I pointed to the tower of empty shot glasses and peered back at the bartender.
“Two more,” I ordered, slurring my words.
“You got a ride to wherever you’re heading?” he questioned as he braced his hands on the edge of the bar and studied me.
“I got it covered,” I tapped the empty glasses. “Let’s go.” I added another twenty to the stack in front of me and waited for him to move.
He sighed, reluctantly grabbing the bottle of whiskey from behind the bar, flipped over two shots and filled them to the rim—slamming his hand over the cash and stuffed it in his pocket.
So much for the concerned bartender act.
Anyone can be bought in this world.
Everyone had their price.
Sometimes a twenty got you what you needed, other times all the money in the world wouldn’t suffice.
Sometimes the price was blood.
I emptied the second shot glass, numb to the burn of the liquor as it made its way down my throat. I pushed back my stool and stood for the first time in hours, stumbling and knocking over the bar stool.
“Easy,” the bartender called. “Why don’t you let me call you a cab?”
I waved him off as I found my footing and headed out of the bar. If I had any luck, I’d wrap the van around a pole before I did what I knew I had to do.
I unlocked the van, climbed into the driver seat and fumbled with the key, leaning my head against the steering wheel.
“But the world, my world, it would be black without you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how it happened, and I probably never will, but you’re a big part of my life and my only wish is that you start living life again.
“I wanted to,” I whispered, replying to the memory of her words. “You made me want to.”
Then I was reminded of my own words.
It’s a good dream, Lace. You and me, it’s a real good dream but dreams don’t come true for men like me.
I knew better.
I knew it would never work, that I wasn’t good for her, that I had the capacity to ruin her.
It’s me.
It’s what I do.
I take the good in the world and make it ugly.
I take the innocent and feed them to the devil.
I can’t change and the more I think I can the more I hurt the people who give a damn about me.
I hurt Lacey.
I hurt Jack.
I hurt my club.
I rubbed my face wearily, knowing the only way to make it right, to save her from being a pawn in a game of chess was to cut her free. She’d always be her father’s daughter; no one could change that but she won’t be my woman anymore.
I’ve never intentionally put her life at risk and I will not start now.
Even if it kills me.
Ironic isn’t it? I’ve spent a good part of my life looking for a way out, looking to hurt myself and feel the pain I deserved. Who knew the answer was right in front of me? All I had to do was let myself have a bit of hope and an angel who loved me.
All I had to do was give in to the temptation and let myself have the one thing I wanted most in this world—even more than the pain I craved. I wanted the good girl who always had my back. The beauty with the sad eyes who just wanted the beast to see her, to worship her and to love her.
I had the story right from the beginning, from that first night I pushed Lacey away and sent her running scared.
I had to go for the fucking rewrite.
I had to give her the good.
I had to take more of her.
I had to watch her unravel and know it was me who did that to her.
I barely made it back to the hotel and parked the van in between two spots. Once inside I fell into the chair, not bothering with a light, accustomed to the darkness. I didn’t care it was the middle of the night, I hoped she’d be sleeping and wouldn’t answer the phone, giving me a few more hours to hold on to her.
A few hours to hang onto the dream of Leather and Lace.
I slipped my jacket off, turned it over and pulled out my gun first, then my phone. In that instant I knew it’d be easier to pull the trigger than to press send on the call I was about to make. I lifted the phone to my ear, listened as it rang and said a silent prayer she wouldn’t answer the phone.
“Hello?” she whispered groggily into the phone, forcing me to close my eyes and savor the sound of her voice.
I pictured her in bed, hair tousled, stretching her body along the mattress.
“Blackie?”
“Hey, babe,” I rasped, clearing my throat before running my free hand over my hair, fisting it in agony.
“Is everything okay?” she murmured into the phone.
No nothing’s okay.
It all fell to shit before we even had time to enjoy it.
“It’s all good,” I lied, trying to work up the nerve to harden my tone and break her heart. “Listen, Lace,” I started.
“I miss you,” she cut me off. “I wish you were here right now, or I was there. I miss the way your arms feel wrapped around me and your breath against my ear.”
I dropped my hand, leaned my head against the back of the chair and closed my eyes, remembering the night I held her in my arms—on the floor of a house I never thought I’d step foot inside again.