Page 60 of Ravaged and Ruined
The ride back is a blur of asphalt and noise. Tires on pavement, wind in my ears, the occasional grunt over comms. No one talks much. Not after a night like tonight. We did what we came to do, but it doesn’t feel like a win. Not when the rage is still there, grinding behind my ribs. Not when I’ve got this void in my chest where she used to be.
We roll into the clubhouse near dawn. The sky’s that ugly gray tint, like the world can’t decide whether to light up or fade out. I kill the engine, swing my leg off the bike, and head inside without a word.
Dog trails behind me, his paws silent on the concrete, ears drooped low. Even he’s off. He has been ever since Lacey left, just like I have. He used to curl up at her feet, but now he doesn’t settle anywhere for long. I don’t blame him. It’s hard to sleep when the only thing bringing you peace is gone.
I bypass the others, heading straight to the bar. I twist the cap off a half-dead bottle of Jack and take a long pull. No glass.No pacing myself. Just whiskey. The burn numbs the edges just enough.
Footsteps approach behind me but I don’t look to see who it is.
“Starting already?” Surge asks, his voice low and flat.
“Never stopped,” I mutter.
He leans on the wall across from me, his arms crossed like he’s been waiting for this moment. “You gonna keep drinking, or you wanna throw a few punches?”
I take another swig. “What’s your fucking problem?”
“My problem?” He laughs, but it’s got no humor. “My problem is watching my Prez self-destruct in slow motion because he’s too fucking stubborn to admit he’s not bulletproof.”
I slam the bottle on the bar. “You got something to say, say it.”
“I already did.” Surge pushes off the wall, steps in. “You sent her away like it was the only play. Like she was some weak link. You didn’t trust us. You didn’t even trust yourself.”
“I trusted myself to keep her alive.”
“No,” he snaps. “You trusted yourself to ruin her if she stayed.”
That hits bone-deep.
“You don’t get it,” I growl, stepping toward him, my fists balling at my sides. “I know what kind of men are out there. I know what they’d do to her if they ever got the chance. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve done it.”
Surge doesn’t back down. Not an inch. “Then trust your fucking club to stop it. Trust me. Trust all of us. We bled for this club and we’d bleed for her, just like you would for any of us.”
The tension snaps taut. My breathing is ragged. I’m two seconds from throwing a fist just to let something out.
“I’m not gonna swing on you,” Surge says, his voice lowering. “Not because you’re my Prez. Because you’re my brother and I know you’re hurting.”
The silence thickens between us. Grizzly shifts near the hallway but doesn’t speak. The rest keep back. Letting it play out.
“If you want guarantees,” Surge adds, “you’re in the wrong line of work. We don’t get those. None of us. Not when we live like this.”
I stare past him. The wood grain of the bar. A crack in the floor. Anything but his face.
“She’s not safe, Surge. Not with me.”
“No,” he says. “She’s not safe without you.”
I close my eyes. That ache is still there. Deeper than bone. Thicker than blood.
“You sent her away,” he says, “but you can’t let her go. And she damn sure didn’t let go of you.”
I say nothing.
He steps back, giving me space. “So if you’re done pretending the bottle’s gonna fix it, maybe get your head out of your ass and go get your girl.”
Then he leaves me there. Alone. With the burn of whiskey and the truth ringing in my ears. Dog lets out a low whine and curls up near the bar, watching me like he’s waiting for me to finally do something right.
I slam a fist into the wall. The drywall caves around my knuckles. Pain blooms up my arm like punishment. The rage is endless. I’m downright ruined without her. Instead of holding her, I’m holding a bottle of Jack and drinking myself senseless.
