She let go of my hand, and my back sank onto the table I was lying on.
Moments later, Butler dug a hand in my hair. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Tell me—”
He leaned over me. “Seems the Feds have been on the Blades’ asses for a while. Finger tipped off his contact inside, and the Feds trailed Alejandro from Denver into Nebraska, straight to the Blades’ weapons stash, that old bunker you’d mentioned. Turns out, they’ve been after that location for a while now like everybody else. Not to mention, a crack at the Calderas Group. Huge win for them. Huge win for us. Feds were grateful, and we got you free and clear out of the deal.”
“You went to Finger?”
“Not me. Jill. She’s the one who figured out you had gone to Denver. She ran down here, talked to Finger herself. Didn’t waste any time doing it.”
“Jesus.” I swallowed. “And Calderone?”
“Fucker’s dead.” Butler slanted his head. “What the hell were you thinking, bro?”
My chest squeezed painfully—and not from being beaten and bruised and shot at. I fisted a hand in Butler’s shirt. “He was coming for me, was gonna get to Jill. Eventually him and Notch would have come for the club. I had to keep Jill and the baby safe. Had to—”
“All right.” Butler heaved a sigh, his blue eyes clouding, his hand sliding over my forehead. “I know, man. I know.”
WE WERE HOME.
Becca and I were staying with Boner at his house for a few days.
Boner’s bruises and cuts were healing, and he was getting his energy back, but he remained sullen and quiet. Earlier this morning when he’d seen his bike standing in his driveway again, he actually smiled, but then he went back to his melancholy.
I brought our tea in the living room. Becca was still sleeping, and I was glad. I had something special to give to him.
He wiped his hands on his jeans and stood back from the fireplace, studying the orange flames licking high in the hearth.
“You got to promise me something, Jill. Don’t you ever take off like that again without telling anyone where you’re going, especially when it’s to another club.”
“I made an executive decision.”
He turned to me. “Jesus. Between Grace, Lock, and you, by the time this kid is born, he or she is gonna be hell on wheels.”
“Most likely.”
I handed him a faded blue antique tin box, which was decorated with a hand-painted eagle holding an American flag in its claws.
“What’s this?”
“A gift for you. I have another one, too, but this first.”
He held up the small antique cigar box, inspecting the eagle. “You collecting antiques now, like Tania?”
“No. Grace gave that to me. It was Wreck’s.”
Wreck was Lock’s older brother, who had died years ago. He had brought Boner and Dig into the club and had been their mentor.
“Tania found it while going through his stuff,” I added. “It was perfect for what I had in mind, and Lock wanted you to have it, too.”
He laid his hand on top of the box, a quiet, solemn gesture. “Wreck and his eagles.”
“Open it.”
He pushed open the top of the old box, and the tin creaked. A stack of creased papers was folded inside. “What’s all this?” He picked through them.
His face lifted, and his eyes met mine. Eyes that questioned, eyes that brimmed with tension.
“Jillee—”
“Those poems are a part of you. A part of you I think you kept trying to trash or hide from view, but you couldn’t. They’re beautiful and awful, and they’re yours. They should be shown some honor and allowed to rest in a special place in your house. You need to come to peace with them. With her.”
“It helped, writing them.”
“Yes, it does help. I keep journals. Have for a long time.”
He licked his bottom lip, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. “This fire would come up, and I’d get it out. Then, I’d stuff them wherever.” His shoulders jerked up and fell. “Bad memories, unanswered questions.”
“You kept them as pieces, shedding as you went.”
He nodded, his lips a firm line. “Pieces.”
“Are you still asking her why?”
“No. Not anymore.” His clear eyes met mine. “Not anymore.”
“I’m sorry I read them. I feel like I intruded on your privacy. The last thing I want to do is to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m glad you read them.”
I pressed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m proud of the bones you smashed. I don’t care if that’s bad or wrong or foul. I don’t think it is. You took your revenge. You exacted your price of justice. You made your mark and torched it into the earth. In all that darkness, you did good things—for you, for Inès, for Dig, Grace, for me. For your club.”
“It’s not all good.” His voice shook.
Tears spilled down my face. “I know, baby. It never is.”