddy went to heaven.”
I don’t think that’s where he went.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Dornan says, scooping up his granddaughter. “You been speaking to my friend Sammi?”
I swallow back a lump in my throat and pat her head, smiling at her.
I want to save her. I want to save all of the children who are going to grow up in this life, take them away somewhere they can be safe and loved without the stigma of being a Ross, without the infliction of being Dornan’s blood.
But I can’t. I’m selfish and broken. I can only save myself.
I only hope that once Dornan and his sons are dead, these children may have some kind of a chance in this world.
Dornan carries his granddaughter off and I continue down the hallway, sipping my wine. I find an empty bedroom that has French doors leading out to a small deck area that wraps around the side of the house. It has been a long day, and the sun is starting to sink already.