Page 173 of Dagger

“Hold on tight, Duchess,” John ordered, revving the bike and setting off slowly to join the main road leading through town.

I did as I was told and pressed my cheek to John’s back until I felt all tension leave his body.

Riding always relaxed him; it was in his blood, and he got so much pleasure from it that it made me happy, too. If only I could get rid of this damned headache, I could relax and enjoy the day exactly for what it was.

Me and John together again, looking toward the future.

Riding had always connected us, not just physically, but emotionally, too. I never felt closer to John than when I sat behind him, holding onto him tight with the wind whipping all around us.

John’s hand rested on my knee, his fingers tapping lightly in time with the bass, and I smiled at the memory of the day we rode up to Grand Junction so he could enlist.

Tears sprung to my eyes because it hit me that John and I had survived thirty years of hell.

So much crap had been thrown at us, sadness, heartache, lies, and manipulation, but somehow we’d come through it, maybe a little scarred here and there, but still whole.

I opened my eyes and froze when I saw the country club looming up ahead.

My throat went dry. A whoosh filled my ears, and it suddenly felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. My breaths came short and sharp as I struggled to take in air, and a feeling of impending doom settled on my shoulders because I knew what was coming.

I hadn’t seen the mansion since the day we got Brett back undercover, but even then, my mind was on the ruse, not my surroundings.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to see the house of horrors ever again. It was a place of evil, a place where my husband raped and controlled me, a place that I suspected he took young female victims to and raped them as well.

I’d come so far since I left, but at that moment, I could feel myself regressing to the closed-off, terrified woman who first turned up at the clubhouse weeks before. My fingers tremored, and my insides burned with fright and shame.

I should’ve done more.

Why didn’t I do more to help?

Why couldn’t I save them?

Why did God allow me to survive while they died, or worse, lived their lives in torment?

My eyes lifted once again, and I gasped when I saw my old house—or should I say, what was left of it—appear before me.

The top half had completely disappeared, but parts of the ground floor remained and were at the mercy of the elements. I could see old pieces of furniture inside that still hadn’t been cleared and rubble on the ground outside that had been moved to one spot but not taken away.

A memory floated back to me from a few days before.

I received a letter from the town council demanding that I deal with the remains of the house. But until that moment, I didn’t remember receiving it. It was only seeing the mansion in such a state that brought it back to me at all.

It was like I dreamed it.

My throat closed up so tight it hurt to take a breath.

Why didn’t I remember?

What was happening to me?

Was I losing my mind?

Somehow, I’d managed to keep my shit together during the ride.

I could see the concern etched on John’s face, but what could I say?Don’t mind me, babe. I’m just losing the plot over here. As you were.

In the end, just to get him off my back, I blamed my headache, which wasn't entirely a lie since my brain had throbbed against my skull all day. Luckily, Sophie backed me up after our earlier conversation in the bar.

The truth was, I didn’t want anybody making a fuss. I felt embarrassed that I’d put a downer on everybody’s day. Every member and their woman had been looking forward to the run for weeks. That night, the club would party and patch Billy in, then in the morning, John would call a members’ meeting to advise them of the changes in management—Abe’s phrase.

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