by Malcom, Anne
I didn’t fight him on that.
Because, if I had use of my legs in that moment, I would’ve sprinted toward him too.
Over the past few harrowing, horrible, and grief-filled days we had barely been out of touching distance. He had no more ‘club business’ to attend to now that Fernandez was dead. Now that his brothers were dead.
Now that Linda was dead.
I expected it on some level. Hearing the resignation in her smoky voice. But seeing the woman stride through the gates into the oncoming onslaught, armed with two rifles. She took a lot of them down before she fell.
I didn’t let myself think of anything beyond that, beyond the fact Liam was in pain and he needed me. Jagger was in pain and he needed me. Because at some point, maybe since the start, realized he was Jagger and Liam. Mostly Jagger.
And I’d spent my time falling in love with the man named Jagger while trying to hate Liam.
So the man I used to love and the man I fell in love with were one in the same. And they hurt. Sometimes it was as simple as that, to let go of the bullshit.
So we let go. I stopped with my tirades, accusations. I stopped with all of it. I just stood by his side.
As we had when he’d rode up to the gunfight that seemed like seconds ago and centuries ago at the same time.
He was covered in blood, in smoke, in the death of the day. I was relatively unscathed, considering I’d emptied the clip of the gun I’d been handed. Every woman did. I don’t know how many men we took down before the club arrived, but it didn’t matter. We fought, we protected. Somehow, no one at the compound but Linda lost their lives. She had done it because she was sick of the habit.
I wasn’t sure who killed Fernandez in the end. No one knew. They found him, amongst the dead, riddled with bullets. No face off with the villain, no dramatics. He died, just like the rest of them.
But by that point, the Sons of Templar had not been concerned about how their enemy had died. They’d been too busy trying to figure out how many of their family had lived.
Liam didn’t let me go the entire rest of the horrible, bloody day. It was all a blur, except my hand in his.
It was darkly comical, all the lead up to the war for it to be over so quickly. But then again, looking at the tear stained, blood stained men—the ones that were still alive—this war would not be over for a long time.
I tried to help as much as possible.
Liam tried too.
But help came in the form of hearses and ambulances.
There was nothing else we could do.
Nothing else anyone could do.
It was done.
So we slipped off, made brutal, frantic love, still covered in grime and blood.
I lay tucked up tight into his chest as I pretended to sleep. He pretended to sleep too.
And now we were at the cemetery. Burying brothers. Fathers. Husbands.
My eyes touched Lizzie, clutching her two children, she was dry-eyed and pale as she watched her husband, Ranger—who I’d never met—get lowered into the ground.
Luther would be buried in New Mexico.
As would Blake.
Claw wanted his ashes scattered.
Cade was standing, barely, leaning on his wife for support. He only got out of ICU yesterday. But his wife gave him all the support he needed.
Lucky, the man who was known to be the joker of the group, was not smiling whatsoever, on crutches with a severely broken leg. One that he’d somehow managed not only to ride on but stand beside his wife and fight on when it came to it.
Steg, the previous president of the Amber chapter, had lost an eye.
He too, should technically still be in the hospital.
As should at least half of the men standing in the cemetery today.
As gruesome as they looked, looked better than a lot of bomb victims I’d seen. They were lucky.
I looked to Lizzie and the children again.
Thought about the fact I’d never play poker with Claw, or listen to whatever stupid thing Blake had done.
No, this was not luck.
This was truth. As ugly as it could be.
And it was also victory. Sometimes victory was even more devastating than loss.
This was one of those times.
Liam’s hand was tight in mine.
But he must’ve sensed my unease or maybe I squeezed back too hard because he fell out of step with the rest of the club, pulled me aside.
His hand went to my neck, eyes intent on mine, searching for something. “Peaches, you good?”
I knew the question wasn’t really ‘was I good’ overall. Because no one in this situation was good. Despite the fact that they technically won the war. The battle took casualties. Casualties that I mourned, for the first time since...ever.
I sucked in a breath. “This is the first time I’ve been at a cemetery since...” I trailed off.
He stiffened. “Since my funeral,” he finished for me. Pain saturated his voice. And blame. Blame I knew he was pointing toward himself. “Fuck, Peaches.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine, whether to convince me he was alive or himself, I wasn’t sure.
“I love you,” I whispered. I didn’t know why I said it. No, I knew exactly why I said it. Because it was the truth I was unable to continue swallowing. Because he was in pain and I bled with him. Because I couldn’t go another moment without him knowing.
He jerked like I hit him. Leaned back, let me go.
“What did you just say?”
I glanced around, people were milling around and some were still arriving, so I had time to emotionally strip down before the services began. “I love you,” I repeated.
“You loved Liam, not me,” he countered, voice cold.
I refused to let him push me away. “I did,” I agreed. “I loved Liam. And you’re not him anymore. Mostly. You’re still a little bit Liam. But you’re mostly Jagger. And I love him too. You. With an intensity, a depth I never could’ve loved Liam with. Because I hated you first. And there was no way a love this deep could have been borne out of anything but hate. Anger.” I kissed him. “I had to hate you so I could love you.”
He held me tight as if he were making sure I wasn’t in one of the coffins we buried today.
* * *
Three Days Later
I hadn’t wanted to leave Amber.
For a number of reasons.
The women being a huge part. Because a loner like me, someone that pushed away deep, meaningful relationships was forced into something that I didn’t want to leave.
But we had to.
So tearful goodbyes were had, with promises made to come back, promises I knew I wouldn’t keep but made anyway.
And then, we rode back.
To where it all began.
To where it all had to end.
* * *
Hansen called me into church the next day.
Liam and I didn’t mention or even look at the elephant in the room since we’d arrived. We’d done something so mundane it felt extreme. We’d ordered takeout, ate it in bed and watched movies until I fell asleep in his arms.
We didn’t even have sex.
And somehow that felt more intimate. I think it was a sign of something, when you felt fulfilled and satisfied from just lying in a man’s arms with no sex.
We woke up.
Liam watched me stretch. This time he didn’t interrupt me.
I finished, raising my brow at him sitting upright in bed, sheets pooled at his waist. Immediately, a wave of bone-crushing emotion hit me and it was an effort not to flinch. Because this was a moment. Not an extraordinary moment. But a simple one. A glimpse into a forgotten future. Liam, sitting in bed, still shrugging off sleep, with light, but hungry eyes, watching me like he could be content to do it for the rest of his life.
And me looking back at him with that raised brow, ready to tease him was me thinking I could do this for the rest of my life too. Me wanting to do this with a
need I couldn’t stomach.
Because I knew if I did this, if I stayed, if I took hold of something I’d been yearning for, for years, I’d have to say goodbye to things, to people I couldn’t let go of.
“You gonna stand there starin’ or you gonna come to bed and suck my cock?” Liam asked.
I jerked myself into the present, smiling at him. “Why is it that I have to get into bed and suck your cock? That doesn’t sound like I can get anything out of it.”
He grinned wickedly. “Well, you can suck my cock while I’m eating your pussy.”
And I did just that.
Hansen called me into church while Liam and I were having coffee.
He looked to Liam. “You’re welcome to come too.”
Liam tensed immediately and the air between us changed. It was stifling. He nodded once and took my coffee from my hand and set it down on the table.
He nodded forward, a gesture for me to go ahead. He didn’t touch me.
With rocks in my stomach, I went.
Hansen sat at the head of the table. Liam sat on his right instead of behind me.
That stung.
I didn’t let on.
“I’m just gonna say, what you’ve done for the club during this time, it’s noted. Appreciated,” Hansen started.
I nodded once instead of replying.
“I said I’d give you leave to go, write your story where you pleased when you earned my trust.” He leaned forward slightly, not looking at Liam. “You’ve earned my trust.”
I still didn’t speak.
“That means you’re free to go,” Hansen clarified. His gaze intensified. “You’re also free to stay. If you wish.” Still, he didn’t look to Liam, but I knew he was talking to him too.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
I normally didn’t say thank you to people for letting me go after keeping me hostage, but it felt necessary.
“You’re a good president,” I added. “I’ve seen a lot of men in charge of armies, militias, street gangs, prisons. Almost all of them turn rotten. The cliché that absolute power corrupts absolutely is a cliché for a reason. Not many men stay good when they’re given a title. Power. When they’re in charge of life and death. I just think it needs to be acknowledged that you’ve stayed decent. Through things that would’ve turned a lot of other men rotten.”
Hansen nodded once. “Think your gauge of decent is slightly skewed.”
I smiled. “I think the world’s slightly skewed. I’m just adjusting.”
Something moved in his eyes, but he just nodded again. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing. “I’ve got a family to go and spend some time with.”
“Say hi to Macy for me,” I said, hoping he knew I meant to say goodbye to her for me.
“Will do.”
Then he left Liam and I sitting across the table from each other.
“This is almost full circle,” I said, with sweating palms. “Well, beyond full circle.”
Liam didn’t speak. He just stared.
I chewed my lip, waited.
“Just because you’re not a prisoner anymore doesn’t mean you have to go,” he said finally.
My stomach dropped.
“You want me to stay?” I clarified.
He nodded once.
“Stay here, with you?”
“We’ll get a place,” he said. “A home. Somewhere that isn’t a fuckin’ dorm room.” I thought of that room. One that had been a prison. A sanctuary. A twisted kind of paradise. The room I didn’t hate being in one bit.
But it wasn’t about a room. Or a home.
“And what about my family?” I asked. “What do I tell them?”
He clenched his jaw. “You tell them you’ve met a man, you want to live in New Mexico.”
“And what happens when they come to New Mexico to meet the man who’s made me want to settle down, after over ten years of running away from anything like a romance?” I asked him, throwing the question like a bullet.
He opened his mouth, but I already knew the answer.
“You want me to come into your lie with you,” I said. “You want to tangle me up in your despicable deception. And yes, I know your reasoning, you’re a monster, you’re an outlaw, a murderer. You have scars. I even understand some of them. And you know what? I’m tempted. You’ve taken me down this dark path of yours. I started as a prisoner. But I haven’t ended as one. I did this of my own free will. I liked walking beside you in the darkness. I liked the feeling of this new, brutal and ugly you. Because it’s okay for the new ugly me to exist with you.” I glanced around church. “I can even get used to the lifestyle that you live. The danger. The death. The knowledge you run guns, that you risk life in prison on the daily, your life as well. I can handle all of that. But the lie. I won’t be part of your lie. And it seems that means I won’t be part of your life.”
I waited for him to contradict me. I waited for him to tell me that he would choose his life with me over his lie. That he’d be that good man, he’d do the right thing for his family, for me, for himself.
I waited for a long time for that good man to come out from his scarred façade.
Too long, probably.
Because he didn’t come out.
Liam didn’t speak.
No.
Jagger.
This was the point he turned into Jagger.
I nodded, the simple gesture agonizing.
But wasn’t everything with him now just varying degrees of agony?
“Goodbye, Jagger,” I whispered, my voice broken glass.
I turned and walked away.
Got into my car, that someone—Hansen—had decided to give back to me.
Drove home. For twenty hours. Bathroom and coffee breaks my only stops.
And I didn’t shed a single tear.
I cried them all for the death of Liam.
I’d just done it fifteen years too early.
Jagger
Jagger felt odd. Empty. Like he was walking around, hollowed out, with nothing on the inside. And that was different than before, when he was walking around this clubhouse with a prospect patch, fresh scars, fresh pain. He was full then. Fucking bursting. Of anger. Regret. Self-hatred. To name a few.
And then, since that night in the alley, since Caroline had been in his room, even when she was locked in there, he was fuller. With anger. Regret. Self-hatred. And then a bitter kind of joy. A depraved form of longing.
The night he sank back into her, the night he slept in her arms and every night after that more of that bitter joy that turned sweeter. The longing only got more depraved. And love. Fuck if he sounded like a chick even thinking this shit, but he didn’t care. He fell in love with the new version of Caroline. The hard version.
He loved her more than who she was before. Because if she’d turned up at the club, exactly how she’d been when he left her, he wouldn’t have been able to love her like he did now. He wouldn’t have been able to have been around her, tainting her. It was a selfish and ugly thought to know what she’d been through and be glad about it. Glad because it made him able to stomach himself when he was around her. Made him be able to swallow good intentions that would’ve had him walking away from her. He wasn’t able to convince himself that he was gonna break her because she was already broken.
Then there was now. Without her.
Without brothers.
They’d won the war.
He didn’t feel victorious.
He glanced up from his whisky cup when he sensed movement. Hansen sat beside him. Poured himself a drink.
Fucker should have a weight off his shoulders now the threat was gone. But he carried more than the weight of a threat. He carried with him coffins and skeletons. It was a job that Jagger did not envy, nor aspire to. Hansen did it well. Because he knew when to turn off. And he had a good woman to go home to. A woman to warm him up when this life got too cold.
Jagger was so cold that he didn’t even remember warmth. Hence
the whisky.
He expected Hansen to start on him immediately. His behavior hadn’t exactly been great, even in outlaw terms. The scabs on his knuckles were evidence of that. He’d beaten two drug dealers nearly to death two days ago for dealing within town limits. Drug dealers who were part of a lower level street gang in the next town over. Could’ve started a beef.
Had the Sons of Templar not just eradicated one of the most notorious criminals in the world. Not that another wasn’t gonna pop up in his place. Another probably had. There was no such thing as destroying evil. It was infinite.
But whoever this new flesh peddler was gonna be wasn’t likely to have a beef with the club that put him on top.
So they were back to the regular.
Running guns. Taking on contracts for hits, when the occasion arrived. Collecting debt sheets. Protection.
Just another day at the office.
And that’s what it was gonna be until he died.
If she hadn’t come, he would’ve been content with that. Fuck, he might’ve been able to sort his shit out, get an Old Lady. Have some form of life, only remembering the one he left behind—the ones he left behind—in dark hours and empty bottles.
But now? Fuck no. He’d had a taste of something. He was forced to confront what he’d done. That knowledge would haunt him. Guarantee he’d never have that kind of life.
“Have somewhat of a superpower when it comes to people in general,” Hansen said after finishing his first glass. Jagger had downed three in the same space of time.
He glanced to Hansen, who was contemplating his glass. “Can tell if they live by their word. Especially ‘cause I’m most often the reason if they die by it, if it’s not authentic. Knew the second I heard that woman’s story she was true to her word. Knew she was no threat to the club.”
Jagger gaped at him. “Why the fuck did you make her stay?”
Hansen shrugged. “Guess I’m a romantic at heart. Guess that story fucked with me. Guess I just wanted my best friend to have a little of what I had.” He paused. “I really thought she would’ve stayed.”
Jagger squeezed his glass hard enough for a crack to appear down the side. Then he released it. “Yeah, me too.”
