Page 53 of The Biker's Second Chance
She exhales, slow and measured, like she’s trying to breathe calm into both of us. “Yeah. I am. But you falling apart doesn’t help either.”
I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood. She’s right, but it doesn’t stop the hurricane tearing through my chest. Xavier’s voice echoes in my head, smooth and mocking, promising blood, promising pain. His threats weren’t vague. They were specific. Personal. He knows now. Knows about me. About Spike. About the club.
And all of it is because of me.
I ruined everything.
Before I can spiral any deeper, the sound hits me.
Engines. The low, rolling thunder of the brothers’ bikes pulling up outside. The floorboards vibrate under my feet, and relief hits me so hard I nearly collapse. They’re back. They’re alive.
“They’re back,” I whisper, more to myself than to Nisa. My lungs finally unclench, just enough to let me breathe.
Nisa stops pacing, her eyes locked on the door, her jaw trembling.
I move toward it just as it swings open.
The brothers file in. Boots heavy against the floor. But the air shifts instantly. Thick. Suffocating. Not the rowdy noise I expect after a run. No laughter. No sharp-edged jokes. Just silence.
And then I see them.
Four of them carrying something. No, not something but someone.
A body.
My chest caves in. The scream rips out of me before I even know it’s coming. “No! Oh god, no!” My legs buckle and I hit the ground hard, clawing for air. My vision tunnels, black creeping in at the edges. I can’t lose him again. Not like this. Not fucking like this.
“Jayne!” Nisa’s arms catch around me, trying to hold me up, but I fight her off. My body jerks forward like maybe if I get close enough, I’ll wake up from this nightmare.
But then I see the face on the corpse.
Not Spike.
Zero.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. My stomach lurches, bile burning my throat. Tears blur everything, but I still see the blood, the limp weight of him as they carry him deeper inside. His kutte torn, his skin pale. Lifeless.
My knees slam into the wood floor and I can’t move. My body refuses. I press a shaking hand to my mouth, choking on sobs.
And then I see him.
Spike.
He walks in behind them, and he’s covered in blood. His kutte is splattered, his jaw tight, his eyes dead. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t have to. His gaze finds mine, pins me in place.
It’s not my blood on him. It’s Zero’s.
And it’s my fault.
His shoulders are rigid, like steel barely holding together. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate, just follows the others until they lay Zero down. He stands there for a moment, chest heaving, fists clenching at his sides. Then, without a single word, he turns and heads down the hall.
His boots echo against the floorboards, heavy and final. He doesn’t look back. But I feel the weight of what’s in his eyes, even as he disappears into his room.
I want to run after him. To throw myself against his chest, to tell him I’m sorry. To tell him I’ll fix it. But my legs won’t move. My guilt keeps me nailed to the floor.
This was never supposed to happen.
One of them is dead because of me.
