It was two weeks after I’d stabbed Danner in the chest, but the moment still haunted me at all hours of the day. I’d called a nurse I trusted, Betsy, at the hospital to make sure he was okay, and she assured me that with rehab, he’d be right as rain in a few months.
Thank fuck.
I’d had a pretty good idea that stabbing him high in the left chest would cause the least amount of damage, but if my hand had slipped or I’d miscalculated at all, if Cressida wasn’t a softie and she hadn’t gotten to the house when she did, Danner would have been killed.
And I would have been his murderer.
My only solace was the fact that Sergeant Renner and my handler Diana Casey were thrilled with the progress I’d helped them make on the case. Grant Yves was organizing a massive shipment of guns in from California that would be arriving that very night and they were ready to make a bust. It might not be enough to take all of them down, but it should be enough to dismantle the organization.
Thank fuck.
I was tired to the marrow of my bones, my spirit a dead thing I carried dragging behind me like road kill. I needed this to be done so I could figure out what to do with my life, a life that would no longer involve Danner.
I thought my family might forgive me. There was hope like burning coal inside my chest that convinced me of it, and it fueled me through every pain-soaked day without them.
But how could Danner ever forgive me for what I’d done?
I parked in front of the Berserkers clubhouse with Hero in the passenger seat.
He’d showed up at my apartment two days after the stabbing, sitting on my doorstep with his leash in his mouth, his bag of doggy stuff beside him.
I didn’t question how he got there.
He was the only creature I had left to love.
So, I fell to my knees in the door and burrowed my face in his fur as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until there was no moisture left in my body to give.
I’d taken him everywhere with me since.
I was at the clubhouse looking for Wrath.
In the last two weeks, we’d spent a lot of time together, so much that he’d even trusted me enough to meet Kylie.
It shocked the hell out of me, but they were adorable together. She was a short, curvy black woman about my age with a gorgeous array of honey tipped brown curls and a sweet smile. Wrath was Wrath, huge and imposing. But somehow, like Danner and I had, against all odds, they worked.
She made him laugh.
He made her feel safe.
Hanging out with them had been like punching a tender bruise, but I’d enjoyed it.
If I couldn’t be happy, at least I could watch others be happy.
Wrath hadn’t been around in three days.
For another biker, that may have been normal, but Wrath liked to keep his pulse on the action both because he was VP and because he needed that to make sure Kylie was safe.
So, I was concerned.
I opened the door, swung out of the car and waited for Hero to follow.
No one had commented on my sudden addition of a dog, and I realized Danner had never brought him around before, so they assumed he was mine.
He kept close as we walked the stairs then entered the eerily quiet house.
“Yo,” I called out. “Anyone here?”
No one responded, so I dropped Hero in Wrath’s room just in case something bad was going down before I went exploring.
I turned the corner into the kitchen, finding Twiz, Hendrix, Pink Eye, Roper, and Pope all sitting quietly drinking from opened bottles of whiskey.
“What the fuck is going on?” I asked, and I knew they’d tell me.
Since I’d ‘killed’ Lion, the club trusted me with everything.
“Was wrong,” Hendrix admitted, looking stricken. “Wasn’t Danner was the mole.”
My heart seized. “What? Who the fuck was it then?”
The front door crashed open with an explosive bang that heralded a coarse, agonized roar, “Where the fuck is she, you fucking bastards!?”
Wrath.
My heart dropped to the beer stained carpet.
The boys looked around the table at each other, but only Twiz and Pope got up.
“Tell me where the fuck my girl is!” Wrath bellowed again, and we could hear him throwing shit in the living room before his heavy boots made their way down the hall.
Pope had his gun out and trained on the door by the time Wrath filled it with his body and his rage.
He was utterly terrifying, his face brutal with anger, his fists clenched into hard stones that would crush bones as easily as a metal scrapper.
Pope flinched then held the gun steady. “Stay there, Wrath. We know you’re the fuckin’ snitch.”
Wrath’s glare condensed further until his eyes were only thin, glittering slits. He stalked forward slowly toward Pope who took a step back then held his ground.