A little slice of heaven.
Why give me heaven only to throw me back into hell?
“I do too,” I admitted, huskily.
“When are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow,” I said, opening my eyes and staring into the darkness. “I can’t do it.”
“What can’t you do?”
I couldn’t bring myself to break her heart and not for the selfish reasons I expected but because I didn’t want to hurt.
I just didn’t mean to say it out loud.
“I’ve got to go, Lace.”
“Can I see you tomorrow?” She asked quickly before I disconnected the call.
“Yeah, angel,” I whispered.
“Good night Blackie.”
Tonight I didn’t hurt her with my words. I didn’t scar her with my actions but I feared the inevitable.
Lacey would be hurt.
And it didn’t matter if I was the one doing the damage or not, in the end it would still be my fault. But tonight, tonight, we held onto the dream for a little longer.
“Good night, Lace,” I said, disconnecting the call and staring down at the screen.
I closed my eyes, pictured her smiling face as Boots’ threat rang loudly in my ears. I felt the familiar pangs of self-loathing tear into me, ripping me a part, and I was transcended back in time. The last time I hated myself this much was when I held Christine’s lifeless body in my arms. I was too late then, but I wasn’t now. I didn’t have to hold another cold body in my arms and wish for another way.
But as much as I have been able to protect her this far I knew the game Boots was playing—I knew it too well.
It’s exactly what I would do if the roles were reverse.
I’d bide my time.
I’d let the motherfucker stew.
And as I sat there in the dark, watching the woman he loved, I’d smile to myself knowing I had the upper hand.
Drugs can be replaced.
Money can be earned again.
Buildings can burn only to be rebuilt.
A club can be divided and torn apart only to rise again.
But taking the life of the one that makes yours worth living?
That shit ends you.
It’s the oldest play in the book and the most effective.
I reared my hand back and threw my phone across the room, watching as it bounced off the wall. I grabbed the arms of the chair and hoisted myself up, walking through the dark room to where the phone landed. The screen was shattered, mimicking the cracks covering my dead heart.
I’m going to miss her when the lights go out, when I’m alone in the dark remembering how it felt to be inside heaven.
I’ll always think of her.
My Lace.
My lethal temptation.
I didn’t sleep that night, my mind was racing like I did two eight balls of cocaine so, I checked out of the hotel and jumped into my van before the sun came up. I rode back to New York with a van full of guns, a broken phone and a goddamn hangover.
Only grief waited for me so why I was in a rush to run back to hell was a mystery. I couldn’t sit in that room another second though because all I did was think of her and how I would have to break it off.
How the fuck was I going to do it looking at her, watching her eyes go dark as night as the torment of my words stabbed her? I couldn’t do it on the phone and was a fool to think I’d be able to do it face to face.
By the time I pulled the van up to the Dog Pound I was exhausted, crashing from the booze and the mental anguish. I wanted to sleep for the next three days and if I was lucky when I finally awoke, the war would be over.
Fat chance.
I slammed the door of the van and damned the fucking thing to hell.
If I never had to drive a cage again it would be too soon.
The parking lot was relatively empty reminding me, Jack was due to go up to Otisville to visit Vic. Pipe was spending more time at the garage trying to expand and Wolf was searching the map for recruits, leaving Riggs and Bones in charge of the home front.
God help us all.
I entered the clubhouse, spotted Bones on the phone and tipped my chin in acknowledgement before heading towards the stairs. I reached the landing where Riggs was pacing back and forth in front of my door.
“What’re you doing?” I asked, scratching the scruff that lined my jaw. He lifted his head and his eyes narrowed as he studied me.
I could only imagine what I looked like.
“Man,” he hissed. “What the fuck happened?”
“Get out of my way,” I ordered.
“You look like you fell off the wagon,” he commented.
He should only know.
“What are you my sponsor now?” I dropped my duffel bag on the floor, shrugged my jacket off and viciously rolled up my sleeves, turning my forearms up. “Not a fucking mark. Now get the fuck out of my way Riggs,” I growled.
“Black, I’m just concerned is all,” he said, pulling off his baseball hat and scratching his head.
“Appreciate it but I’m not your fucking problem,” I argued.
“Speaking of problems,” he started.
“What?”