Page 63 of August 20

He went through life not giving a shit about how others treated him. If people wanted to view him as a killer, it was no skin off his back. He had his hands in enough crimes as a member of Havlin Motorcycle Club to know he was more than what anyone could call him.

But now that he had a chance to be a part of Skye's life, a part of Brooke's life, he wanted to fight for what he wanted. He wanted to talk until both females understood what was happening in his head. But he couldn't string two sentences together without having a coughing fit.

"I'm letting Brooke go." He held his breath to see if that would stop the spasms in his neck.

"You married her to keep her quiet at home. So she couldn't turn your ass in." Jagger folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not going to let one of the members of Havlin roll over for a woman."

He shook his head. That's not what he was doing.

He'd caught a glimpse of her at the store, enjoying herself. She was happy.

In that instance, he knew he had to let her go.

He pulled at his hair. What was that fucking saying? Let her go, and if she comes back, she's yours. If she doesn't return, she was never his. Or, some bullshit.

Except, it wasn't bullshit.

That's what he was doing.

He gave Brooke her freedom because she was worth more than his freedom. She'd never done anything wrong in her life, whereas he deserved more than one life sentence for the crimes he'd committed.

Even if he lost Skye, his daughter would be okay because of Brooke. Skye couldn't lose her Aunt Brooke. That's what mattered.

He never would've known that if he hadn't kidnapped her. He'd seen for himself what a good mother Brooke was to his daughter—and nobody, especially him, could ever take that away from Skye.

"Brooke doesn't understand." He exhaled loudly but failed to stop the deep cough, making him double over. "I can't—"

He coughed harshly. Searing pain ripped over his Adam's apple.

Frustrated over his inability to hold a fucking conversation, he picked up the stool next to the counter and threw it across the shop until it plowed into the end of the aisle, knocking over the rack of oil cans.

"What do you need from me?" asked Jagger.

He faced his president and thumped his fist against his chest. It would kill him to lose Brooke.

Jagger grabbed the notepad and pen by the phone. "Tell me."

He approached the counter and picked up the pen.

When I get arrested, make sure Brooke knows I love her. Tell her I married her because I never wanted to lose her. Tell her to love Skye for me. He pressed his thumb against his eye. Tell her the only thing I was guilty of was kidnapping her, but I don't regret loving her.

By now, Brooke would've contacted the police. They'd be setting up a sting to surround the clubhouse and come after him. The others would protect him, but he wanted them all to stand down. He'd done this to himself.

He turned and hurled the pen through the air. She'd been gone too long. The cops would be here any moment. There was more that Brooke needed to know.

There was more he needed to say.

The house was paid for. Havlin would make sure she ended up with the deed. Raise his kid there. Be safe.

Running his hands through his hair, he fisted the strands. He'd never live through another prison sentence.

He was tired. He was too old.

Without Skye. Without Brooke. He had nothing.

He looked at Jagger. "Take care of them."

"Fuck that." Jagger approached him and fisted the front of Maverick's vest. "You're not going to prison again. Take off. Ride."

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