I don’t know why I’m pushing Henley tonight. Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly what I’m doing. I need her. Need the fucking validation that what’s growing between us isn’t one-sided. I want to hear her say that she’s mine. That I won’t lose her, too.

Especially not to the goddamn demons that have been lingering in her eyes since Doc made her stop chest compressions on Huck.

She looks as broken and defeated as I feel. I see the agony twisting in my gut mirrored in her eyes. Although, while she is worried about what could happen to me, I can’t help feeling like I’ve let everyone down.

Tonight, while Huck bled out in front of me, it became all too real how little control I have over anything. I was blindsided, quickly learning exactly how goddamn little I know. I have no control. No grasp on any of the shit spinning around me. What people do, or say; not even my own reactions. I am lost to the whirlwind of the storm, trying my best to hang on to Henley and everything good I still fucking have. I wasn’t kidding when I told Henley I was afraid too. The fear of the unknown is all too fucking real. It slices through steel resolve, planting doubt and shredding the ability to think straight. Grief leaves no room for strength. It slowly chokes it out, and replaces it with blinding responsibility to somehow right the wrong. The words Torch said at County echo in my head.

“Sometimes a loss so goddamn deep creates a rage that never goes away. That blame, the guilt that weighs you down, is fueled over time by something or someone.”

I feel that shit now. Except I have no face or name to place the blame on. Other than myself. This shit is on me and it fucking breaks me. The guilt so goddamn heavy it hurts to breathe.

I take her face into my hands, wanting to fix this for her. For us. The fear in her eyes doesn’t belong there. I’d give anything to take it away, to bear every single shred of that load myself. I want to say something, any fucking thing to make her believe everything is going to be okay. That I’m the hero in this story.

But I can’t.

That isn’t me.

I’m not a hero.

And when this story plays out to the end, the woman I want more than anything will see me as a goddamn monster. A reckless madman with blood on his hands. And as much as I don’t want Henley to see that side of me, my gut tells me I can’t shield her from that. My hand is being forced.

“Colt.” My name on her lips is all it takes to bring me back from my dark thoughts. Focusing on the storm raging in her eyes, I watch it calm. The eye of the hurricane. Calm, beautiful, and dangerous. She has no idea the power she has over me. How weak she makes me just by saying my name. My need to lose myself in her so powerful it surges through my veins like fire. Her hands slide up my forearms, gripping onto my bicep tightly, tethering herself to me.

“There she is,” I breathe, seeing the walls come down.

Swallowing hard, she licks her lips. Pushing up onto her toes, she slips her fingers into my hair and presses her mouth to mine. Her kiss isn’t soft. It lacks no hesitation or insecurity. It’s confident and hungry. Dropping my hands to her hips, I lift her, urging her legs around my waist.

“I need to feel you, Colt,” she gasps against my lips. “All of you.”

Pinning her back to the tile, I slam her down on my cock. Digging her nails into my skin, she cries out against my lips. Every thrust of my hips pushes the darkness back a little more. Kissing her, touching her, grounds me in the moment.

Fisting my hair, she yanks hard. The pain skates down my spine. My hips jerk, slamming Henley’s body into the wall. “Fuck!” she screams, ripping her mouth from mine.

“Love the way you take my cock, baby,” I grunt, driving into her hard and fast. “You wrapped around me. Tight fuckin’ cunt, grippin’ me like a fist. Fuck me.” The walls of her pussy grip me tighter, fucking milking my cock with every stroke. Burying my face between her tits, I close my eyes, getting lost in every sweet inch of this woman. My woman. “Beautiful. Fuckin’ beautiful, baby.”

Her cries echo off the walls of the bathroom. The sound of our bodies moving together, and those sweet noises she makes nearly drowning out the sound of the water. Henley writhes in my arms, desperate for release. “God, yes,” she pants, clawing at my back. “Please, don’t stop.”

And I don’t.

Binging on Henley like a last meal, I rip the breath from her lungs with each punishing thrust of my hips. Grinding against her clit, I drown in every ounce of pleasure, and greedily swallow every sweet sound that leaves her lips when she comes on my cock. It isn’t until she comes down from her orgasm, falling limply against my chest that I grip the back of her neck, slam my mouth to hers again, and find my own release.

Tossing my towel down, I walk out of the bathroom. Stretching out across the bed, Henley hugs a pillow to her chest. “You hungry?” I ask, heading for the cabinet in the corner.

“Not really,” she breathes, her eyes drifting closed.

Henley hasn’t said much since our shower. She is still working through shit in her head. Quiet and reflective Henley is a side of her you don’t see often. Most of the time she is over the top, full of fire and outrageous. The toll that the last few weeks have taken on her are showing. The truth she has given me leaving her as transparent as a sheet of glass.

While that is what I wanted, I didn’t expect it to hurt so much watching her come to grips with giving it to me.

“Been a fucked up day,” I admit before shoving a handful of soft baked cookies in my mouth.

“One I wish we could do over,” she replies, yawning. “End it different. Better.”

“Wish it were that simple, babe.”

“Me too,” she sighs sadly.

Stretching out on the bed, I pull her to me. Tangling her legs with mine, she rests her cheek on my chest, her fingers tracing the words I had inked on my ribs the same night I got my patch.

Don’t fear the Devil.

Wake him.

Stroking my fingers through her still damp hair, I watch the emotions pass through her eyes. “You know I’m falling in love with you,” she whispers softly. “Don’t you, Beefcake?”

“Yeah, babe.” I pull her closer. “You sure as fuck better be.”

“Fuck a duck,” she breathes, her hand coming to a stop over my heart. “I knew you were trouble.”

“Woman,” I chuckle, tucking a few strands behind her ear, giving me a better view of her face. “The night I was shot,” I start, her entire body tensing the moment the sentence leaves my mouth. “All I had was my club. I was good with that. More than ready to die for my brothers and my patch if it came down to it.” She looks up at me, her brows knitting together. “Then,” I continue, stroking her hair as I speak. “You blew in here like you owned the goddamn place, throwin’ around more sass and attitude than anyone I’ve ever met in my life. In a room surrounded by men two and three times your size, you weren’t intimidated.”

“I was too focused on you to worry about anyone else,” she admits. “You’re very intimidating, Colt. But it’s not your size that scares me.”

“Really, now?” I ask, arching a brow.

“Yeah.” Pushing up on her arm, she runs the tips of her fingers over my jaw, scratching her nails through my beard. Watching the movement of her fingers, she takes a deep breath, the wheels in her mind going a mile a minute. “It’s needing someone like this that terrifies me.” Her eyes drift closed. She swallows hard, struggling with putting her thoughts into words. I feel the intensity radiating off her in waves. The uncertainty. Sliding my hand up her back, I silently give her a nudge to keep going. Now that she is opening up, the last thing I want her to do is shut down again. Blowing out a breath, continues. “Admitting that I’m powerless to stop giving parts of myself away that I’ll never get back. Parts of me that no one’s ever gotten. Pieces he never deserved.”

I nod, understanding exactly what she’s giving me. Truth that rips her open, spilling open and exposing the rawness of a woman that steals my goddamn breath. “Henley.” When I trace her bottom lip with my thumb, her eyes open. “You givin’ me that means you get mine in return.”

Her grip on me tightens. Turning her face into my neck, she kisses me softly. “Jesus,” she sighs. “I don’t have the energy to swim into the deep end of this conversation with you tonight.”

I smile; even after all the heavy shit that’s gone down today, it feels right. “Sleep,” I say, kissing her hair. “It’ll be there when you’re ready.”

“Okay.” Her body relaxes into mine, breaths becoming soft and even after a few minutes. Closing my eyes, I lie back on the pillow, loving the way this woman feels pressed against me, skin on skin. My own slice of heaven while the hell raining down outside my door waits for me to give it my attention.

With the adrenaline long worn off, and Henley no longer distracting me, my mind starts to wander, replaying what happened tonight over and over in my head. I’m so tired. Exhausted and numb, but too fucking restless to sleep. The hurt, the grief and rage brewing within me has nowhere to go. It is edging out for control now, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do to change that. Our club is being demolished, torn apart piece by piece. Member by fucking member ripped from the table, leaving holes in places where we felt most secure.

A man who helped raise me, who took the time to teach me everything it took to be a man worth a damn, died tonight. Gave his life for mine without hesitation. I can’t even begin to process that shit. Huck gone? I never thought the day would come when he wouldn’t be here. He died right in front of me, yet it doesn’t feel real.

Shit.

I can’t stop going over what Huck said to me in the van. The old man was crazy as hell, drunk more hours of the day than sober, and rarely ever serious. He wasn’t a liar. The thing I don’t get is if he was my father, why didn’t anyone ever fucking tell me? Why the hell didn’t he tell me before he was bleeding to death in front of me?

Sliding out of bed, I throw on some clothes and head upstairs. Sleep won’t be coming anytime soon for me. I can’t rest. Not when I need fucking answers.

Hitting the top step, I instantly second guess my decision. Chief of Legion Falls Police, Jackie Ashmead, stands on the opposite side of the room, talking with Stone, while the Coroner and Doc finish loading Huck’s body onto a stretcher. Bullet, Huck’s black Lab, sits patiently beside the pool table. Head bowed, he stands, letting out a brokenhearted whine before following behind them as they wheel Huck through the doors.

Sitting at Huck’s corner stool at the bar, Nita sits alone, hugging his cut to her chest while nursing a bottle of Tequila. Her red-rimmed eyes meet mine. Swallowing hard, she downs the shot in front of her and pats the stool beside her. “Sit,” she says, jerking her chin. “I’ve been waitin’.”

I look around for Shy or Ro, expecting them to have been keeping her company. When no one steps forward, I swallow the hesitation I have sitting beside the Ol’ lady who is grieving a man that died because of me. “Waitin’ on me?” I ask, sitting down.

Grabbing a glass from the clean stack beside her, she pours. “Bothered him that you didn’t have his name,” she says, sliding the glass my way. “Don’t think he was too fond of that shithead Marianna married right after you were born either.” Nita’s mention of my mother has my head snapping in her direction. Tipping back the bottle, she downs a mouthful. “Especially when the bastard took outta here a couple years later, and left Mari broke and homeless with a kid.”

“What?” I ask, downing the contents of the glass.

“Huck never came out and told me you were his. Not that I asked. Didn’t need to.” She huffs out a laugh. Turning to face me, she pats my cheek. “You may hide that face behind all that fur now, Trent, but I know my Caleb when I see him.” She smiles sadly. “First time I saw you here with your Momma, I knew. Saw you in him. There sure as shit was no missin’ the pride swellin’ in him over the years, watchin’ you become a man.”

“I didn’t know.” Shaking my head, I stare at the contents of my glass. “He should’ve told me a long damn time ago. Things would’ve been different.”

“Yes, he should’ve,” she agrees. “Probably one of the few regrets the man took to the grave.” Throwing back another shot, she hisses out a breath. “But, it doesn’t change anything, sweetheart. You’ve always been family. Callin’ him Pop wouldn’t have changed a thing. You two were close. Don’t try to taint that with the what ifs.”

“Huck really had an affair with my mother?”

“Whatever happened between them was before we first hooked up,” she assures me. “If there was anything after I’d have known. Mari was always upfront with me about shit. They weren’t in love. They were friends who ended up crossing a line one time. I could see Huck struggle with the distance she asked him to keep, but he did his best by you. Even if he had to keep his reasons to himself.” Pouring more from the bottle, she sits it on the bar between us. “The man may have kept a secret or two, but those weren’t to deceive. His goal was always to protect the ones he loved.” She smiles fondly, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. “You’re a lot like him in that way.”

“Tonight,” I start, feeling the guilt pressing heavily on my chest like a lead weight. “Those bullets—”

“Were taken by a man who died protecting his club and his son,” she finishes. Pressing the leather to her face, she takes a deep breath. After a minute, she folds it before tucking it under her arm. “Had he not done that, he wouldn’t have been the man I fell in love with.” Dropping down to her feet, she squeezes my knee and meets my eyes. “You’d have done the same for him. If he were here, he’d be sayin’ that instead of me.” Her stare turns vacant. “I’ve been around a lot of years, sweetheart. Seen my share of the good, bad, and downright ugly. I know how this works. What you and the boys will have to do to set shit right.” More tears slip down her face. Reaching up on her toes, she presses a kiss to my cheek. “They took something precious from me tonight. Somethin’ I wasn’t anywhere near prepared to lose,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You make those bastards suffer.”

“They will,” I answer with a nod. “I promise you that.”

“Good.” Patting my arm, she squares her shoulders. “We’ll talk later. I need to give myself some time to fall apart before I face anything else.”

Swiping away the tears, Nita heads for the stairs. Snagging the bottle she left behind, I tip it up, catching Stone’s eyes. He says something to Ashmead before making his way over. “Rough night,” he grumbles, propping himself against the side of the bar.

“Yeah,” I grunt, the word a lot damn heavier than its simple four letters. It’s an admission. An acknowledgement that we are in over our heads. Something that I, in the years I’ve worn the patch, have never seen.

And we’ve been knee deep in some thick shit before.

“Doc’s headed for the bunker,” he says, yanking a hand through his hair. “Needs time to get his head right.”

“Time isn’t fixin’ this, Brother.” Staring straight ahead, I tighten my grip on the bottle. “Think we both know that.”

“On that we agree,” he snarls angrily. “I put in a call to Merc. He’s workin’ through their contacts, sending everything they’ve got to Jinks, while he digs up all he can find on that shithole bar you and Doc torched.”

Blowing out a breath, I look his way. The toll of the day is written all over his face. “Without a vote?” I ask, knowing that isn’t how shit goes down. There are very few moves made without a vote. Especially not something of this magnitude.

“Someone gunned down a founding member in cold blood,” he grounds out, his tone frigid cold. “Anyone who needs to take justice for Huck to the goddamn table for a vote has no right wearin’ the Mayhem patch.” I nod, completely in agreement. “Eye for an eye.”

I nod. “Blood for blood.”

Balling his fist, Stone pounds it on the bar. “Life for fuckin’ life.”