Covered in blood, I stare at myself in the mirror and pick pieces of Joker’s brains from my hair. Flicking them into the sink, I turn the water on and wash the bastard down the drain before diverting my eyes to my shirt. Once perfectly white it is now covered in ash and Deuce’s blood. Tears sting my eyes as the memory of him lying on the ground assaults me. Blinking, the tears slide down my cheeks as I stare at my hands and the dried blood caked into the crevices. I can almost feel the blood ooze onto my hands as it did when I pressed against the wound and begged him to live.

I can hear his raspy voice play in my head as he whispers his love for me and I can feel my brother’s arms wrap around me. His voice barely a whisper as he pulls me away from my Clyde, knowing the only way I would leave Deuce’s side is if I was physically removed.

Sobbing uncontrollably, I shove my hands under the stream of water and wash his blood from my hands. It stains the porcelain sink and swirls down the drain, mimicking how one’s soul swirls down to hell.

The door opens behind me and I lift my swollen eyes back to the mirror and meet my brother’s sorrowful gaze in the reflection. For the first time, I notice the slight difference in our eyes. While mine have flecks of black in them, his hold flecks of gray, making them slightly lighter than mine. It’s hardly noticeable especially when both pairs portray so much grief.

Jagger hesitantly steps forward as I peel my eyes away from his and stare at the blood on his shirt. Like mine it’s stained with Deuce’s blood, reminding us both that fate spared him. He lays his hands on my shoulders and I whimper in despair. Feeling pushed beyond my limits, I lean into him and the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours streams from my body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, turning me around in his arms.

His arms tighten around me and I grip his shirt. My shoulders slump and the weight of tragedy falls from me as I cry into his chest. All the strength I prided myself on fades away from me and I get lost in the comfort of my brother’s embrace, wishing it was enough to fill the emptiness inside. Sadly, we both know his arms can’t fill that void.

I’m first to break our embrace but he takes a step backward and our eyes meet. I briefly wonder how we got here, how we went from two carefree kids to two broken souls. I don’t think we’ll ever uncover the truth as to why our family became a target of violence and I’m sure even if we did it wouldn’t change much. No answer or reason will ever bring our parents back and nothing will fill the dull ache in our chests losing them left behind. The time we spent apart won’t magically be added to our lives and all the bloodshed won’t ever truly be cleansed from our memories.

On top of the crimes that marred our family we’ll both remember wearing Deuce’s blood. And while we might pray for brighter days, they’ll never be guaranteed. This is our sentence and for whatever reason it’s been delivered to us, it’s our cross to bear.

“Clean up,” he says, breaking the silence. “I’ll grab something of Celeste’s for you to change into,” he adds. Like changing my clothes will make everything better.

There is no fight left in me so I don’t argue with him. I simply nod my head and watch as he excuses himself. Stepping forward, I turn on the shower and strip down my clothes. Thick black soot covers my body and I reek of fire, ash and smoke. Still, I don’t hurry to wash it from my body.

I wear fire like I wear my heart and when I bend down to grab my pants from the floor, I pull a book of matches from my pocket.

Fire.

Beautiful fucking fire.

Clarity sets in—bold and bright.

Life isn’t always pretty and the world is downright ugly, but then something happens. Something you never expected to find in the darkness. A beacon of light flickers in the distance of a long dark tunnel.

Not knowing what was at the other end of that tunnel, I was terrified to chase that light, but I’m so glad I did. For a brief pause in tragedy, I found fire in myself all the while experiencing the love of a man.

Deuce wasn’t perfect, he wasn’t a prince, but he was my knight in shining armor. Dressed in leather, with a reaper on his back and a single match in his pocket, he saved me. He taught me fairy tales are for unsuspecting children. They’re not real, they’re scripted and once you close the book it’s done. But an unscripted happily ever after lives long after the final page is turned.

The unexpected romance, the one you never see coming, the love that lights your whole world on fire, well, the flames may perish but the love burns with no end.

Strike the match.

Let it build slowly.

Feel the flutter of the flames in your belly.

Let the heat carry you away.

Ride the fire out.

Ride that beautiful fire you created.

Cherish it.

I know I will.

Side by side.

Forever.

Until we die.

“Ah, shit,” I groan, lifting the bottle of booze to my lips. “You’re fucking killing me, Blondie.”

“Stay still,” she orders as I bleed all over her couch. She’s going to be so fucking pissed. It wasn’t that long ago I stumbled through her front door with her drunk and wounded baby daddy attached to my hip.

What can I say? Bullets love us.

“I’m sorry about the blood,” I slur, as she threads a needle through my skin. Fuck that burns.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies, concentrating on patching one of the two bullet wounds damaging my shoulder. “I bought the protection plan at Bob’s,” she adds, lifting her eyes from the hole in my shoulder to wink at me.

“Smart girl,” I mutter, lifting the whiskey back to my lips.

Morphine is for pussies.

“Jesus,” Cobra grunts, leaning over her shoulder to inspect her work. His gaze darts over to me and our eyes meet. Through my state of oblivion, I watch him clench his jaw. “I guess I owe you one.”

I’d laugh if I remembered how to or if I could feel my face.

“I reckon we’re even,” I say instead.

“How’s that?”

Fuck if I know. It sounded good in my head. Then I remember my point and I force my eyes to stay open and look at him.

“You saved Ally.”

“She’s my sister.”

“She’s your sister but she’s my girl.”

“That so?”

“Don’t make me sorry I took a bullet for you,” I warn as my eyelids droop.

“I had to peel her off you,” he says after a moment. I think my lips curve. I can’t be sure, but fuck, I’m smiling in my head. “She stole Reina’s car and drove straight to you.”

“Ride or die,” I mutter, thinking about my fearless Bonnie.

“What?” he asks, taking a seat on the coffee table.

“You wanna know what ride or die means, just look into your sister’s eyes,” I tell him. “I’m going to marry her,” I promise.

My words seem to have more of an effect on Celeste and she loses her grip on the needle poking through my skin.

“Ouch,” I wince.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“What’s the matter, Blondie? Am I not good enough?” I question, already knowing I’m not. I turn back to Cobra. “I know I’m not,” I explain. “Not even close, but I love her and I can promise you no one will love her as much as I do.”

“Are you asking for my permission?” Cobra asks, swiping a hand down his face. I think about it and I shake my head side to side, deciding I don’t really care if he approves or not.

“No, I don’t ask for permission. It’s not my thing,” I say honestly. “I’m giving you my word.”

“You’re drugged up on pain meds,” he accuses.

“Maybe, but it don’t change nothing. I’m going to marry Ally as soon as we put this Yankovich shit to bed. I’m going to make beautiful little babies with her too. Lots and lots of babies. I think she’d look fucking cute as hell on the back of my bike with a belly full of little Deuces.”

“Deuce,” Cobra growls and this time I’m sure I smile.

“You better get yourself a sidecar,” Celeste teases, smiling too.

“Fuck yeah,” I agree. “The world needs a bunch of little Deuces running around the streets. Devilishly handsome boys with their mama’s fire coursing through their veins.”

“What if you have girls?” Celeste asks.

“Jesus, fuck, Celeste,” Cobra warns. “Don’t encourage the crazy.”

“What? I think it would be nice if the girls had cousins to grow up with.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Cobra mutters. “Months ago you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and now you’re suddenly ready to give it to one woman for the rest of your life?” He pauses, cringing as he digests his own words. My guess is he’s having a visual of me and his sister rolling around in the hay.

Lord knows I am.

Shot, half dead, lungs collapsed and all, I’d give anything to feel that tight body wrapped around me right now. It doesn’t matter that I probably couldn’t get my dick up if my life depended on it, but a man can dream.

And dream I do.

I dream of tomorrow.

I dream of waking up to that freckled face beauty.

I dream of long rides on my bike with Ally wrapped around me and the wind at our backs.

Then I dream of a different kind of ride and picture Ally on top of me, riding my cock until the sun comes up.

Beautiful.

Fucking beautiful.

“How’s he doing?” Jack asks.

“Where did you come from?”

“Hell,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his tired face. Celeste leans back, inspecting my shoulder.

“I think I closed the wounds successfully. It helped that the bullets weren’t lodged inside,” she says, turning to Jack. “I’m going to start a tab for you.”

“I appreciate you helping out,” he replies.

“I appreciate you returning my family safe and sound to me,” she states.

“You lookin’ for a patch, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips quirking slightly as he turns to Cobra. “She’s a keeper, brother.”

“Don’t I know it,” Cobra says, turning his eyes back to Celeste.

“So is yours,” Jack says to me.

“Yeah, she is,” I reply proudly.

“She stole my wife’s car.”

“I heard,” I tell him. I pause a minute and study the worn features of his face. “Thank you,” I murmur thoughtfully.

“Ain’t nothing to thank me for, brother.”

“What happened to the Bastards?”

“What do you think happened to them?” Jack answers with a smile. “Bas and Needles are cremating them.”

The last I heard we didn’t own a fucking oven. We dug our holes deep and turned the dirt over the poor suckers that crossed us.

“Wanna explain that one?”

“Not really,” Jack replies, cocking his head to the side. “Something I want to say to you, Cowboy.”

His steel gaze tells me I’m fucked.

Make that motherfucked.

“You ever take your cut off in front of me again and I’ll torch your ass. Now, you should’ve been straight with me from the get go but that secret is burning as we speak which means it’s over and done with. You fucked up but we’re going to move on because we got bigger fish to fry. You hear me?”

“Yankovich?”

“You bet your fucking ass, I mean Yankovich,” he says as he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands tall.

Tall.

Dangerous.

And a touch of crazy.

About to turn, he pauses and points a finger at me.

“One more thing,” he says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Here it comes,” I say with a laugh. “Come on give it to me, Parrish.”

Those dark eyes of his penetrate through my drug induced fog and rattle me.

“You’re property of Parrish, son,” he says with conviction. Then he glances over his shoulder at Celeste and Cobra. “You’re all fucking property of Parrish.”

That last name.

To some that’s all it is.

To others, to people like you and me, Parrish means family.

It means finding your place in this crazy world.

It means home.

It means I’m not a roamer any more.