King's Wrath (Sydney Storm MC 5)

I nodded at the doctor. “I’ll take her now.”

Moving past him, I went to her. “I need to get you to the hospital.”

She ignored me for a few moments before finally turning to look up at me. “He never wanted children. Not like you did.”

I clenched my fists by my side. There was something in her tone, something that made me ask, “Why did you miscarry?”

A sob escaped her lips, and her hand flew to her mouth as tears slid down her cheeks. When she answered me, the words choked out of her. “He beat me until I passed out. When I woke up, I was bleeding.”

It took everything in me not to roar with anger. Not to drive my fists into the wall. Instead, I scooped her into my arms and made a promise I intended to keep. “He will pay for this, Ivy. If it’s the last fucking thing I ever do. He will fucking pay.”

Her eyes found mine and held them as she slid her arms around my neck. I struggled for breath while she did that. It was all too fucking much.

Her pain.

Her body in my arms.

Her fingers on my skin.

And when she whispered, “Thank you,” through her sobs, and nuzzled her face into my neck, I knew I’d do anything to put an end to her husband’s life. I’d fucking bleed if I had to.

24

King

* * *

“You look like shit.”

I looked up from the drink I was staring at to find Kree watching me with a look of concern. She’d broken the silence I’d managed to find in the clubhouse bar. “It’s 2:00 a.m., Kree. Why are you up?”

She slid onto the stool next to me and reached for my glass of whisky. After she took a long gulp, she said, “I can’t sleep here. I need my candles and crystals around me. I’m agitated without them.”

I moved around to the other side of the bar as I said, “I’ll send the boys out to get your shit tomorrow. You need your sleep.” Grabbing a glass, I poured another whisky and placed it in front of her. “Drink that.”

Her lips curled into a smile. “You don’t like sharing your drink, King?”

I ignored that and moved back around the bar to my stool. I wasn’t in the mood for fucking small talk.

We sat in silence for a good few minutes before she broke it again. “You wanna talk about it?”

I eyed her. “I thought you didn’t wanna know the shit in my head.”

“I don’t, but you’ve got a lot of stuff going on, and I figure you need to get that shit out. And I also figure you’re not the kind of man to talk about any of it.” She took a sip of her drink. “I’m not saying I want specifics, but you need to talk about it. You might just blow the place up if you don’t.”

I watched her for another moment before nodding. She made a good fucking point. Since I’d learnt of Ivy’s miscarriage yesterday, my mind felt like it had fractured. I’d moved through the motions of getting her looked after and then bringing her back here, but after that, I hadn’t been able to bring myself to see her. I’d spent the rest of yesterday and all of today out looking for Romano. The motherfucker still managed to elude us. Not even Brant had drawn him out. Nothing was fucking going in our favour, and fuck knew I needed to get some of that shit out of my head.

I emptied my glass and poured another one before turning to face her again. “I’ve fucked a lot of things up in my life, Kree.” I paused and exhaled a long breath. “I don’t wanna fuck this up, but shit’s heading south every hour.” I stopped talking and knocked back some whisky. I was wrong—I didn’t need to get into this shit with her. I didn’t need to get into it with anyone. I just fucking needed to stay focused on my goal and get it done. Talking about it didn’t help anyone.

“We’ve all fucked stuff up in our life. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

The longstanding tension in my shoulders made itself known. I’d lived with it for so long I hardly felt it anymore, but every now and then the pressure became all I could feel.

I dropped my head for a moment and then glanced sideways at her. “You ever fucked anyone over? You know what guilt feels like? And I mean the kind that twists your gut so fucking much that some days you can’t fucking breathe.”

“I don’t know that kind of guilt, but I’ll tell you something—if you’re the kind of man who can admit his mistakes, you’re the kind of man who can be forgiven.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness.”