Dread churns deep in my bones as I stare at Ally.

“How did you get this?”

Wiping her tears, she glances at the photo and I quickly turn it over. She doesn’t need to be haunted by death too.

“Someone slipped it under the door while you were in the bathroom,” she stutters and I instantly drop the photograph. Turning toward the door, I peer into the peephole.

“Get dressed,” I tell her. “We gotta get out of here,” I add, pulling away from the door. I move to the curtains, peel them back and inch but all I see is the filth of the windows and the blackness of the parking lot.

“Why would he send a picture of Sara?” she questions behind me.

Dropping the curtain, I turn back to her.

“What did you say?”

“Sara, why would Yankovich send a picture of Sara?”

“Sara,” I repeat, trying to make sense of her question.

“Her name isn’t Sara,” I correct, glancing at the photograph on the floor. Flashes from that night torment me as I try to recall when anyone paused to take a picture of her like that. At the time, it seemed as soon as she took her last breath they dragged her body to her grave.

Tearing my focus away from Chelsea’s picture, I look back at Ally.

“That’s Chelsea. I should know, I was there when it happened,” I admit. “I’m also the reason it happened.”

“That can’t be,” she mutters, brushing the tears away from her face. “That’s the girl I was telling Jack about. That’s the girl that disappeared…” her voice trails off.

The wind changes once more.

One final time.

The skies clear.

It’s the calm before the storm.

The moment of clarity.

“Are you a hundred percent certain?” I croak, as what she reveals begins to make sense.

“Your Chelsea is my Sara,” she whispers, bending down to take the picture. “Yankovich killed her.”

“No, he didn’t,” I say.

The truth burns.

The flames destroy.

“My club did,” I reveal hoarsely.

“Jack killed Sara?”

“Chelsea,” I correct, grasping for control and failing miserably. It’s coming together.

The tires.

The photograph.

Yankovich.

“We have to get out of here,” I tell her abruptly.

“No, not until you explain,” she demands.

“Ally, now isn’t the time—”

“The fuck it isn’t,” she shouts, lifting the photograph to my face. “What happened to her?”

Angrily, I rip the picture out of her hands and tear it to shreds. The pieces fall at our feet, just the way this beautiful thing we created between us does too.

“You want to know what happened, I’ll tell you what happened, Ally. She was shot four times in front of my face and the final bullet, the one that killed her came from my fucking gun. Your Sara, my Chelsea, she was killed and her blood is on my hands. She’s dead because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, because I was a selfish motherfucker with a vendetta.”

The gasp that escapes her lips guts me but it also reminds me of what I’ve tried to bury. The secrets and lies that I forgot the moment I met her.

“Now you know,” I say. “And before it happens to you, I suggest you put your clothes on so we can get the fuck out of here and get you to safety.”

“I don’t understand,” she cries.

“It doesn’t matter,” I shout. “They know where I am, they’re probably waiting outside this fucking room—”

“Who?” she hollers.

“The Bastards of Mayhem,” I growl. “Goddamn it, Ally,” I yell, running my hands over my face. “I’m begging you to get dressed so I can get you out of here.”

Dropping my hands from my face, I stare back at her. Every fear, every regret, all my mistakes pour from my eyes and find hers.

“I won’t watch you die because of me,” I choke out. “I killed the president of a club, Ally. They’ve been gunning for me for years now. I should never have stayed in one place. I knew the chances of getting caught were greater but I wanted to be part of this thing Jack’s building, this thing that Wolf was desperate to save. I wanted to believe in brotherhood again. So I stayed, but I never banked on you and now here we are. They know where I am, they know you’re here with me and there’s no way out. Not for me.”

“Then we’ll run,” she says automatically. “We won’t go to Jack…we can leave right now…someplace where they can’t find us.”

“Ally,” I start, shaking my head as I reach for her. “We won’t make it past the state line.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s time to go.”

It’s time to say goodbye.

It’s the end of the line.

And death is the wage of sin.

“You’re right,” she says suddenly.

Stepping out of my reach, she turns around and starts to grab the clothes scattered across the room.

Hers.

Mine.

“We’ll go to Jack, we’ll tell him the truth. I’m guessing he has no idea about any of this?” she asks as she throws me my jeans.

Catching them in my hand, I watch as she loses it and roughly tugs her shirt over her head.

“He’s going to be pissed but he’ll know what to do,” she says, as she reaches for another article of clothing. “He’ll make it right. He made things right for me, he gave me you. He’ll make things right for us now.”

Tears streak her face as she tugs her pants on and slides her feet into her shoes. Silently, I pull my own clothes on and once we’re both dressed, she turns to me.

“It’s going to be okay,” she says.

I don’t have the heart to tell her it won’t be.

I don’t have the guts to say the truth.

I never did.

That’s why we’re here.

“It’s going to be okay because we’re all property of Parrish,” she whispers.

Silence.

She reaches for my hand of which I give willingly.

Just the way I gave her my soul.

And as I brush my lips across her knuckles, I count the freckles on her face…

One last time.