by Dark, Raven
Pretty Boy and I lost ourselves in each other during those nights when it was just us, alone and away from the rest of the world. The wildness in his eyes harkened back to those first days when he and Steel had taken me from Damien. His possession and darkness came out when we made love, like I was his every breath and heartbeat, the only thing keeping him alive.
During the day, however, the wildness would cool until there was nothing but frost in his eyes and manner. Whatever he did during the daytime, I had no idea—I never saw him. Wherever he was, though, it wasn’t with the club. He had effectively cut himself off from the Dark Legion, in everything but title.
It was a little over a week later, after the failure of the Dragon’s Bane, that Doc had me cleaning Sheriff’s hut. The day before, I had helped Bear drop off Sheriff’s meal, since the others were busy at the time. Sheriff had ignored our presence completely, something that he had been doing to everyone ever since Savak had visited him with the cure that didn’t work. Locked in his bedroom for days on end, he was anything but a threat, only to himself if he didn’t eat.
“I need to go with Hawk and Savak to get these items,” Doc told me, absently tapping a finger on the piece of paper he was holding, a list, it looked like. “Just go in there and clean, Grim will take care of the rest. We’ll back in a few hours.”
Grim met me at the end of the path to Sheriff’s hut after Doc left to meet up with Hawk. Pushing a small cart with steaming buckets of water, Grim greeted me.
“Ready, Setora?” he gave me a slight smile, his pale face showing sympathy. All the men in the club knew how much Sheriff had hurt me by cutting me out of his life.
I let out a deep breath and nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Grim.”
With a nod, he walked with me up to the hut.
Heart beating a little too fast, I went and opened the door…and froze.
Sheriff was on his knees, crawling around the room. He rifled through clothes and pushed aside crates. Obviously, he was looking for something.
It had been weeks since I’d seen him. Looking at him now was like seeing another person. Gaunt and pale, Sheriff resembled a ghost of himself. His beard was fully grown, bushy and wild. Hair that was once shorn close to his scalp, before this nightmare called Julian began, was now in riotous waves, nearly brushing his shoulders in places. He reminded me of Beast and that first time I saw the wild ex-member of the Brothers of Brimstone at Delta.
Sheriff was still crawling on the floor, like a beggar looking for food.
He’d said I wasn’t his slave anymore. If I called him master, would he lose it on me?
Unsure what to say, I stepped into the room.
“Where the fuck is my boot?” He shoved a few articles of clothing aside and felt around. “Doc, is that you?” He stared sightlessly at the doorway where I stood.
Torn, my mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “It…it’s me.”
He growled irritably. “Great. Never mind, I’ll find it myself.”
I winced. He’d rather have crawled around all day looking for his boot than have me help him.
I searched the room with my eyes, part of me wanting to leave him alone, the other needing to help him.
A few feet from where he was patting the floor with his palms, I saw it, his leather boot lying on its side.
My heart threatened to fly apart. I closed my eyes, braced for the inevitable backlash, and stepped into the room, Grim now behind me. I picked up the boot. What I wanted to do was hand it to Sheriff, but I didn’t. Instead, I placed it in Grim’s hand. Grim gave me a kind wink and brought the boot to Sheriff.
“Here, man,” Grim said. “Don’t bother putting it on, though. Bath’s almost ready.”
Sheriff’s blank gaze stilled on some space to the left of me. His voice came out low, soft, and utterly filled with malice.
“Fine. Let’s go.” Refusing Grim’s assistance, Sheriff stood and, using the wall to guide him, went outside, Grim following him.
My eyes stung, then tears dropped onto my cheeks. I didn’t choke on the sob in my throat, didn’t breathe. Instead, I went to the doorway and watched as they went to the side of the hut where Grim had set up the tub.
Once I shut the door, I leaned against it, feeling dead inside. I was sick of tears, sick of loss and pain.
If feeling nothing kept me going, I’d choose it gladly.
If the fate of the world wasn’t hanging in the balance, I’d have fled from the hut right then and never looked back.
If I didn’t love the Four so much, I’d leave. Take Ali’san with me, and together we’d find Julian and end this. Maker, I never thought there’d come a day when I wanted someone’s life to end at my own hand. I wanted Julian’s death, his destruction. I wanted this all to end. Unfortunately, it more than likely would if I didn’t find an answer and soon.
All of these ifs went round and round inside me in a never-ending cycle.
The only thing I knew was that I didn’t want to be the Liberator. I was liberating nothing and no one, not even myself.
The only thing I could do now was pull myself together and move on. So I lost myself in work and tried to forget Sheriff was outside bathing, even when I heard his cursing from the windows. I tried to forget Steel and Pretty Boy were on the outs. I tried to forget about the enormous responsibility I had in saving the world. Instead, I cleaned, scrubbed, washed.
Not long after, Sheriff hustled in, his shaggy hair wet. He went straight to his room and slammed the door. Grim waited by the front entrance and gestured that he’d be right outside if he needed me.
I went back to work, losing myself once more.
“Good day, Liberator.”
I startled and turned away from a tub of dishes to see Savak standing in the open doorway.
Hands behind his back, he gave me an easy smile. “Sorry to startle you. I need a word with your Sheriff.”
My heart leaped with hope. Had they discovered another way to help Sheriff? A cure, perhaps?
“Sheriff likely won’t speak with you,” I said, my voice low. “Have you found anything helpful?”
“We think we may have a way to help him, yes. Please have Sheriff come to me.”
“She doesn’t have to.” Sheriff’s voice carried from across the living room, gruff and cold.
I glanced back at him as he shuffled toward us. He stopped a few feet away, crossing his arms.
“What do you want, Yantu?” he growled.
Savak gave no reaction to Sheriff’s rudeness. I pressed my lips together to keep from snapping at Sheriff.
“Master Leif has come up with a way to help you. He wishes to see you at the temple to discuss it.”
“What is it? Does he have a cure?”
“Not a cure, no. But we can help you another way, Sheriff. We will teach you how to live, how to take care of yourself, how to function without your sight. It will take time, but it can be done.”
“Forget it, Yantu,” Sheriff snapped. “Setora, close the damn door.”
Unwilling to give up when there was any hope of making things better for him, I turned to Savak. “What can the Yantu do, what would it entail?”
“Training,” Savak explained. “It’s a complicated thing, and as I said, it will take time, but with the proper training, we can teach Sheriff to live independently. With hard work and dedication, individuals with blindness learn to live full, normal lives. We’ve done it before.”
I licked my lips, a sense of hope blossoming in me. If there were no cures for Sheriff’s blindness, the next best thing was for him to learn to live with his disability. I’d heard of people living independently with blindness, requiring minimal help, much as Savage did without his hearing. But I’d never really considered how they did it, never having seen it for myself.
“Sheriff, did you hear that?” I smiled at him. “They can—”
I didn’t get a chance to finish.
Sheriff stumbled hastily across the room, ignoring the chair he stumbled over,
and slammed his palm on the doorframe, making me jump. Savak didn’t even flinch.
“I’ll tell you what you can do. You can go back to that son of a bitch Leif like a good lackey and tell him to go fuck himself and the horse he rode in on.”
Sheriff slammed the door before Savak could reply.
For what felt like an eternity, I stood there, frozen—not in disbelief, not in sadness or pity. No, what I felt was a boiling anger so hot, it threatened to pour itself out of me and burn everything in my vicinity.
I knew Sheriff was a proud man, painfully so. I knew no amount of whatever training Master Leif had in mind would ever return Sheriff to the life he once had. Nothing would allow him to ride a motorbike or be the General of the Dark Legion again. There were just some things a blind person couldn’t do.
But anything was better than spending the rest of his life wallowing in self pity. Anything was better than just giving up.
His men and I had spent weeks looking for any solution. A cure, a doctor who could help—anything. We had found nothing. Which meant the Yantu were it. This was the end of the line, and Sheriff was tossing it away. Every time we’d tried to help, he’d thrown it back in our faces. Every mocking word from his lips, every shove, every slamming every object or insult thrown, made the message clear. He was determined to fail.
Behind me, Sheriff’s feet shuffled, headed for the bedroom, slow and stumbling. He bumped into the chair he’d knocked over, swore, and tossed it aside. Then the door to the bedroom slammed shut.
The front door opened, and Grim poked his head inside, eyeing the room behind me. “Everything all right, Setora?”
I nodded absently, still lost in a haze of anger. “Yes. Everything’s fine, Grim.”
He gave me a look that told me he didn’t believe me, but seeing no threat, he accepted my word. “Okay then. Well, I’ll be out here if you need anything.” He shut the door behind him, and through the open window, I saw him take a seat out front.
I drew a long, calming breath and let it out. “This has to stop, Maker. No more.” Shaking my head in determination, I walked to Sheriff’s bedroom door and pushed it open.
Sheriff sat in a chair by the window, his face turned away from me. “Do you never listen, slave? I don’t know how many times I’ve said to leave me the fuck alone.”
“Not this time, Sheriff.”
Tension hardened his shoulders. His hands gripped the arms of the chair hard. “That’s not how a slave addresses a master,” he muttered.
“You said it yourself. You’re not my master anymore.”
He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Have I told you what a smartass you are lately?”
“Hard to tell me anything when you avoid me.”
All I received from him was a scoff.
I looked around his bedroom, Sheriff’s prison, hoping something would trigger a drop of sympathy, something to douse the flames of this anger growing in me. Instead, it only intensified. Self-preservation was the last thing on my mind. I didn’t need to be a Violet to know that the conversation that was about to take place may be the last one I’d ever have before I met my Maker. Whatever punishment I’d receive for this, I was more than willing to accept it.
Because, Maker…. I. Did. Not. Care.
I turned my attention back to him. “Your self-hate has poisoned not only you but this club as well. The Yantu are the only option you have of ever leading a normal life, the only option this club has of surviving. Whether or not you lead, the Dark Legion will fall to the wayside, never to recover again if you do not accept their help. But you’d rather sit there like a high and mighty king, not giving a damn about who you hurt, even yourself.”
His head whipped around to me. The lowering sunlight of late afternoon left his face in shadow, but not enough that I didn’t see the way his features twisted. “I am not going to spend who knows how long in that temple stumbling around like some freak in a sideshow!”
“Do you think the Yantu care how you look? Do you think we care? We want to help you, you selfish ass!”
A harsh laugh escaped him. “Then leave me here to rot, Setora. I don’t know why you all can’t get that through your heads. I don’t want your help.”
“You’re a coward, Sheriff. Has nothing to do with not wanting help. You’re afraid. No need to admit it, I’m sure you know this already, what with all the time you’ve spent here in this room, sulking and cursing, feeling sorry for yourself—”
“Watch it, little spy.” He knifed to his feet. He faced me, though his eyes were slightly off from mine. “All right.” He crossed his arms. “So, they teach me, How, I don’t know, but let’s say they do. I exist. Then what, Setora? We go back to the Grotto and what? I go back to my life, pretending everything is just as it was? Pretending I can’t feel the men looking at me with pity, not knowing what to say or do?”
“Who cares what people think? Oh Maker,” I cried in mock horror, “look at the blind man over there. Poor man used to be our General but now… Really, Sheriff? Try again.” My heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. A part of my mind screamed at me to shut up, to stop poking the dragon, but I refused to back down.
His voice lowered as he jabbed his chest. “I was the leader of the Dark Legion. The scariest, baddest MC in the world. I was it. The world was mine.” His eyes blazed. “And now?” He stepped slowly toward me. “Now what am I but a burden to everyone around me?”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way! Savak said they can show you how to do things on your own. Savage has lived his whole life without his hearing. You can do the same without your sight.”
He gave a horrible laugh. “Oh, sure. Do you know what will happen, Liberator? I’ll become like Dice.”
“What do you mean, ‘like Dice?’” I snapped.
He waved an angry hand. “The ex-General everyone has to take care of. The one who never leaves the Grotto because he’d make everyone with him a target and slow everyone down. The one everybody tries to give jobs to because he needs to feel useful.”
I folded my arms, shaking my head, not buying his excuse for a second. “Sheriff, how old is Dice compared to you? Besides, Savak just said that there are things they can teach you, things you would be able to learn to do for yourself, things—”
“Can they teach me to fight blind?” he shouted. “That’s what I need to be able to do, Setora. According to Doc, the whole fucking world is at stake. But hey, a blind man fighting isn’t possible, now is it? You have to be able to see your opponent, don’t you? To see your weapon, your enemy.”
I threw my hands up. “Maybe they can… I don’t know! But you can’t just sit here and rot away.”
“Watch me!” he bellowed. “I don’t buy this whole vision of yours, anyway. Sounds like a trap concocted by Julian to get us to go to him. I have no doubt that you were meant to save the world. Fucking hero that you are. But I am not your man. I will not be with you.”
My eyes bored into his sightless ones, my breathing tight from the crushing pain in my chest.
He lifted his hand, feeling around until he touched my face. His fingers brushed my cheek with a frighteningly gentle touch. “Let me go, Setora. Walk away.” His voice fell until it was almost inaudible. “Be a good slave and walk away now.”
Maker, how I hated him in that moment.
“Go,” he said when he didn’t hear me move away. “Go on. I don’t want your help, and I don’t want you here. Go play hero, Liberator. It’s what you do best.”
My palm flew up and slapped him right across the face.
It half registered through the haze of my anger that he didn’t move. I’d hit him, my palm cracking across his cheek, and he did little more than flex his jaw. Surprise flashed in his eyes, but otherwise, he just stood there.
“Fine,” I hissed. “You want to sit in here and wallow in your self pity, you go right ahead. I’m done. Goodbye, Sheriff.”
I turned and marched for the door but stopped. "You know, before today,
I thought there was no one in the world with more self-control than you. Your endurance, your tenacity, your will to fight no matter what…there was no match. You were born a leader, Sheriff, whether you think you were made that way by circumstance or force of will.”
I paused to wipe a lone tear that had fallen, my back still turned away from him. “But now all I see is a husk of a man that almost let me love him, let help him, if only he would have tried.”
Numb, I forced my legs to take me to the front door, away from the man I used to love with all my heart and soul.
“Setora… wait.”
There was a soft thump behind me. I spun around, thinking he’d thrown something…. and froze.
What in the name of the Holy Maker? The man was on the floor, crawling on his knees.
“Sheriff, what are you…”
His hand reached out, searching, then captured my wrist. When he spoke, his voice was so low I hardly heard him. He said three words I thought I’d never hear Sheriff say.
“I’m scared, Setora.”
My breath choked in my lungs.
With the deepest part of my heart, I knew what it cost a man like him to admit such a thing. And I knew how low he must have fallen in order to say those words. I wanted to believe that the thought of my leaving pushed him to this, because it meant there was still hope for us. But after all that had happened…
The pain and fear in his eyes sliced right to my broken heart. I put my hand on the top of his head, letting him know I was there. That I wasn’t leaving.
Sheriff’s arms snaked around me, huge and powerful and hard as steel. He crushed me to him.
A gasp died on my lips. He clung to me as if I was life and he was dying.
His shoulders shook, and then a quiet, broken sound left him. It choked out of him, painful and raw.
The world around me stopped. He wasn’t shaking from emotion. He was crying.
