Page 46 of The Grief We Hold

Butcher huffs. “Pretty sure the number of guys you disemboweled in the last year would disagree.”

“You get what I’m saying. We’ve become complacent. It’s gonna change, because this is on me as sergeant at arms.” It becomes clear. This is where my attention needs to be: bringing us all back together.

“Are you pushing to replace me, brother?”

I shake my head. “Not at all. But I am challenging you to lead us into something better. I’ll walk every step with you if you do that.”

Butcher looks back into the clubhouse. “We’ll call church, Monday morning. Nine o’clock. You’re right. It’s time.”

“I’m gonna work up a plan and structure for us to consider.”

Butcher slaps my shoulder. “Like this girl even more if she’s bringing you back to us.”

I walk back into the bar and am stopped by Isla. Her fingers slip beneath the edges of my cut. “It’s pretty crowded in here. Got room in your bed for one more tonight?”

I glance over to the bar, where Nola and some of the other club girls stand. They’re all looking at the two of us, then turn away quickly when they see I noticed. Not fucking obvious at all.

They know about Raven.

“Pretty certain you know the answer to that already.”

Isla looks up at me through thick lashes and pouts. “I thought I was your favorite.”

“You were the most convenient,” I say, shrugging out of her hold. “And, as of right now, convenient is something I don’t need.”

15

RAVEN

I’m on the bed, half asleep, when the lock finally rattles and Wraith steps inside. There’s a soft glow from the small lamp I left lit on the desk. Ember and I hung out for a couple of hours. She even grabbed us some pizza from the kitchen, but I considered Wraith’s concern for me and stayed in the room out of harm’s way rather than going with her. I didn’t want to bring any more stress into his life. So, I’d spent the rest of the time alone and made myself useful by tidying his room a little.

“Hey,” I say quietly.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says gruffly.

I push myself to sitting and rub my hands over my face. “You didn’t. This is my weak attempt at staying awake until I knew you were okay.”

He slips out of his leather jacket with the club logo on the back and hangs it on the door before pulling his thick hoodie over his head. Finally, he walks over to the bed. “You waited up to check I was okay?”

“I did.”

Wraith sits on the side of the bed and reaches out to touch my cheek. “I like that you cared enough to do that.”

I close my eyes and lean into his touch, which is as soft as gossamer. All too fleeting. Then he removes his hand as though I burned him.

“Just need to use the shower, then I’m gonna find somewhere to sleep,” he says.

I look at the large king bed and realize I hadn’t given enough thought about what would happen when the club settled down for the night. “You don’t have to go. We’re both adults. I’m sure you can stay on your side of the bed.”

Wraith’s gaze narrows. His eyes so pale a blue, they’re glacial in the half light. “I can do that.”

His words hover between us. I can’t decide if they are a statement, a question, or a challenge.

My words, thoughts, and actions are all out of alignment. I want to tell him to slip into the bed with me. To warm the pieces of me that have felt chilled since the Russian men broke into our home and I realized I had been abandoned by the one man who was meant to be my safe space.

But my thoughts constrain me. The phraseout of the frying pan, into the firesprings to mind. No matter how lonely I feel, shifting to a life like this can’t be the right move.

I look down at where my hand rests on his thigh, kneading without consideration of the consequences.

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