Page 18 of Sinful Mates

My mind wound back to the day Jerry became the Jackals’ captive. Dark days. Danny and the Wolves ambushed Slade and Castor. Drugged and barely able to stand, I was thrown into the crossfire. Slade shot Danny, and I fucking regretted the day I saved my brother’s life. I didn’t regret taking a bullet for Slade. That, I would do again.

After defeating the Wolves, Danny and a few men retreated, and Jerry surrendered to the Jackals. Slade kept my uncle and two other Wolves captive at first, then allowed him freedom at my request. Jerry worked at the shelter under Zethan and my supervision, appreciating the freedom afforded him. Freedom not granted to Sonny and Tex, who Slade put down like rabid dogs. If I didn’t intervene, Jerry might still be alive. Then again, what kind of life would it be, left to rot in the Jackal’s cells? Either way, my uncle’s fate was sealed.

“Nurse A?” Slade put his arm around my shoulder to avoid clashing with Castor’s arm slung across my lower back.

I nodded because that was all I could do to hold back a fresh wave of tears that accompanied intense sobbing.

Unlike my father’s funeral—dreary, rainy, and miserable—the sun came out for Jerry. Rich, sweet scents of the flowered wreath arrangements surrounded me. Ribbons and decorations carried the Wolves colors of red and black. Slade tied Jerry’s gaiter to the gold handles of his casket and rested his cut over the lid. Every mourner clutched a shred of one of Jerry’s shirts, some tying it to their arms or wrists as a sign of respect. Trees swayed in hushed whispers carrying the words of the dead milling about the cemetery.

One black, heartless soul called for my attention but I closed my eyes, trying to block him out, never wanting to look upon those dark eyes ever again. Or remember the sick satisfaction in his eyes at ending the lives of Mia’s parents.

Despite ignoring him, he warned, “You’ll be next, dear sister,” before turning away and vanishing like the wind.

I gasped and Slade crushed me tighter to his side, ignorant of the demon running rampant in my head.

Fuck. Not the time or place to have a breakdown.

I couldn’t fall apart when Mia needed her mother and family.

Danny accused my uncle of committing horrendous abuse against him and fucking him up in the head. Acts I didn’t entirely believe. Dad would have beaten the shit out of Jerry for touching his son inappropriately. No, my brother was possessed by a cruel, sick darkness of his own making. And if by some miracle he spoke a kernel of truth, Jerry would pay in the afterlife.

Distant words hit my ear. A eulogy, I think, read by Jerry’s wife.

Poor Slade called her to break the news. Worst phone call of his life when he didn’t know the woman and had to explain what went down. Needless to say, she blamed him and threw every curse word under the sun at him. Nothing he wasn’t used to.

The Jackals paid for everything—the service, casket, wake, wreaths, flowers, plaque, and other memorial items. Guilt on Slade’s behalf for Jerry being caught in the crossfire.

A small crowd of mourners gathered around the mahogany casket, mainly family, since the Wolves no longer existed. Jerry’s wife, Samantha, and her two adult children, Brad and Kara, as well as my mother, stood on the opposite side of the casket from my mates and me.

The air thickened with tension at the unwelcome guests accompanying me. Slade beside me as club president in his cut, black shirt, jeans, and boots, a brutal god of war paying homage to his fallen brethren.

On my right, Castor stood firm as the newly appointed VP, looking every bit the suave god of science, magick, writing, and reckoning. Navy jeans, button up Tommy Hilfiger shirt, and cashmere coat, flying the Jackal’s colors with the bandana keeping hair from his face.

Both men clasped me, keeping me from spinning into darkness, and I was glad to have them with me.

Behind us, Zethan kept a wary distance, gaze scanning for any threats to protect his president. My merciless god of death wore his ominous red flannel shirt like a warning of blood spilled if someone made a move on us. Turbulence rocked his bond, but he kept it from his steely expression, impressing me with how professionally and reasonably he handled his demotion. Zethan lived and breathed the club, and he put his all into it. I expected more hellfire, to be honest. But my true mate always surprised me with his maturity, depth, and insight.

My mother’s sobs burst through my thoughts. For God’s sake, the way she wept into her handkerchief suggested she was more distraught that I showed up with her rivals than Jerry’s passing. She cast me disappointed and insulted glares from thirty feet away.

While I stayed with the Jackals, Slade went into ultra-protective mode and refused to let me visit her with tensions running high with the Wolves, however thanks to Zethan giving me a phone, we kept in regular contact. If I had a dollar for every time she moaned about how I betrayed my father’s legacy, I’d be a millionaire. Stubborn woman refused to listen to reason when I tried to tell her the truth. Loyal to the end, content to live in her ignorant bliss about her son. Frankly, the Wolves had their chance to treat me like a sister and threw it away. Up until three days ago, the Jackals treated me with utmost respect. Danny sent that balance spiraling out of control.

I counted down the minutes until the service ended. Until we could return home. Alaric stayed back at the clubhouse with Mia, who had a shit fit when I went to leave. My heartbeat slowed, punishing me for leaving her. Clubs, guns, and danger weren’t safe for her. Fuck. I tried to keep her out of biker business as much as I could, but it seemed the gods had entwined her fate with the Jackals. And I would rather take the chance of with her with me rather than the Russian Roulette of foster parents. Some fosterers viewed kids as a paycheck, treated them like shit, the ER a revolving door of poor, hapless, abused kids. Helpless to do a damn thing about it but burning with the desire to break someone’s nose.

At the end of Samantha’s eulogy, Slade nudged me. “Want to say anything, Nurse A?”

I probably should. Guilt clogged my throat and I’d be lucky to get three words out. I shook my head furiously.

The minister wrapped things up and the crowd threw their roses onto the coffin and scattered. I added one to the lid and kept the last for someone else.

Mom remained behind, fumbling to retrieve a packet of cigarettes from her purse and light one with her shaky hands. Amanda Heller looked the picture of elegance as always, hair pulled back in a smooth chignon, lipstick, and blush flawless. French tipped nails perfect. Black skirt suit creaseless. Hat with black lace covering her eyes. So different from me with my wind-swept hair, denim, leather, and boots, every bit the biker.

I crossed to the other side of the casket. “You’re smoking again?”

“These things?” She shoved the packet ofWinfield Bluesin her purse. “Nah, found them in my candy dish.”

Castor stiffened beside me. Something about the cigarettes gave him pause. The same brand found at the crime scene of my father’s murder.

A memory flashed of me finding them in her home. A gift from Danny, she said. Although, he smoked a different brand and at the time, I thought she took on a lover. Did Castor suspect my mom was behind dad’s death? After my brother’s betrayal, I didn’t want to deliberate on that idea.

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