by Devney Perry
Genevieve
Justice.
That word had been ringing in my ears for a month and a half.
Draven’s death hadn’t been justice.
It was my nightmare.
The letter Tucker Talbot had delivered to Isaiah and me had been from Draven. My father had written three—one for each of his children.
Dash had gotten both his own and Nick’s. Tucker had dropped them off immediately after dropping off mine.
In them, Draven had confessed to the agreement he’d made with Tucker.
Tucker got the truth. He knew Isaiah had killed the Warrior in that cabin. He knew I had started the fire that had destroyed thousands of dollars’ worth of drugs.
And he’d made amends for it all.
Draven had paid Tucker for the drugs with his own money. And he’d paid for that Warrior’s life with his own.
My father had sacrificed himself to the Warriors so that Dash, Nick and I would be safe.
According to the letter, Tucker had agreed to stay away from us, to not seek further vengeance. Over the past six weeks, Tucker had stayed true to his word. I’d had my doubts, but Emmett had explained to me a few days after Draven’s funeral that an agreement made between club presidents, even a former president, was as good as gold.
We were safe.
It had cost us our father.
It wasn’t fair. Draven had fought for us. He’d died for us. He’d stolen our chance to prove his innocence.
Isaiah had told me that Draven had set himself free.
Was that justice?
It sure as fuck didn’t feel like it to me.
“Ready?” Isaiah asked as he stood by the door.
I nodded, grabbing my coat and following him out the door. March had come in like a lion with a blizzard worse than any we’d seen so far this winter. The tormented sky, gray and angry, matched my mood.
At the moment, my anger was the only thing keeping me grounded. I’d wrapped it around the torn and shattered pieces of my heart like heavy chains.
When Isaiah opened the driver’s side door for me, I got in without a word. Turns out, a marriage can survive on silence. At least, ours did. I didn’t have much to talk about, so I didn’t bother. Whatever bitter and painful words were on the tip of my tongue would land on the wrong person, so I kept them inside.
The person who needed to hear them was dead.
How could Draven do this in secret? How could he make this arrangement with Tucker?
I can die knowing I did what needed to be done.
That had been one of many infuriating, devastating sentences in his letter.
Well, fuck that. His sacrifice wasn’t the only option. We could have worked something else out.
The only person angrier than me was Dash.
If my mood over the past month was gray, Dash’s was onyx.
Bryce said Dash blamed himself for not seeing this coming. For not talking to Draven.
Apparently, Dash’s letter had explained a lot more than mine. There were pieces included that would stay between Draven and Dash, things having to do with the club that I’d never be privy to.
It came down to one fact: Tucker hadn’t believed me. My lies hadn’t been convincing.
The Warriors had been set on retaliation. The Tin Gypsies, former or not, had owed them a life. They’d suspected I’d lied so they’d been set on Dash’s life to even the score. Or Draven’s.
Tucker’s wish had been granted.
The attack on me in the parking lot had been another intimidation play by the Warriors. They’d done it to rattle us into a confession. It made sense now why the man had run away so easily.
In a way, their plan had worked. Isaiah and I had told the truth.
But our timing had been a mistake. Maybe if I’d told the truth in the clubhouse meeting, Draven would be alive. Maybe we wouldn’t have had to bury him beside his wife.
Had I known this was how things would end, I would have done everything differently.
This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to end this way.
This was not justice.
Isaiah walked in on Presley crying in the office at least once a week. Emmett and Leo were withdrawn. Bryce was sad and Dash was, well . . . angry. I could relate.
Did they all blame me? They should. My presence in Clifton Forge had made everything worse.
Since Draven’s funeral, I’d done my best to avoid everyone at the garage. To dodge the distraught looks and pity. There’d be no avoidance today.
“Hey,” Isaiah said as I raced away from the garage. “Take it easy on the speed. For me.”
“Sorry.” I eased off the gas pedal, loosening my grip on the steering wheel. “I just . . . I don’t want to go.”
“I know. But your best friend had a baby and wants you to visit. Can’t beg out of this one.”
Bryce had given birth to a baby boy last night and had called first thing, inviting us to the hospital to meet him.
Xander Lane Slater.
She’d told me the baby’s name months ago. Lane was her father’s name. I think if she hadn’t already told her dad and seen his excitement at being the namesake, she would have changed Xander’s middle name to Draven.
“In and out,” Isaiah said as we parked at the hospital in a space marked for visitors.
I nodded. “In and out.”
The gift I’d already wrapped was in the backseat. Before I was ready, we were in the maternity ward, walking down the hospital hallway to Bryce’s room.
“Knock, knock.” The door was open but I entered cautiously in case they were asleep.
“Hey! Come in.” Bryce rested on the bed with a little blue bundle in her arms. The smile on her face erased any hesitation for being here. That and the fact that Dash wasn’t in the room.
I went to her side, bending to see the baby. “Hello there, handsome.”
His eyes were closed, his dark lashes forming perfect sweeps across his cheeks. A fluff of dark hair peeked out from beneath the blue beanie on his head. His lips were pink and soft and all I wanted to do was cry.
“He’s perfect.” I smiled at my friend, who looked at her baby like the miracle he was.
Xander was the only good thing to come from these past months. He was a precious gift, to be protected and cherished and loved by his family, even if we were missing one.
A wave of sadness hit, followed by a wave of understanding. The anger I’d held fast for six weeks loosened its grip on my heart.
This was the reason Draven had made his decision. Xander was the reason he’d made his sacrifice. So his grandson would live his life without a shadow looming.
Isaiah set our gift aside and came to my side, squeezing Bryce’s shoulder. “Congrats.”
“Thanks.” Bryce lifted Xander higher. “Want to hold him?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure if she was offering Xander to me or Isaiah, but I didn’t give him a chance. I scooped up that baby, cradling him in my arms as I danced him around the room. He scrunched up his nose, not happy with being jostled. “Oh, I love you already. I’m your Aunt V.”
I wanted him to call me V, like Isaiah did. Plus, there was no way a small child would manage Genevieve.
“Babe, all they had was chocolate.” Dash came through the door, a wide smile on his face. It fell when he spotted me.
“Congrats.” Isaiah walked over, his hand extended.
Dash’s smile came back as he shook hands. “Thanks, man.”
“He’s beautiful,” I said, looking at Xander.
Dash ignored me, going to Bryce’s bed and dropping a kiss to her forehead. “They didn’t have strawberry.”
“That’s okay.” She took what I assumed was a milkshake and put it on the tray beside her bed, smiling again at me with Xander.
“So how did things go?” I asked, taking one of the chairs against the wall. Isaiah joined me, sitting close to look at the baby.
Dash perched on the edge of Bryce’s bed, rubbing her
foot through her blanket as she told us about Xander’s relatively peaceful entry into the world. When he started to fuss, I handed him over.
“We’ll let you guys be.” I bent and hugged Bryce. “Let me know when you’re settled at home. I’ll bring cookies.”
“That would be great.” She shifted, gently bouncing Xander. “Thanks for coming.”
Isaiah waved goodbye to them both, then followed me out the door.
We were halfway to the elevator when I realized I didn’t have my purse. “Shit. I forgot—”
I spun and saw Dash marching our way, my purse in his hand. “Here.”
He threw it at me.
I caught it, barely, fumbling it so the contents wouldn’t spill on the linoleum floor.
That toss was the last straw.
“What the hell was that?” Isaiah snapped.
Dash didn’t respond. He clamped his jaw shut, spun and walked away.
“Stop.” My voice carried down the hallway. I handed my purse to Isaiah.
Dash didn’t stop.
“Do you want to have this out in the hallway?” I called after him. “Or in your wife’s room with your new baby?”
His steps slowed. He turned, squaring his shoulders, planting his hands on his hips. “What?”
“I’m done with your attitude. Done. You don’t get to treat me like this anymore. No more glares. No more snapping. No more treating me like a second-rate citizen.”
Dash didn’t respond. He only shifted his arms, crossing them over his chest.
“I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask for my mother to be murdered. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped. I didn’t ask for my father to die. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
I took a step forward, standing my tallest. Months and months of anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. My hands shook so I fisted them at my sides, not wanting him to see. Then I did my best to keep my racing heart under control and speak with a steady voice.
“I have no family. None. Except for you and Nick. Isn’t that a sad fucking fate? All of my family is dead because of some motorcycle club I didn’t know existed a year ago. Not the Warriors. Your club.” I poked at his shoulder. “Yet you act like this is my fault. So fuck you.”
He winced.
“Fuck. You.” I poked him again, one jab for each word. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. You have to learn to live with me. I didn’t ask for any of this but I’m here. I’m—”
“You’re right.” He dropped his arms, letting out a long breath. Then he hung his head, rubbing the back of his neck.
I was right? What was the catch? I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. I braced for him to deliver a blow that would leave me a shriveling mess. I’d gone for the gusto, but the truth was, I didn’t have the energy to keep it up. That outburst had dried up my reserves.
Things had just been . . . hard. Much too hard. And damn it, I was exhausted.
“Sorry,” he whispered to the floor.
I blinked. “What?”
“Sorry,” Dash said, louder this time, making eye contact.
“Okay.” I gave him a sideways glance. What was happening? Was that a real apology?
“I loved my mom.”
“I loved mine too.”
Dash nodded, then turned, the conversation over. But before he got too far, he spun back again. “I’m angry at Dad.”
“So am I. But don’t take it out on me.”
“He’s not here. He did this for me. To save me so I could meet my son.” Dash’s voice cracked. And I saw, behind the anger, the regret that was torturing him. He hadn’t made amends with Draven. And now Draven was gone.
Dash swallowed hard. “Xander will never know his grandfather.”
A tear worked free and dripped down my cheek. “No, he won’t.”
Dash gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he had himself under control.
I wished I could say the same. The tears fell freely down my face. No amount of blinking could keep them from dropping.
Dash was blurry as he stepped closer. Three long strides and my brother was hugging me, squishing me to his chest. Shocked by the change, it took me a moment to hug him back. Then my arms found their way around his back.
The embrace didn’t last long, seconds really, but in that moment, I didn’t feel quite so alone.
Then he was gone. Without another word, Dash let me go and walked back to Bryce’s room like his boots were on fire.
Isaiah came and put his hands around my shoulders as I swiped at my cheeks, drying the tears. “Come on, doll. Let’s get out of here.”
I sniffled as we rode the elevator to the ground floor. I used every moment of the drive home to pull myself together. I feared that once we were inside the apartment, I’d break apart. The hold I had on my emotions was by the fingertips, at best. But when we walked into the apartment and I kicked off my shoes, I felt something I hadn’t since the night Tucker had delivered Draven’s letter.
Peace.
I walked to the bed, sat on the side and opened the nightstand drawer. I took out the letter and ran my fingers over the black script.
“He loved us. That’s why he did it.”
“Yeah.” Isaiah sat at my side with an arm around my shoulders.
“I wish it hadn’t come to this.”
We’d told the world that Draven had killed himself. Even Presley thought his death was suicide. Everyone believed the story that Dash had found Draven at home, swinging from a rope.
No one doubted it, not even the police. The world saw Draven as a coward, a man who’d taken his own life instead of facing the verdict he’d been about to receive.
None of us knew what their verdict would have been.
The truth was, Tucker had killed Draven. He’d hung him inside Draven’s own home. Then he’d delivered my letter, followed by the others.
Dash had been the one to find Draven’s body, so at least that part was true.
Draven had already staged a suicide note.
“Will life ever be normal?” I whispered.
“For us? Probably not.”
I closed my eyes and fell into Isaiah’s embrace. He wound both arms around me, holding me as I breathed in the smell of his shirt and soaked in the warmth of his arms. I ran my hands up his back, then let them sink down, lower and lower. My fingers wandered between us, trailing down one of his thighs.
I tipped up my chin, finding his colorful eyes waiting, those swirls darkened with every skipping heartbeat. Then his lips dropped to mine and all was lost.
My worries. My fears.
My heart.
He captured them all with the sweep of his tongue.
We undressed each other, both tossing clothes to the floor as we moved deeper into the bed. Isaiah and I hadn’t been together in weeks. Not since . . . before.
We were a mess of kisses and desperation. My hands explored his abs and his firm chest, remembering what it felt like to have his hot skin under my palms. His fingers dug into my spine as they made their way lower to cup and squeeze my ass.
We collided, two people who needed to get lost in a feeling other than grief.
Isaiah laid me on the bed, giving me his weight as his cock nestled between my legs. He paused, locking his eyes with mine. When I nodded, he sank deep, stretching and filling me to the point I was consumed.
My eyes were squeezed shut as he moved, in and out. My hands held on to him with all the strength I had left as he rocked us together, over and over. And then I let go, my orgasm building so fast and hard that I came on a silent scream. A tear dripped down my temple. Isaiah kissed it away before he buried his face in my hair and shuddered through his own release.
We held together until he pulled out and shuffled us both under the covers. Then we found one another again. We didn’t drift apart. When many would have pulled away, the hurdles life had thrown at Isaiah and me only seemed to push us closer.
By all rights, I was free to leave Cl
ifton Forge. I could walk away from this life and start fresh. But I’d never leave Isaiah. The life I’d planned to return to in Colorado wasn’t my dream anymore.
Isaiah was my dream.
He pulled me tight to his chest, kissing my forehead. “Why haven’t we been doing this?”
“Good question.” I giggled, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. I lifted up to see his face and what I saw stole my breath.
Isaiah smiled.
Not a grin. Not a turn of one corner of his lips. Not just the crinkles at his eyes. A full-blown, goddamn-my-husband-is-gorgeous smile. Straight, white teeth and everything.
It was a sight I’d never forget.
And I’d put that there. Me. The woman who’d planned to let the next in line have all the smiles.
What a fool. No one was taking Isaiah from me. There’d be no next in line. I was keeping him.
Because I was in love with my husband.
Draven must have known. Otherwise he wouldn’t have entrusted Isaiah with my heart. I hoped he’d found his peace. I hoped he’d reunited with his wife. I hoped that if he saw Mom, he’d tell her that I was okay.
Tears fell without my permission, blurring Isaiah’s smile. It disappeared altogether when he hugged me to his chest.
And he held me, all through the night, while I mourned the loss of my parents.
While I said my silent goodbyes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Isaiah
“You okay?” Genevieve placed her hand on my heaving chest.
I nodded, my eyes wide as they stared at the dark ceiling. “Just a dream.”
A nightmare. I hadn’t had it in months. When would it fucking go away? Now it was back, just when I’d started to think the past would stop visiting me in my sleep.
Genevieve shifted closer, resting her head on my bare shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.” I rubbed a hand over my face.
Maybe I’d had the nightmare because we hadn’t had sex last night. Normally, we wore each other out before sleep, exploring bodies and making each other come until there was no energy left for dreams. But last night, we’d simply fallen asleep, curled together.
