Sacred Betrayal: Immortal Brotherhood (Edge Book 3)

by Jamie Magee

  He was her warrior. He had a war to win. Letting him go, feeling this rip in her soul, it tested her, more than the battle with Revelin she faced which had landed her in her prison. More than the grief she already felt, more than every war she had faced in the mortal world. It tested her, and all she could do right then was pray that the fates, the Creator of them all, would feel this pain she endured and offer them mercy, keep him safe and one day, ages from now in this existence or beyond allow them to hold one another again.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “You’re mine. Only mine. And you will come back, when the war is done, my love.”

  The silent tears kept coming and in that moment she let them rain down as her hand caressed his face.

  The next step was truly going to test her…calling Dagen…telling him to carry her Kenson away.

  “Not just yet,” she said to the nagging voice in her head, pulling his hand to her chest and slowly rocking back and forth. “One more moment,” she told herself.

  Breath after breath she found a way to live with the pain, found a way to set it deep inside, back in the box she had kept it in for so long.

  She was going to make it through these next few days. One way or another, she’d find a way to live without him again.

  Episode Twelve

  Chapter One

  The night had aged on. Hours before, when she feared he was too cold, she dressed King and herself. But still she couldn’t let go. She couldn’t stop staring at his sleeping face, remembering his touch, his voice. She was determined to not let one feature slip from her memory again.

  When dawn broke, she released the branches, the moss, and allowed them to rise and meet the sun, bathe in it. She called the wind and asked it to carry the petals to someone who needed a smile. One by one, they had been fluttering away for hours, and she still held him.

  Selfish, that’s what she called herself, over and over, as the time passed. Finally, she leaned in and let her lips rest against his, feeling their vibration—feeling it move down her body, her soul begging it to come closer.

  Then she rose, unclenched the part of Dagen’s shirt that she had been holding for hours and spoke the spell that would call him to her. The words came out in a slow whisper, and as they did she could have sworn she felt them cut her heart out.

  Her eyes moved back to King. She glided her hands over him nice and slow, and dared to steal one more kiss. Right as she broke away she felt Dagen. He’d emerged at her side. When she looked at him she saw the burden she had placed on his shoulders, the secret he would have to bear for ages.

  There was anger and sorrow in his stare, but as he let his eyes fall from Reveca’s and land on King, joy filled them, relief.

  Dagen let out a gasp and did his best to hold in his emotion. Anyone could sense the brotherhood between the pair of them and would be honored to have witnessed it.

  “Death looks good on him,” Dagen said with a rasp. His eyes moved to Reveca. “He’s never had a fire about him before, the light under his flesh.”

  Reveca bit her lip, trying to fight her emotions, the war inside.

  “Are you sure about this?” Dagen asked. “You don’t seem at peace with it.”

  She closed her eyes. “It’s for the best.” She sucked in a deep breath and looked up at him once more. “This is the spell,” she said, handing the pouch to him. “You speak the words beforehand. He must swallow what is there. It will jar him. As strong as he is, you’re going to have to use all your force to hold him in place.”

  Dagan nodded once. His stare moved back to King as if he could not believe he were real, that once again they would be side by side.

  “He’ll be a bit hazy for the first few days. During that time bring back a routine, one that he knew, ease him back to the life he had then. Turn on a different road, drive this time, do something that will allow his mind to think that all of this was a daydream if a memory ever flashes to the surface.”

  Dagan knelt down. “One more time, are you sure? Can you live with this?”

  “I’ve got no choice. I need him to fight, and he will not do so at my side.”

  Dagen furrowed his brow, questioning if this woman really did know the King he knew. “Why do you doubt he would? Do you have any idea how fierce he is, what he’s capable of? And that was when he had nothing to lose.”

  “No, but I’m counting on it, on you, Dagen. The new sovereigns will rise. Find a divide before then. Break yourself, him, and all who had the good sense to follow you, away from the curse. Do your deeds and may the Creator of us all have mercy on you for doing so.”

  He stared at her for an endless moment, waiting for her to change her mind, waiting for the glint in her eyes, which mirrored King’s, to flicker, alter, but it didn’t happen.

  “I’m in your debt,” Dagen said, his voice deep and husky.

  Reveca shook her head to tell him no.

  Dagen reached down for King, let his hand rest on his chest, and in a breath, as Reveca stared at his sleeping body, they vanished.

  The woods, her church, had never felt colder, more like a prison.

  She looked down at her legs and slowly ran her hand over the glow there. She focused on the hum King always gave her. Breath by breath she felt it move further away, she sensed Dagen doing as she asked.

  She felt empty, vacant.

  Right then she was sick, so sick.

  It took her a while to settle her stomach, to stop the dizzy feeling, but she finally rose to her feet and started to stumble her way through the woods to where she left her bike. Once astride it she lost her will to breathe again; leaving made it so final. It really was done.

  A moment later she pulled it all deep inside and fired her bike to life. The speed of the ride, how she assaulted the woods around her then the tiny road that led her to the highway, did nothing to calm her. It did nothing to help her focus on the battle she had before her.

  The Boneyard was full of life as it always was at that time of day. She parked her bike, feeling the stares on her. She knew she looked like hell. She knew that she was wearing every emotion she was feeling on her face for the world to witness.

  She took quick strides to her home. Someone must have pulled Talon and the others out of Church and told them she was back again.

  Talon called after her as she kept up her fast pace. She ignored his curses and slammed the front door in his face. He nearly knocked it down as he charged in after her.

  “Where is he, Reveca?” he yelled as he followed her up the stairs. “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”

  In her room she not only slammed the door but also used her energy to block it. She was not looking at Talon, not now, not with the way she felt, not when she sensed all hell about to break loose in her world, when she was only holding on by a thin thread of sanity—and knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

  When she reached her bathroom she was sick all over again.

  She could still smell King—feel his touch. And when she looked at herself in the mirror she saw a petal in her hair. She cursed herself, her fucked life, and turned the water on in the shower as hot she could get it. Under the relentless flow of the water she let what she had held back all night come out. Gasping, tears stole her breath and brought her to her knees.

  She let him go. She was furious at herself for doing so, enraged that fate could be so cruel. She may not have been perfect before he landed in her life once more, but at least she had found a way to live with herself. A way to make it day to day. Now that he had returned and was gone again she wasn’t sure she could find the same balance. She wasn’t sure immortality was a gift. It felt more like a curse, a lonely, dark, twisted curse.

  She stayed under the deluge until the water was cold, until the well of tears inside of her dried once more then pulled herself up.

  As she dressed her reality came back to her. It was hard to ignore. She knew that Tisk was taking her shit and using it because she had nothing. And apparent
ly before she decided that fucking Talon would be a stellar idea she had taken her ring off and set it on the edge of the counter in Reveca’s bathroom.

  Hate came to Reveca then, hate for the fact that because of a whore, in Reveca’s most desperate hour she would walk alone. She didn’t have her best friend any more. Talon turned into someone else in the blink of an eye. He was the only reason she had survived as long as she had. He gave her a reason to want to be alive and well, a reason to smile, a family.

  She shoved the ring on her forefinger then left to get dressed. On her dresser she saw a pair of earrings, vintage style made of buttons, and a note from Echo: “To make you smile again.”

  Her fingers ran across them as she pulled in deep breaths. It killed her that they felt everything she did. She didn’t have the time to be broken, and wouldn’t let herself be, because she refused to let anything hurt her family. Even her own out of balance emotions.

  Knowing Echo would be looking to make sure she found this note she slid the hooks in her ears, let her fingers caress the jewelry. A slow breath left her as she searched for her center point, the church inside of her.

  Long moments later, Reveca was staring at herself in the mirror, remembering the night before—the blissful parts where she felt one and whole for the first time in her life. She halfheartedly wondered if she should try and cover her swollen eyes, knowing it would be best for her to hide any sign of weakness.

  Her phone went off. “Lunch—a fucking buffet—they got the kid!” Thames’s voice yelled.

  Reveca snapped into action and flung her door open. Talon was long gone. He had clearly given up on the idea of her letting him in. As she went to the stairs Gwinn opened her door.

  Reveca didn’t have time to comfort her, to protect her from another panic attack, no one did. She pointed right at her. “You got this, you hear me? I need you to have this.”

  Gwinn nodded quickly, fear flashing in her eyes.

  Reveca rushed down the stairs and flung the front door open then ran across the lot, taking in the scene before her.

  Blackwater’s car was there as well as four marked cars. Uniformed lawmen had Bastion on the ground. His lip was bleeding where he had fought them—he was still fighting them and he wasn’t alone. It was taking as many of the Sons in the life there was to hold back Thrash as others in the Club argued with the law.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Reveca yelled at Blackwater as he took cover behind another lawman.

  He only stared in response. Other officers had drawn Tasers and guns, holding back those in the life and those out of it as they pulled Bastion to his feet then slammed him against the side of their cruiser.

  “Blackwater, you son of a bitch, you better start talking or you’re sure as hell going to need more than guns and Tasers to hold my ass back,” Reveca said as she charge up to him. Talon was right behind her as well as a host of other bikers.

  Blackwater looked to the lawmen then Reveca. “Not that I have to answer you, but this kid’s prints were lifted from a weapon used in a murder.”

  “You fuck. Like you have his prints!”

  “Ten times over,” Blackwater said. “I told you this kid was trouble. You wouldn’t listen.”

  “What murder, you fuck? Which one are you branding on that babe?”

  “Newberry.”

  “You have a confession for that!”

  Blackwater glanced to the aggression around him them back to Reveca. “It has always been a theory Holden was harassed into his confession. Now we have evidence which may prove so.”

  “Let the kid go,” Reveca demanded. “I said now.”

  “I can’t do that, Miss Beauregard,” Blackwater said, looking to the uniformed lawmen. “Out of my hands.”

  “I did it,” Reveca said. Her words not only rocked Blackwater back on his heels, but also made every officer turn to face her. A slew of cuss words and arguments came from the Sons—Talon’s the loudest.

  “What did you say?” one of the officers asked her.

  “She didn’t say shit,” Talon said, griping Reveca’s arm and pulling her back.

  Reveca turned and beat the hell out of his chest. “You don’t get to tell me shit anymore, or tell me how to speak, you son of bitch!” She pulled the ring from her hand and shoved it on his chest. “This must be your whore’s. Found it in my bathroom.” Under her breath she hissed, “Use it.”

  Talon’s glare was murderous. She had called their shit out in front of the lawmen, the Club, those in and out of the life. She was testing him, giving him no choice but to be the cold son of bitch she surely thought he was.

  “Thanks, babe, I will. She’ll get it,” he said as he ripped it from Reveca’s hand and shoved it on his pinky finger like it was claim on the girl that owned it.

  “What did you say, Miss Beauregard?” the cop asked again.

  She turned to him. “I did it. I killed Newberry and framed Holden. I did. Let the kid go.”

  “His prints were on the gun, Miss Beauregard,” Blackwater said. “He was involved.”

  “The fuck he was! He’s just a kid. You let him go now.” Her tone was lethal and her glare—it was downright vicious.

  Right then Blackwater nodded for the lawmen to handcuff Reveca, and as the officer did a roar of arguments erupted.

  Reveca was tossed in the back of the cruiser, side by side with Bastion.

  As the lawmen sped away rocks were thrown at the cars. Bikes were firing to life. They were following her, most of them anyways. Talon stood there looking homicidal as ever, letting Reveca go off and fight her own battles.

  Reveca glanced to Bastion at her side, his bloody lip and the scrapes on his arms. She saw his chest rising and falling rapidly, the cold look in his eyes, and fury tensing his muscles.

  “Look at me,” she whispered, and he did. She didn’t say anything else, just held his stare, breathed with him, pulled him into a dome of energy where he could find his calm and let his beast settle. She was helping him find control.

  She wasn’t letting the swarm of bikes that were following them distract him. Not the lights and sirens. Not the radio, the back and forth between the lawmen and the dispatcher asking for backup, demanding they had it. She wouldn’t let him look at the lawman in the passenger seat, who had pulled his gun and was threatening to fire on their family and friends. She kept Bastion right there with her. Never let him leave until they reached the station and she was ripped from his side.

  ***

  Hours had gone by. Reveca wasn’t in the same room she was in before, but one that had a door where she could see out. She felt like an animal in a zoo. That’s how the lawmen made her feel anyway as they walked by and gawked. She was doing her best to hear what was being said all around her, and doing her best to track Bastion who she was sure was only a room away.

  It was hard to focus. The bikes outside were not sitting by in a silent protest like they were last time, they were roaring. It sounded like a few of them were even racing. Arrest after arrest was made, so many that Reveca had no idea where they were putting all of them. Surely before long there would be more bikers than lawmen in that station if they kept it up.

  O’Brian came in then, looking smug as ever. He pulled out the chair before Reveca and sat down. He reached up to loosen the knot on his tie that was hugging both his chins.

  Then he started to laugh as he pulled open his file. “You’re unbelievable, Miss Beauregard.”

  “Thank you,” she said in a flat tone.

  His beady, bloodshot eyes flipped up to hers. “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  Reveca lifted a brow and glanced at his watch, realizing more time had passed than she assumed and that was not good. She had to get past this so she could handle her business. The second moonrise had already occurred; she only had one left before she had to deliver her share of the barter to Crass.

  “You declined your attorney,” O’Brian said. “He’s right pissed about it.”

  “I didn’t
decline him. I told him to rep the kid,” Reveca said.

  “Right, the little shit that likes to kick people’s asses and commit murder.”

  “He didn’t murder anyone.”

  “He has motive.”

  Reveca looked at him like he had lost his damn mind. “What fucking motive does he have?”

  “Newberry taught at a private school for a time. He taught Bastion, failed him, too.”

  “That’s your motive, a teenage boy with too many hormones pissed about an F in a class? You going to haul every other teenage boy you can find in, too? How ‘bout the girls? How about everyone that Newberry failed when he was acting like an upstanding citizen and teaching?”

  “You have a lot of hate for Newberry, that’s clear.”

  “I have hate for the fact that your crooked ass hauled in a kid. There is a special place in hell for people like you.”

  “I didn’t pick him up,” he said with a cocky wink.

  “Same difference. You’re all the same, all out for your own benefit.”

  “You’re covering for this kid, and you’re doing so because murder, the criminal element, is nothing to you.”

  She smirked. “I’m not covering for him. I’m telling the truth.”

  “But you won’t write a statement.”

  “Not until my demands are met. You free him and I will write you a fucking novel if that’s what you want.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Miss Beauregard. His prints are on the weapon.”

  “Who else’s are on there?” Reveca snapped back.

  “Not yours, I’m sure.”

  Reveca smirked, knowing this lawman right here was a chicken shit. He dared to toy with the criminal element but he’d never go too deep. He thought being in the dark about facts kept him clean. All it did was make him a target.

  “You’re not sure of shit.”

  “No, not really. You’re good at confusing the facts, muddling perceptions somehow. I still have no idea why you would have this kid kill for you.”

  “I didn’t. I did it.”

  He pointed to the table. “He has motive. His prints are on the weapon, and his aggression and short temper are well documented in the system.”