A man who, by all means, resembles an ex-convict holds me up as we make our way out of the hospital. I have no idea what I’m doing or how I was able to deliver that beautiful baby girl without falling apart. The second I stepped out of the room, I crumbled to the floor, barely hanging on until Zeke walked out. That’s when reality sunk in and my world went upside down. Seeing the pain that struck him hard in the gut hearing I was her sister hurt. Hell, I didn’t even think I could ache anymore. I knew it was all wrong playing along with Zoe’s secrets, but I always did what she asked, hoping it would give her just enough courage to leave that bastard. It turns out I was wrong.

“Get on,” he says. Voice gruff. Demanding.

The words register, but I’m not following what he’s asking until my fingers glide along something harsh and cold. When I peer down, it’s the back of a motorcycle. I look up to the felon in confusion. Laced in pure utter shock. My mouth opens, but no words come out. I have so many hateful words to scream at anyone who will listen. My mind cannot dredge up a single word to say. Not to him anyway.

“Darlin’, I’ve got a bike, and you need to throw one leg over and hold on, yeah?”

I may be losing my mind. My heart may be dead with my sister, but I have never heard anyone speak the word ‘yeah’ instead of ‘yes’ in my life. What kind of slang is that? Prison talk?

“Now. Please,” he gruffs out.

I do not want to get on this thing. Instead of speaking, I nod, even though getting on the back of his bike is the last thing I want to do. Zeke’s brother, who is nothing like him, must be adopted or something. Hell, I don’t know. He doesn’t speak another word; he just peers down at me. Eyes all dark and mysterious. What he does do is shock me when he runs his large palm down one of my thighs then effortlessly tosses my leg over the bike. He grips my waist, scoots me back until he has me adjusted in the right position of his liking. I’m not sure how he does it, but a helmet is strapped on the top of my head and then buckled under my chin.

The brisk evening air whips across the apples of my cheeks, through my hair. Then again, I’m unable to process on a single shred of certainty. Best friend, Zoe dead. I delivered a baby. Collapsed in the hall then was escorted off by this man to confirm, that, in fact, it is my sister who had been murdered. It’s her. I know it.

I feel as dead as she is. Yet I’m alive. My hands are wrapped around a muscular torso. My skull is lodged in my heart. Both of them shattered and broken.

I try focusing on the breeze tickling over my overlyme sensitive features because it’s the only thing I can feel. I concentrate on each whip of air brushing across my face and sinking through my scrubs until the roar of the engine stops, as does the air in my lungs.

The man must be some sort of beast because he doesn’t tell me to get off. He once again grabs my thigh, hoists me up, and levels my wobbly legs on solid ground. The helmet is off just as quickly as it went on. I’m entranced by what this stranger is doing.

I blink, his sharp features coming into view. I notice the shaved sides of his head. A stark white T-shirt. He has his hair up in a windblown man bun, and his tattoos play peek-a-boo with each flex of his throat. Why am I studying his throat?

His massive palms cup my face, drawing my attention to focus on the words he speaks. It takes everything inside of me to do so.

“I’ve been here and done this before. You go in and nod your head if it’s her. Shake it side to side if it’s not.” The giant’s features wince in pain. “I was young when someone’s life was taken before her time. I stood there next to Zeke and my parents. You have to do this.” I see his lips moving, but I have no idea what this man is saying. Maybe I do. I simply don’t want to hear it.

“Wait? What?” I step back from his touch. “Why am I here?” I begin to panic. It’s scouring through me. Rapidly.

“No. Not Zoe,” I scream, my body shaking when I look up and see the hospital’s white emergency entrance sign. I itch everywhere. I start scratching at my tender skin, nearly drawing blood. I try to force the scrubs from my body. I was on duty, while my sister was dead in her own damn house. It’s all too much. God help me. I have to get to her. “Zoe.”

“Hey. Hey,” his gruff voice cuts through the moment. It’s not enough. Nothing will be enough. I need to get to my sister. Save her. “You’re hurting, darlin’. It’s going to hurt like hell. You gotta go through the motions, lady. I got you.” No, you don’t have me. No one does. Nobody does except Zoe. Oh, God. What did I do?

He pulls me into his chest. Holding me with a strong death grip until I can barely breathe. I can’t pull away. It’s not an option. He feels safe, warm, and secure. He has me.

His words are playing on repeat in my mind.

“She was my sister. We were close. I loved her so much. I’ve lost her, haven’t I?” I don’t even recognize my own voice. “I tried. I really did, but…”

“Enough.” The monster shakes my shoulders until my teeth rattle. “You listen to me, yeah? Your sister made choices, and you had no control over that. You are hurting because you fucking loved her. And that’s what you hold on to.”

After long beats, I finally peer up at the man. I step back once again, so his giant paws are no longer on me. His looks don’t mirror his actions in the least bit. The sadness and remorse in his dark gaze threaten to make me sick on the spot. He’s hurting, too. But why?

I nod slowly, making each movement more pronounced than it needs to be. The only thing that sinks in is, I love her, and that’s why it’s tearing me apart. The part about choices and how Zoe made them rips me to fucking shreds. I’ll never forgive myself for not having a stronger hold on her.

* * *

Brick

The devastation in her eyes cuts me wide open. She keeps stepping away from me as if I’m going to bite. This woman is Zoe’s sister. It should be no shock, since the woman who had me entranced from the first glance was a box of secrets. Shit, we were all surprised when she showed up with a child, and now we're finding this out. Jesus H. Christ. Unreal.

I go on truths; as cold and cruel as it sounds, Zoe is dead. Her sister is here and needs me. I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. Never cared for doing this kind of shit, but my brother deserves to be where he belongs, and that’s with his wife and daughter.

I grip her hand; something warms in my chest when she tightens her fingers in mine. This woman is crushed. Devastated and hurting. I don’t do this kind of compassionate shit. I glance over at her profile, and all I see is Zoe. Her bright eyes and laughter are missing. I shake the confusion from my head and hold the door open for her to step in. I’m losing my fucking mind. I need to get this done, get her back to where she’s safe and sound and drown in a bottle or two of whiskey.

Once in the sterile environment where you can smell the scent of death, this woman turns on her heels, pushing her palms into my chest. There’s no way in hell her tiny frame could stop me, but I indulge her effort.

“I loved her. I love her, and I tried so damn hard to get her away from that piece of shit.” Her last words are catching on a sob. “He has Wilder. I know he does.” Yeah, I have no doubt he does. I was hoping the bastard didn’t, though.

The sound of my teeth grinding together is the only sound vibrating through my ears. That motherfucker just signed his death certificate. Once I have this woman tucked into safety, my first call will be to Katch Sterling and the president of Hell’s Lovers MC, Curtis. I might not have a title behind my name with our club, but a brother is a brother, and we don’t go for killing a woman, knocking them around, or hurting a kid. That fucking shit is just plain wrong no matter how you look at it, and that kid will not be living with the man who killed his mother. The little guy has got to be scared to death.

Eden’s desperate eyes plead with me. The problem is, I have no response. The blood in my veins thirsts to kill and deliver her a sliver of redemption. I have so many sins that I battle with daily. I’m not the man to save her day. Doesn’t mean shit to me, though. Nothing is going to stop me.

“Did you hear me?” Her brow wrinkles, and I see Zoe.

“Yeah, darlin’, I did.”

We check in at the front desk and wait until Eden’s name is called. She rattles on about how she and Zoe were raised. I learn about their hippy parents and how school was easy for Eden, then about the guilt that resides so deep in her chest. I feel you, sweetheart.

The only thing that’s keeping me grounded while waiting is her tiny little hand squeezing mine in a desperate fashion. I may have been attracted to Zoe, but something else is happening with Eden. It’s wrong. So fucking sick. It’s twisted. Fits the pattern of my life.

As we turn each corner, the sterile yet putrid scent of death hits us hard. I find myself dragging Eden along, not wanting to lose track of the office assistant leading the way. The internal battle ensues. I know it’s Zoe. Found her dead body in a pool of blood in her kitchen, studied her beautiful features, and felt every single one of my past sins sear my skin. It’s branded behind my eyes. Lasered and fucking tagged.

Now, like a coward, I’m holding her sister’s hand in a twisted turn of events. If this is some kind of punishment for my sins, then let it be on me. Life doesn't work that way, though, does it? Hell is all around. Even on a day like today when my brother and Amelia should be rejoicing in the sunshine, they're stuck in hell. Fucking hate it.

I can’t tell the world how deeply I cared for Zoe and would’ve taken her and Wilder in a heartbeat. The irony does not skip over me. Zoe’s heart is no longer beating. Fuck!

I stand as a fraud as we‘re escorted through a door. The room is frigid and chilly. Eden nods her head up and down, letting the Medical Examiner and Detective know it’s her sister. I can’t fucking look. I feel sick to my stomach.

Her knees go first, then her spine collapses. I scoop her up in my arms, hauling ass out of that place. Heading in the direction of my bike. I tell the detective yelling at me that he needs to speak to her to fuck off in much nicer terms.

I try sitting her on my bike; she won’t let go of me. Her sobbing frame is clinging to my shirt. I jostle her around until I’m able to dig my cell phone out of my back pocket. Speed dialing number three.

“Katch.”

“Brick? What the hell is going on? You alright?” His woman’s laughter drifts in from the background. Fuck no, I’m not.

“I need you, man.”

“When and where?” I end the call relaying all the pertinent information without trying to freak her out. If I frighten this fragile woman any more than she already is, she’ll be gripping hold of me as if I’m her lifeline to the silent killer who solves all problems. Don’t worry, sweetheart; I called the silent killer. He will find Wilder and teach that motherfucker Ricky a lesson. A slow, tortured death.

“Who was that?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Nobody,” I growl, setting her down on her legs.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

I debate giving her my birth name or the name society has gifted me. The sad reality is, Saxon is dead. He’d never want to be associated with Brick.

“What’s your name?” she asks again.

“Brick. My name is Brick.” I push the helmet her way. “I’m not a good guy.”

I hope my final words scare her, but Eden shocks the hell out of me when she leans forward on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

“I don’t believe that. Thank you, Brick. Now, take me home.”

Her tears never stop on the drive to her place.

This woman has a long road in front of her. The pit in my stomach tells me it ain’t gonna be a smooth ride.