Page 69 of Massacre
“No.” I shook my head. “You are leaving him like you left me!”
“Go, Val,” Romeo said, cradling me in his arms. “We will take her to Scottsbluff. She’s theirs to protect now.”
I watched as she straightened her shoulders and walked off, yelling over her shoulder, “I’m heading to New York. You get my daughter to safety, and don’t fucking leave her sight.”
“Let’s go, Amber,” Romeo said, trying to usher me away, but I wasn’t having it as I shouted at her retreating form.
“Go ahead! Walk away, you bitch,” I screamed as tears cascaded down my face. “You’re good at that!”
Rain lashed the world as Romeo held me tight, my fists pounding hopelessly against his chest. I wanted to run after my mother, to scream louder, to tear down the walls between us and storm the clubhouse that still held my father. But the hands holding me were unyielding, arms iron-strong and voice gentle but immovable.
Lightning cracked somewhere beyond the trees, slicing the sky as if to echo the jagged tears inside me. The storm was all around—on my skin, in my blood, in the agony of leaving and being left. Romeo murmured soft words I didn’t hear, my own sobs drowning out everything but the pounding of my heart and the drumming of the rain. His jacket was cold against my cheek, but his arms did not falter, no matter how hard I fought him.
Somewhere behind us, Jingles was shouting, hurrying everyone toward the waiting trucks. I caught the blur of headlights and the slosh of boots in mud, but all I could think about was my mother’s silhouette swallowed by the storm, and my father somewhere behind walls I could no longer reach.
“Amber, please,” Romeo whispered, voice raw. “We have to move.”
I pressed my forehead into his chest, grief and fury warring inside me, the taste of betrayal bitter on my tongue. My world reduced to the chill of the rain, the iron of Romeo’s embrace, and the ache of all I was about to lose.
The trip from Deadwood to Scottsbluff, Nebraska, took just over three and a half hours. As I walked into the Scottsbluff Regional Medical Center, I saw Reaper walking toward me, a firm resolve on his face as two Golden Skulls’ brothers flanked him. His eyes quickly scanned me from head to toe, before he shook King’s hand.
“Bane?”
King slowly shook his head.
Reaper took a deep breath, then cursed, “Shit.”
“That about sums it up,” King said, looking around. “One of us needs to call Montana.”
Reaper glowered, then smirked. “Sure. Why not? I haven’t pissed off fucknuts in a few days. He’s probably bored shitless.”
“I’m heading back to Diamond Creek to get everything ready. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No,” Reaper groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Doc said he’s gonna need at least a few more nights before we can move him. King, my wife.”
Placing his hand on Reaper’s shoulder, King said, “On my life, brother. She will be safe.”
“Thank you.” Reaper nodded. The moment felt raw, heavy with unspoken worries as the sterile lights of the hospital flickered overhead. I watched King disappear through the sliding doors along with the rest of the brothers of the Silver Shadows, their boots echoing down the linoleum hallway, leaving Reaper and me in a charged, uneasy silence.
“How are you, Amber?”
“I don’t know why I’m here. I told them I was fine.”
“Because your husband is here.”
Stepping back on unsteady legs, I shook my head, unsure I heard him correctly. Grabbing my arms, Reaper pulled me toward him, holding me as I shook. “Breathe, Amber.”
“He’s alive?”
“Yeah,” Reaper said soothingly, rubbing my back as I gripped his cut, holding onto him for dear life. “Fucker is one lucky son of a bitch.”
“But Morpheus said...”
“He fucking lied,” Reaper growled. “Your mother found him. She saved his life.”
I could barely process his words, the pounding in my chest loud as thunder. The truth, so long denied and buried beneath nightmares, clawed its way to the surface. Relief warred with anger—at Morpheus, at the universe, maybe even at myself for believing so easily. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I swallowed them back, fighting for composure.
Reaper’s arms were the only steady thing in a world spinning out of control. I wanted to collapse, scream, laugh, all at once—because grief had shaped me, but hope, sudden and overwhelming, threatened to break me open.
