I Will Revel in Glory

by Stunich, C. M.

  “I don’t mind sharing,” Grey says absently, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s just staring at the floor, his eyes shadowed and impossible to read. He means what he’s saying, but also … this isn’t just about me being knocked-up.

  It’s about him finally realizing that there’s nothing romantic between us.

  I don’t think he wants me the way he imagines. I just think Grey Wolfe is … lonely. He’s as alone in this world as I was the day I took that first pregnancy test and Cat started taking control of my life. Grey doesn’t have anyone he can count on except for me and Reba.

  His family doesn’t love him the way a family should. And when he says he’s going to murder his father? I believe it. His brother is dead. I’m going to fucking kill his awful mother. That’s where this is coming from; I know it is.

  “If you’re helping me out just because you think we might get together, then stop. I’ll have the boys smuggle you off the compound and we can start taking shots at each other like normal rival gangs.”

  I almost get a slight smile at that, but when Grey turns to look at me, he’s dead serious.

  “That’s not why I’m helping you. Considering what you’ve just said to me, I’m going to presume that isn’t why you’re helping me either.” He turns back to look at the mountain of Crown’s crap in front of us. Like, what the hell does he even have up here? What is all of this? He better not be a fucking hoarder; I will dump all of his shit. Then again, the rest of the house is immaculate; this is the only stain. A private, quiet place for Crown to keep his messy heart hidden.

  “I can’t have the four of them and you at the same time: they would never accept that.” I study Grey’s profile. He’s handsome, elegant, learned, well-traveled. If our plans work out, he’ll also be wealthy and powerful. Mm. You’d think all of those things would make it easy to find true love. Not the case. It’s the exact opposite.

  Grey is going to have to be very, very careful with whomever he falls in love with.

  “I’m having a hard enough time as it is; they’re all stubborn as fuck.” I sigh and lean my head back against the back of the chaise. It creaks a bit as Grey adjusts himself and does the same. “If you and I got together, you’d still be alone a lot of the time. I’d have to split my time between here and there. It would never work.”

  He’s silent for a long moment, and I actually start to drift off. I’m that tired. Still recovering from the bullshit that went down the day of the wedding. Still healing. Still sore and comfortably used by Beast. My mouth twitches.

  “Is it truly possible for a monster to fall in love?” he queries, and I consider the question seriously. Cat seems to love Nellie, and I know for a goddamn fact that he’s one of the biggest, ugliest monsters out there. “Kian did, I suppose. He found Queenie. And he was horrible, Gidget. You would’ve despised him.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind about that,” I agree, but then I remember the way Queenie held her belly and smiled in an absent sort of way, like she was happy about her baby but also about something else entirely.

  “But he was different around your sister. His love for her shaped him in new ways.” Grey reaches up and rubs at his face with both hands. “Sometimes, I think I’m just trying to live his life for him. Because he didn’t get to. Because he should’ve married the club princess and been happy.”

  I put my hand over my stomach, and I think about Queenie.

  I think about the fact that she’s dead, and her baby is dead. Posey is dead, and Gaz is dead.

  Our whole fucking family is dead.

  My breath releases in a rush, but I don’t have answers right now. Anyway, I have other things I’m supposed to be doing. I need to find Crown and jump on whatever project he’s offering, just to show him how goddamn serious I am about all of this.

  “We can live our own lives and still honor them. You and Reba are my best friends, my only friends.” I give a harsh, sharp little laugh. “And true friends, real friends, those are as hard to find and as rare as true love. Ask anyone. I’ve got your back. I wasn’t lying when I said that.”

  “Neither was I,” he agrees, reaching down to take my hand. He curls my fingers with his and squeezes. I squeeze right back, offering comfort when he needs it most.

  “But I do have some conditions,” I add, and Grey gives a low, refined chuckle in response.

  “Such as?”

  “Your mother’s head,” I offer up, and Grey pauses to think for a minute.

  “I was going to kill her myself, but if the opportunity presents itself, then fine.”

  I should probably be surprised that a man can so easily discuss murdering his own mother, but then, I grew up in this life, too, remember? Also, I’ve met the woman. She’s a fucking nightmare of a human being.

  “What else?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “I don’t know how possible it is to sniff out the exact men—and I mean literally, the exact ones—who came to my house that day. But I want to know who they are so that I can cut their dicks off, slit their throats, and bury them in a shallow grave out back.”

  “Mm,” Grey muses, nudging the camping lantern with one foot. “I know who they are: my father’s A-team, essentially. And I have good news for you: I have an idea of where they might be in the coming weeks.”

  I look sharply in his direction, heart racing. Please don’t be bullshitting me, I think, trying not to get too hopeful. I want to kill these men almost as much as I want to be married to Beast. It’s that important to me.

  “You better not be shitting me right now,” I warn him, but he looks over and gives an elegant shrug of one shoulder.

  “Why would I lie about this? You want to kill them; I need them dead. Even if I were able to get to my father tomorrow and run a blade across his throat, what would it matter? These men would hunt me down like a traitor and bury me in the same grave.” He looks at me in the shadowy darkness, and I get this itchy, antsy sort of feeling, just like I did when I was in the room with Beast.

  The world is on pause right now, but we’re about to hit play and move this shit forward—fast.

  “So tell me,” I say, and Grey nods.

  I’ll need all four men with me to get this done, that’s for sure.

  I just need to hope that Sin and Grainger make speedy recoveries.

  And not just because I need their help in this.

  Because, even though it almost kills me to admit it, I need them.

  I need all four of them.

  Crown is waiting in the doorway to his—my—our—bedroom when I descend from the attic, leaving Grey behind so that he can have a moment to himself. Even when someone doesn’t love you, when someone isn’t the right fit for you, it still hurts to be rejected.

  “Did mafia brat pull his dick out of his own ass and realize you and him were never going to be a thing?” Crown asks as I move past him into the room, and he closes the door behind me.

  “You heard all that, huh?” I ask, and Crown grunts. I ignore him, sprawling out across the bed and frowning when I realize that this is a different blanket than before. “You took the ketchup blanket away,” I remark, but he ignores me.

  “He’s no good, Gidge.”

  “He’s our only chance to close this war with minimal casualties and walk away with the losses we’ve already suffered as our only sorrow.”

  “Hate to tell you this and ruin the illusion, but the war is already on. Three more chapters of DBD are already on the way; the streets of this city are going to run with blood.” Crown crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against his dresser, watching me.

  I can’t help but wonder what, exactly, he and Beast talked about yesterday.

  “It doesn’t have to be that way,” I reiterate, sitting up and feeling my brows draw together in annoyance. “You realize that if we pit the might of the club against the might of the mafia, we all suffer?”

  Crown doesn’t say anything, but I can see in the way his mouth tightens t
hat he already knows that. He always seems to know what’s going to happen before anyone else does. “There were six Daybreakers outside of that house. And only then because Crown demanded it. Your father didn’t think we needed anyone at all.” Sin told me that, referring to the day my sisters were murdered.

  This man is the voice of reason in the club; he knows I’m right, even if it’s hard for him to admit it.

  “Well, that’s the way things are heading, and neither of us can stop it by wishing,” he tells me, releasing a heavy sigh. I notice that he keeps his distance from me, as if he might break if he gets too close.

  I want that. Even if I’m sore as fuck. I want Crown to break and screw me on his pretty bed. I’m guessing he wants an answer from me first, about the baby thing.

  “If you want to turn the direction of the club, we have to take action. How do we get access to the Don?” Crown is asking a question, but he’s also musing on the thought, trying to puzzle it out for himself.

  “Alvise is prepping his best men for a hit on Cat,” I tell Crown, and he lifts a dark brow.

  “Information from Grey, I’m guessing.” That’s not a question; he isn’t asking. Just a statement of fact. “When? Where?”

  “Grey says they figure they’re only going to get one chance. He doesn’t know exactly when or where, but sometime in the next few weeks. The Don wants this to end in total bloodshed as little as we do; he knows it’ll be bad.” I cross my legs and sit up straight. “If we can get Grey out of here in one piece, he can tell us where and when.”

  “Sounds like a perfect way to catch us off-guard and get us killed.” Crown has a point, but I can’t just say ‘I trust Grey’ and make it work.

  “Why don’t we start with step one: getting Grey off the compound. Then we’ll figure out where to go from there?” I suggest, and my pulse spikes when Crown uncrosses his arms, like he’s gearing up to change the subject.

  “I want you to help with the families that are on the compound. Finding places for them to sleep. Procuring beds. Food. Helping make a schedule for the showers.”

  Oh.

  Right.

  Work.

  I resist the urge to sigh, and then give a sharp nod.

  “How … bad was it?” I ask, trying hard not to think how the ripple effect of my life has drowned so many in its wake. I know I can’t hold myself responsible for the actions of others, but it’s impossible to ignore that the catalyst for this shit was my rescue from the arms of the mafia.

  Retaliation.

  No, no, this goes much deeper. Beyond Kian and Queenie. To Gaz. To the casino.

  Chills take over me and I rub at my upper arms to ward off the cold in my soul.

  “René’s son and granddaughter were killed,” Crown says, his voice grave, and my lips part in surprise. René is one of the old-timers, one of Cat’s most loyal men, and the club’s official treasurer. We’re not exactly close, but he’s always been nicer to me than my own father. When I was little, he’d give me coloring books and boxes of fresh crayons to play with.

  “Fuck.”

  “Yep.” Crown stays where he is, pausing when he hears a creak in the hall that signals that Grey has finally come down the ladder from the attic. Without a word, Crown takes off and opens the door, and I scramble off the bed to follow him into the hallway.

  “Here,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out.

  It’s the diamond engagement ring that Grey gave me. Crown moves over to him and offers it up on the palm of his hand. Grey stares at it for a moment before lifting his gaze to Crown’s.

  “You might need this when you meet your own girl.”

  Your own girl.

  Ouch.

  With a scowl that he can’t quite hide, Grey reaches out and snatches the ring back, the expression fading from his face as he throws one, last look back at me. It hurts to see him like that; I hate it. If I could, I’d take my friend’s pain and drown it in the dark, endless sea that’s already inside of me.

  But that’s not how life works.

  We can help each other build boats, but we each own the entirety of our melancholy ocean.

  “I’ll be in my room—taking a nap.” Grey shoves the ring into the pocket of his sweatpants and pads down the hall, slipping into the guestroom at the end of it and slamming the door.

  Crown looks back at me, and my pulse spikes. Talk to me, I think, hoping, dreaming, wanting. Say something.

  “You should get dressed; we have a lot of work to do.”

  He takes off down the stairs, and I kick the wall hard enough that my toes throb, and I’m left with an all-day reminder that reacting in anger hurts me more than it hurts anyone else.

  Everything I do has to be calm, well-thought, and planned.

  This war. My marriage. My love. Even my pregnancy.

  I turn and head back into the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

  The task that Crown has given me isn’t an easy one.

  I don’t think it was meant to be.

  But by nine that evening—essentially a twelve-hour day for me that seems endless—I find myself in Sin’s office in the clubhouse, sitting in his chair with my elbows on the desk, fingers buried in my hair.

  The compound was not meant to hold this many people.

  None of this is obligatory, just precautionary.

  But nobody else in the club wants their members to join the ranks of my sisters or René’s son and granddaughter.

  It’s a brilliant tactic, if you think about it. The mafia is terrifying the club’s regular members, guys who do little more than distribute dope to dealers. They don’t murder people like Beast does or arrange caravans of armed soldiers to guard weapons deliveries like Sin. DBD is supposed to be blood in, blood out, but imagine if a bunch of guys went rogue and fled with their families?

  We wouldn’t have the manpower to stop them or bring them back, not right now.

  There’s a soft knock on the door, and I lift my head just in time to see Nellie open it.

  She peeks in with a soft half-smile on her face, and guilt rushes through me, making my eyes sting with tears, making my chest so tight that I can barely breathe.

  It was between me and Gaz, Mama. He had to choose between me and Gaz, and I don’t understand it at all.

  “Mom,” I manage to choke out, keeping my eyes dry—I’ve had plenty of practice at it—and making her cheeks flush with pleasure. She slips into the room and closes the door behind her, blond hair curled gently, makeup expertly applied, her leather pants offset by the pink blouse she’s wearing with them.

  “Hey honey,” she says, moving over to take the chair opposite me. I stare at her across the surface of it, and the dynamic feels right to me. Nellie belongs on that side of a desk. I belong here, my ass in the chair. “How are you holding up?”

  Holding up. Fuck. She isn’t talking about Gaz; she doesn’t know he’s dead. She’s asking about the mountain of overwhelming and mundane but necessary tasks ahead of you. That’s what.

  “I, uh, it’s a lot.” I rest my hands on the surface of the desk. I’m doing Sin’s work right now. I mean, none of this is exactly in his job description, but if he were here, he’d be the one handling it. He’s good at that, organizing things, making chaos make sense. “But I’m happy to do it.”

  Nellie nods, looking past me toward the window behind me, her blue eyes just a bit glassy, like she’s lost in memories. I know what she’s thinking about because I spend a good portion of my time thinking about it, too. No words need to be said in order for my sisters to be remembered.

  “How’s married life?” Nellie inquires politely, turning her gaze back to me. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming at first, but …”

  “I grew up here; I don’t know any different.” And that’s true. This is my reality.

  “Yes, but you should be able to spend time with your new husband and not worry about …” She gestures loosely around her to indicate the situation.
“All of this.”

  I shrug and lean back in the chair.

  How do I explain to Nellie that there’s something wrong with me? That I like this, the high stakes, high adrenaline bullshit. How could I have ever lived a normal life? I’m too used to excitement around every corner; I’d get bored quick. I’d be one of those people who start a life in one place, as like a baker in New York City. And then I’d move. I’d become a waitress somewhere in South Dakota. Six weeks later, I’d be living in a youth hostel in LA and trying to become an actress.

  I’m addicted to the life.

  Well, I would like to be done with all of this administrative type shit. Put a gun in my hand; put me in the field. This isn’t my forte. But I will, however, excel at it, just to prove to the vice president that I can.

  “I’d invite you and Beast over for dinner, but your father’s been … well, this is a lot for him, too,” she says gently, but the way her eyes shift to the side and her mouth thins, I get that Cat’s been weirder than usual. Sure, this is a lot, but this isn’t the first time he’s fought a war with the Grey Wolfe Mafia.

  He’s reacting to Gaz’s death, whether he realizes he’s doing it or not.

  “That’s fine. We’re still … figuring things out.” I drum my nails on the table. They’re painted a solid matte black with coffin tips, but I kept them relatively short. Not going to let my nails get in the way of holding a weapon or driving a bike. No fucking way. “We wouldn’t have the time anyway.”

  “You need to find time to spend together,” she tells me gently, and I quirk a brow. I’m not exactly going to offer up that we spent about, uh, twenty hours in his bedroom fucking. I just nod in acquiescence and wonder when Crown’s going to come and get me so I can take a break.

  I stopped exactly twice today to rest my feet, drink some water, and eat. That’s literally it. I’m already feeling lightheaded. Maybe I should just call him and tell him I’m done? I can’t go back to the farmhouse by myself, too risky.