Page 22 of Perdition
No wonder his doors were locked, and his shit was tossed in his truck.
No wonder she’d tossed her property kutte away like it was garbage.
Em was done with him.
With a groan dragged up from the depths of his black soul, his knees gave out, and he slumped to the ground. His chest heaving to pull in air, he blinked against the sudden wave of darkness threatening to cover his vision, to suck him under. Leaning against his bike, he fought the overwhelming flood of emotions, but couldn’t keep his head above the murk.
He was drowning.
His wife, the very blood in his veins, the very breath in his lungs, had left him.
And he was dying.
What did you expect? The brothers were right—you betrayed your wife, and now you’re paying for it.
Closing his eyes, the truth too bright, too cataclysmic to absorb all at once, he pressed his forehead against the saddlebag, his thoughts racing.
How had it come to this?
You opened your mouth and bullshit fell out, and your wife heard it.
Just then, his cell rang, and he fumbled with shaking hands to answer it.
Emily.
Please let it be Emily.
It has to be Emily; she’s calling to talk—make things right! Fix it! Bring her home!
“Em?” he croaked, his heart in his throat.
There was silence, and then, “Dad?”
“War?”
Shit. His son was calling him…and he was kneeling in the shrapnel of his marriage, the mother of his kids trying to throw away decades of life together.
Fix it!
“Dad?” his son asked again, “what’s going on? Why am I getting notifications from the home system saying someone is trying to break in?”
He was still getting notifications? That meant that Em hadn’t changed the settings so much as removehimfrom the system completely.
He couldn’t stop the curling sickness from dropping into his feet.
What the hell had he done?
Pursing his lips, Frost closed his eyes, not even knowing where to start.
“I can see you in the camera, Dad,” War supplied, his tone confused…concerned. “What the hell happened? Why do you look like something drove over your Harley?”
The house had several cameras, one was a simple doorbell camera that faced the porch and the left side of the driveway, so it could catch who was arriving for a visit.
In that moment, though, his son was watching his own dad fall apart, on his knees.
Clearing his throat, though his voice still sounded like sandpaper over glass, he replied, “Things are a little…messy right now.”
Messy? You mean devastating, catastrophic, apocalyptic! Your world is over, asshole!
