Blood coats her naked form as she masturbates, begging me to help her come.

  Fuck.

  This all began the night of her wake.

  When I said goodbye and I threw a handful of her ashes into the fire.

  Conjured out of thin air, she was there, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Those nipples I’ve sucked hundreds of times before on display, cunt ready and willing. Except she was wearing the hottest schoolgirl skirt, offering herself up to me. How could I say no? I couldn’t. I took her. Right there. In front of the brothers. In front of my own son. Drunk off my ass, I bent her over a picnic table, threw up her skirt, and violently fucked her sloppy wet pussy… The same picnic table I’ve fucked her on before. The same one I’ve shared her on at many club parties. She fucking loved my cock. Begged for it. Took it like a champ. It was like old times. Her smiling over her shoulder at me, gripping my shaft with her tight walls. She fed him. The gluttonous beast thrives on depravity. He finger fucked her tight little asshole. Bruised her pert little ass in a punishing grip. Bit her back. Licked up her spine, tasting salt and all that was her. She moaned my name. Told me she loved me.

  I came calling out to her, filling the condom I somehow remembered to put on.

  That’s when it happened.

  Reality flooded in.

  The woman beneath me was wrung out, her legs quaking. But those weren’t her legs. Her skin was too pale. Hair, the wrong shade of brown. She had a lip ring. I fucked this woman, this whore, in front of my entire club, like I’d done hundreds of times before, but… this female wasn’t mine.

  She wasn’t the woman I’d screwed for years and she sure as hell wasn’t the woman I had at home, sleeping in our bed, waiting for me to come join her like I should have done hours before. The woman I love. Cherish. Made a goddamn baby with.

  “Leave me alone,” I whisper to the ghost, hoping it’ll work this time.

  As always, she smiles—bright, full teeth, tits still coated in blood. She steps forward, licks those same teeth, slow and sexy as fuck, then beckons for me to join her with the crook of her finger.

  Refusing to let her win this time, I chug my third bottle of Bud. Then another. And another.

  The drunker I am, the quicker she vanishes. Day after day, from the moment I wake, she’s there… forever lurking. At night, I drink her away for just a little while, only to stumble home, so I can watch my woman sleep. For hours, in the quiet of our bedroom, I watch. Niki isn’t there, but the guilt remains, gnawing at my guts like termites in a house, destroying the foundation little by little. I understand I’m fucking everything up.

  Each day I push Kit another inch away. I see it. I feel the yawning distance grow. She no longer looks at me as she did before. She’s grown quiet. Niki fucking revels in that. Knowing I can’t have the thing I want most. To love and worship the only thing I’ve ever loved. When I was a kid, my mother told me I wasn’t worth anything more than a quick fuck. That nobody would ever love someone like me. That my cock was the only thing of value. She was right. I should’ve known the bitch would always be right. She created this monster.

  On the stool next to mine, Mickey bumps his shoulder into my arm. “It’s about time to stumble home. Yeah?” He shudders in laughter, watching me swallow the last bit of my sixth beer before grabbing my seventh from the growing row of empties. Ten should do it. I’m almost there.

  This bastard’s on babysitting duty. Each night, Big has sent another brother to keep an eye on me, as if I’m some child who needs looking after. Mickey drew the short straw this time. Bet he’s hating life right about now, not able to partake in libations, per Big’s orders. No, I didn’t ask if those were the rules, but I notice shit. Seein’ as though my babysitters remain sober, I know it’s under Prez’s orders. They’d be as trashed as me otherwise.

  So, what do I do? I drink another fuckin’ beer because I can. It pisses Mickey off. His under-breath complaints are evidence enough.

  Smirking wickedly against the lip of my Bud bottle, I explain, “You could tell Prez to mind his own fuckin’ business, and you could just go home.” I gesture toward the front doors with a flick of my chin, hoping he’ll take the bait and get lost. I’d rather do this alone—wallow in my own hell, without company.

  Shaking his head as if I’ve lost my mind, Mickey rolls his eyes. “I like my body parts right where they are.” He pats his flat stomach and dick as if those are the most important parts.

  “Then report back I’m A-Okay.” Fingers fanned out, I form an okay sign and look at him through the hole, my elbow perched on the bar.

  My brother delivers an amused smile. “Right.” He snickers. “’Cause that’s not a lie or anything.”

  “I’m good.” I waggle my brows for show. The last thing I want is a fucking babysitter having to put their life on hold because of me. If I could drink at home, I would. But then I’d have to face Kit and show her who I really am. I’d have to explain what’s happening. I’d rather carve my heart out with a dull spoon than pull her through the depths of my darkness. Especially after what she’s been through.

  What can I say? I’m a weak bastard.

  I didn’t even have the courage to tell her Niki died. She found out through Bink. When she asked about what happened, because Kit knew I was there, I lied. Told her I found her dying on the floor in the clubhouse. She cried so fuckin’ hard, it tore me in two to watch her break down on our couch. Like I was gonna tell her what really went down. Not likely. Big doesn’t even know. And it’s gonna stay that way. Forever. Ya hear me? For…ever.

  “Ya know, you’re gonna have to come clean sometime.” Mickey motions to my line of beers.

  Giving zero fucks, I finish one and crack open another. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my brother watch me as I relax my throat and down this motherfucker in record time. It sloshes in my gut, makin’ we wanna wretch. I burp and pound my chest to give it space to settle. The alcohol will soak in soon enough. Once I can barely walk, I’ll have a few hours of solace, if you could call it that. Watching your woman sleep like some goddamn creeper lurking in the night, unable to touch her, kiss her, or say what you wanna say, ain’t the best, but it suffices. It’s all I’ve got.

  I’ll take what I can. Even if it’s nothing more than stolen moments of time.

  When I close my eyes again and focus on what matters most—seeing Kit… I wait for Niki to emerge. For her ghostly fingers to send shivers down my spine. For her mouth to wrap around my cock, making it painfully hard, even though there’s nothing touching him. I wait for her to call me every name under the sun for not loving her. For not saving her. For being the biggest piece of shit before she gets on her knees and rubs her bloodied tits against my shin.

  When she doesn’t surface, and I’m finally at peace, at least for a little while, I slide off the stool and leave. I don’t wait for Mickey. I say nothing. On a mission to do what I’ve done every night for weeks, I stumble through the clubhouse to the backdoor. The night air invigorates me as I navigate through the back grass, onto the pavement, and past the concrete wall that separates the front of the compound from the back estates.

  Using the railing, I drunkenly lumber up my front steps and open the door, making as little sound as possible. I kick off my boots by the couch and leave them, along with most of my clothes, to pick up in the morning. The last thing I wanna do is wake my love.

  On the way to see her, I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to piss, wash my hands, and brush my fuzzy teeth before I sneak into our bedroom and snick the door shut in my wake.

  Padding my way to our bed, careful not to trip over any of Chibs’ bones, I glance over to Kit’s side of the mattress. It’s vacant, as is the spot where our dog sleeps.

  What the fuck?

  “Love?!” I call out to her, my voice hoarse.

  Silence.

  Dammit.

  Flicking on every light in every room, I search the house. In our spare bedroom, her clothes are gone from the closet. Not a single note is to be found. The shower and under the bathroom sink is void of all female shit—like she was never here.

  Freaking the hell out, the organ in my chest pummels my sternum in a vicious boxing match as air pumps in and out of my lungs. Sweat blooms across my entire body as I frantically search for any clues she might have left. Afraid I’ll miss something, I tear open every drawer and cupboard, leaving them wide open as I move on to the next.

  In our bedroom, I dump all my clothes onto the floor and rip shirts from their hangers. Bed pillows hit the wall before they, too, join the mess. Our comforter goes next, into a heap on the floor. Gripping the edge of the mattress, I grunt as I flip it off the box spring. It lands in front of the open door, its corner caught on top of our nightstand. Our lamp slides to the edge and hangs there for a beat before crashing onto the carpet.

  “Where did you go?” I sigh in misery, still coming up empty.

  Climbing over the disaster, I stumble into the hallway and use the wall for support as I make my way into the living room. I find my phone discarded on the couch.

  Desperation clogs my throat as I fumble with the screen to check her location. It’s gone. Our tether was there this afternoon when I checked to make sure she was safe at Loretta’s for her weekly therapy session. It was there when they went to lunch with White Boy and Deke at the bakery in town. White Boy even texted to say she ate a giant salad and a chocolate croissant. I was relieved she indulged. Kit’s appetite has been a rollercoaster as of late. Some days, she eats like she should, while others, she barely touches her dinner. I’ve been keeping an eye on it, worried she’ll lose the progress she’s made.

  When she drove home today, her dot moved. I watched as I always do every time she leaves, afraid something will happen if I’m not there to protect her. As if my brothers can’t take care of my precious cargo.

  When I’m working, I keep the app open so I can see everything in real-time—for peace of mind. Adam, who now has a desk in the corner of my office, likes I keep tabs on his mom, too. It’s a joint effort. ’Cause we give a shit.

  Running out of options, I connect a call and pace the living room.

  It rings, and it rings, and it goddamn rings. She doesn’t pick up.

  “Fuck!” Pissed off at the world, I chuck my phone at the couch. It bounces off the back, and lands face down on the floor. On an ugly, lip-curling growl, I flip the piece of shit off.

  A heavy knock resounds at the door. Marching over, I don’t bother looking through the peephole as I throw the thing open, hoping it’s her but knowing damn well it’s not.

  On the opposite side of our screen door stands Big, a deep-set wrinkle between his brows, frowning at me, his tattooed arms tucked across his chest over a plain white t-shirt.

  “Where is she?” I demand, nostrils flaring.

  He cocks his head to the side and drawls, “She’s… safe.”

  “Where?”

  “Safe,” he repeats, refusing to relinquish any information.

  This stubborn goddamn dick bag.

  “I asked you a fuckin’ question, brother,” I snarl.

  “And I gave you a fuckin’ reply, brother,” he growls in return.

  “You won’t keep her from me,” I warn. Over my dead body.

  Ejecting a loud, irritated sigh the entire compound can hear, Big explains, “I’m doin’ what she requested. That’s the least I could do.”

  She requested? I don’t believe that. Then again, I didn’t think she’d leave. Even if our homelife hasn’t been the greatest, I’ve been… nice. Never once have I been a jerk. I’ve cooked dinners. Even paid close attention to the food she likes, so we have more of it in the cupboards. After dinner, before I head out, I make her a cup of tea and turn the television on to something I think she’ll like. I even load the dishwasher most nights.

  “I—” I begin, only to be cut off by the asshole.

  “I’m not tellin’ you jack.” Big’s no-bullshit gaze bores into mine. “You fuckin’ know that. The brothers aren’t gonna tell you shit, either. Including your boy.”

  “Adam knows?” I seek confirmation.

  “Yeah.”

  Sagging against the door, I sigh. “Thank fuck… Okay. She’s safe.”

  “Yeah, dumbass.” Big snickers.

  I scrub a hand over my bald head. “I fucked up.” Big time.

  Pursing his lips, Prez nods in agreement, his tone far softer than I expect. “Yeah. Ya did. I told you this would happen if you kept it up.”

  He did. He also made me switch from hard liquor to beer a few weeks back. Said I needed to take it easy. If I wanted to kill myself, there were better, far cheaper options. Ha. Ha.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I explain, not wanting to go into the specifics.

  Not buyin’ my shit for a second, Big unfolds his arms and scratches his forehead in agitation. “We all have choices, brother. I kept my distance from Bink for-fucking-ever… my choice.” He points to himself.

  This isn’t the same situation. Not even close.

  “Really? We’re goin’ there. Big, that wasn’t your choice. Don’t pretend like it was. The shit Lindy Sue found out coulda put you down for a long time.” I can’t think of a single instance Bink’s mom wasn’t a piece of work. A bitch to her rotten core. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she and my mom were cut from the same cloth.

  Knowin’ I’m right about this, Big relents, “True. But I could’ve said fuck her, took what I wanted, and hoped she didn’t throw me under the bus.”

  Right. Like that woulda happened.

  “Then you would’ve gone to prison and where would Bink be?” Oh. We know where. She’d have grown up and married some small-dicked, prissy-bitch, non-biker. Together, they’d live in suburbia with their 2.5 kids, a dog, and a white picket fence. He’d sell insurance or something equally boring, while Bink catered to his every whim. On Tuesdays, after he watched the news, they’d make love missionary style with the lights off.

  “Exactly,” Big grumbles, pulling me from my messed-up musings—the same ones he’s probably considered over the years. “That’s why I made the choice I did. To wait it out. Did what I had to do to get what I wanted. Worth the wait, even if it killed me. The choice you’re makin’ by pushin’ away the woman you love… solves what?”

  Licking the front of my teeth, I try and fail to summon a simple reason he won’t shut down in two seconds flat. “It’s complicated,” is all I come up with. It’s late, and I’m half-drunk. I dunno what he expects me to do. Pour my heart out? Not likely.

  “Then simplify it for me,” he offers. “You’re a smart man. You can use words. I got ears.” Tucking errant strands of long hair behind his ears, Big then taps those same ears with exaggerated fanfare. “They listen quite fuckin’ well.”

  Heaving a sigh, I stare up at the ceiling in my entryway, hoping for… I dunno what… divine intervention? Or for Kit to put me outta my misery by somehow Dorothy-ing her fine ass here with the click of her heels. When that doesn’t work, I thunk my head against the door at my back and mutter, “Not happenin’,” hoping Big will let it go and leave me to handle the Kit situation by myself.

  Not a fan of my pigheadedness, Big grumbles a slew of laughable bullshit under his breath. “Then you’re not gettin’ your woman back,” he throws out, as if that’s a foregone conclusion.

  I snort. “We both know that’s not true.”

  “Do we?” Big scratches his chin. “’Cause from where I’m standin’, I’m your club president, and she left your ass of her own free will.”

  That might be true. She might have left of her own free will… But… “Rank or not, brother, she’s mine.” Yeah. There’s that. She’s my woman. My old lady. The mother to my son. Wham bam, in yo face motherfucker.

  “She got your patch on her back?” He levels me with a look like he somehow wins with this one. The asshole’s itching for a fight.

  Lucky for him, we’re not built the same.

  “No,” I answer honestly, calmly, and not at all in the mood to punch him in the mouth for baiting me with this crap. He’s trying real hard to make me crack under pressure.

  “She gonna get your patch on her back?” Big challenges next.

  “Yes.” That’s a dumbass question. Deb’s already on it. I commissioned Kit’s cut the day after we got back. The same day Deb took mine to patch over the bullet hole and wash all the dried blood off. Still, that’s none of Big’s business. It’s mine and Kit’s… and a bit of Deb’s, considerin’ she’s the one puttin’ in the hard work.

  “How’s that gonna happen if you won’t fix your shit? You think she’s just gonna wait around for you to decide to get sober? To explain what the hell’s doin’? If she were Bink, and I was pullin’ this crap, would you tell her to put up with it? Or would you tell her she deserved better, then help her, like you did when my woman left me the first time?”

  When I open my mouth to mention, once again, this isn’t the same situation, he keeps yappin’. “Thought so. Now you gonna let me in, or am I gonna stand out here all night?” He kicks the steel of the door, impatient as ever.

  “You can come in, but I’m still goin’ after her.”

  “It’s funny you think you can leave.” He smirks, his head shaking in laughter as if he could stop me.

  What’s funnier is he thinks he has that much power.

  Sorry, brother, ya don’t.

  Crossing my arms over my bare chest, lips thinned, I blink up at Big slowly, unimpressed by his level of fuck-around-and-find-out. “I. Can,” I grind out through clenched molars. It might involve violence, but I’ve proven on a regular I’ll do what I gotta do to handle my own. Stand in my way and see what happens.

  Reading the air thickening between us, the smirk wipes clean off Big’s face. “Why don’t you go sit your drunk ass down and let’s have a chat.” He jerks a chin toward the inside of my house. “You’re not goin’ anywhere tonight.”