Page 9 of Ruckus

“Don’t call it an incident, it was fuckin’ murder and it happened right here under our noses. That could have been my girl,” he points out.

“Come on, Wrath, you know your girl’s safe. Especially when she’s with you.”

“And what about if she ain’t with me, what then?” He frowns at me.

“Every brother in that room would take a bullet before they let anything happen to Eden, Peyton, or Saul’s sister. Don’t think I don’t know what you're doing. I’ve known you for too long.”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“You, using protecting Eden as an excuse not to visit your sister. Fre—” Fuck, even saying her name triggers me. “She deserves to know that her dad and sister are dead and her big brother needs to be there for her when she finds out.”

“You’re right.” Wrath lowers his head, then after a few long breaths he slowly walks back inside. Instead of following him I look back out at the ocean, trying to stop the memories I got from fucking with my head. Ever since I saw that damn poster I’ve not been able to get her off my mind… who the fuck am I kidding? That bitch has never been off my mind. She’s etched into it like a fucking curse that no amount of time and distance can undo, and now that I know she’s close again, I’m gonna have to find some real restraint…

2 Years Ago

I step out of the clubhouse for some air and light up a cigarette, and when I take out my cell the map app is still open on the last location I typed into it.

I don’t know why I do it to myself, I guess sometimes curiosity just gets the better of me. The show’s Instagram page is constantly updated, it allows me to check where she is whenever I feel the need to know.

Tonight, she’s only three hours away, that’s no fucking distance at all, and it’s taking everything inside me not to get on my bike and close that distance.

All I want from her is answers. I wanna know why I woke up that morning after we spent the night together and found her gone. I wanna know why she didn’t say goodbye, and I wanna know why the fuck I had to hear it from her lunatic father that she’d left town with those stunt riders. You’d think that after three years I’da gotten the fuck over it. But it turns out that no amount of anger or screwing other women has gotten her out of my head. She’s been living there, rent free, since she left, and it’s time I got her evicted.

“I was wondering where you got to.” Simone comes stumbling out the clubhouse door on heels that are far too big for her and a bra that's way too tight. “You wanna get a room?” She circles her finger around my chest while she waits for my answer.

It would be easy to take her up the stairs, spread her legs, and try to fuck Freya’s face out of my head. I’d feel better after I shot my load, at least for a few minutes.

“I don’t think so.” I shake my head and look down at my phone again. The show starts in two hours, and the stunt bikes are the headline act. They’ll be the last to perform. I could makeit there in time, maybe wait around for her to be finished and have that conversation I feel like I’m owed. I’ve thought about it so many times and never given into the urge, so why does tonight feel so damn hard?

“You know where I’ll be.” Simone winks at me seductively as she heads toward her room on the ground floor where a few of the others are hanging around and waiting to strike.

I look at the clubhouse door, then across the yard to the arch. This shouldn’t be something I’m even contemplating. Freya doesn’t care about me, she’s moved on with her life, all the Instagram photos say that she’s happy. Show-life is clearly for her. So why do I have a sense that she needs me? Why do I hear her calling out to me whenever I close my eyes?

I take my dad’s coin from my pocket and hold it tight between my thumb and my finger. Last time I made a decision regarding her, I ignored what it told me to do, and look what happened.

I won’t make that mistake again.

Heads, I get on my bike and ride to the show, tails, I fuck out all my frustration on Simone. I flick it high and catch it as it falls, feeling my heart thud faster as I look down at my fate.

Looks like I’m headin’ to the show.

I leave my cut hanging over my bike as a warning of who it belongs to, and as I move through all the parked cars toward the entrance gate I take in how big thebig topactually is.

I reach the booth and pay for a ticket, taking in the smell of freshly popped corn as I follow the noise and head inside the tent.

It’s pretty full in here, there are a few seats dotted around that I could take, but I decide to remain standing at the back, I can watch just fine from here.

I feel my stomach knot with anticipation.

Last week I stood in front of three Russian men who worked for the Bratva, each one of ‘em pointing a gun at me. How the fuck is this making me nervous?

The trapeze artist finishes up her act, and I can feel the excitement building among the crowd as a backstage curtain opens and a team of men push a huge sphere into the center of the ring. I know what comes next, I’ve watched the videos online, and every time it makes my fuckin’ heart stop. This is exactly why I shouldn’t be here. I don't want her to be a part of this, even if she likes it. The fear of her getting hurt cripples me, and the fact she’s not mine to protect destroys me even more.

I need to see a fuckin’ shrink.

After a dramatic light show and a huge build up, the stunt bikers come tearing out from all different entrances. They cross each other as they flip over ramps, flying high in the air, missing each other by inches. The loud gasps from the audience prove that they're impressed by the show.

Then, when all four of the riders come to a halt, and the lights go low, it’s my turn to hold my breath. A spotlight shines on the sphere. The crowd goes silent, and when the curtains open, another spotlight shines directly on to her.

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