Page 27 of Perdition
Or text.
Or smoke signal.
Or fucking carrier pigeon—anything!
He just wanted some sign that he hadn't completely ruined the best thing in his whole miserable, goddamn life!
After a miserable night where he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t take a full fucking breath, he was fucking unraveling.
This…this is what consequences feel like.
Behind him, laying in silent repose as if in death, was the property kutte he’d given his wife Eight years ago.
“Property of Frost” rocker on the back.
“Bloom” embroidered in white stitching on a patch over the right breast.
He’d given her that road name because everything she touched flourished, especially when she loved it.
Like their amazing kids. Him. The club. Her flower business.
And he’d taken that for granted, hadn’t he?
Her kutte was one of the first made for the club. She had been there, from the beginning, as he built the club from nothing but a dream and a desperate need for brotherhood. She had been there on those long nights, poring over legal jargon on real estate property contracts, trying to find the best place for them to start what would become the Unchained MC clubhouse. Em was there when he and Patriot argued over bylaws, legit business plans, and what club discipline would look like. Em was there…holding his hand, rubbing his neck and shoulders, making him food he sometimes forgot to eat, wrangling the kids so he could have quiet to work, and generally…just being the best damn wife and club queen he could have ever asked for.
And he’d fucked it all up.
Now, he was sitting alone in a room his wife hadn’t stepped foot in in months, wondering where the fuck things had started falling apart.
Around the same time you started losing your goddamn balls.
Around the same time you lost your focus.
Around the same time you let your pride become more important than your family. Your wife. Your Bloom.
Motherfucker!
And now…he had no idea what to do next.
Em had made a perfectly clear statement when she tossed her property kutte—once her most precious possession—into the back of his Chevy with the rest of his shit like it meant nothing to her.
That was what had hit him the most; she was tossing away what amounted to years of her own efforts to help him build and grow the Unchained. She was saying that none of that mattered to her anymore…that being the club queen, the old lady to the club president, wasn’t the prize it had once been.
Like you’re a fucking prize right now, dumbass loser!
She was once so fucking proud to wear that kutte, ride on the back of his bike, and sit on his lap as his woman during club parties.
Now….
He hit the power button on the cell to wake up the screen, foolishly hoping that he’d somehow missed the sound and vibration of an incoming text.
The screen blinked on, and an invisible hammer clocked him in the solar plexus—his breath caught like God had snatched it from the air before he could inhale it.
With burning eyes, he stared down at the home screen image; a picture of him and Em, snuggled up, her back to his chest, his arms around her, and they were…smiling. Her grin was so big it was blindingly beautiful, and her eyes were so lit up, he could feel the love and happiness even from a flat image. And him, with his woman in his arms…he’d looked fucking enraptured, like he couldn’t believe that a goddess from the heavens would come down and let him hold her. His smile was wide, his eyes were fucking twinkling, and he was staring at Emily so hard, with such awe and intent….
That’s how it had once been between them. The joy, the content, the happiness, the laughter, the love, the desire and want and need….
Where had it all gone?
