Page 82 of Zeke

It has been a hell of a year so far. We lost Dad to a fucking murderer. Eden became president against all odds and despite the opposition of some pretty powerful people. We’ve seen our numbers grow, even though we’ve had people from all directions telling us why we’re wrong to let a woman run our club. And we’ve seen our numbers shrink as people betrayed us to our enemies.

I nearly died. I was tortured within an inch of my life, to the point that there were times during my recovery when I didn’t want to get better. I just wanted to die because it hurt so fucking much.

I nearly lost my sister more than once. She was almost killed by the man who shared her husband’s face, then nearly killed for trying to fix her husband’s mess with him.

It’s been an adventure, and not one I’m particularly thrilled at having been through. The only good thing is that we’re all here on the other side, but that doesn’t change one major fact.

I’m ready to be done for a while.

I want to lay low and take care of myself. It’s always been me, Eden, and Zeke, but Eden’s been absent ever since she met Savage. With his bullet wound healing, she is pretty decently preoccupied. And now that Zeke has Kira, I figure it will be more of the same with him mother-henning her and watching her like a hawk. I doubt he’ll let her out of his sight ever again—let alone for the foreseeable future.

I don’t need them to feel like I matter, but they don’t need me the way they used to, and there is freedom in that.

I find a notebook of blank paper in my room and pull it out, before setting it on my desk, unsure exactly what I want to write at first. But once I put the pen to the page, the words flow like they’d been inside of me all along, bursting to get out.

Eden and Zeke,

Our bond is the single most strongest thing in my life. The three of us will always be part of each other and each other’s lives. But right now, I feel lost, even in my own home. It’s been a hell of a year. I don’t have to tell you what’s happened because you’ve both been right there with me for the whole ride. I need to take some time alone to figure out what I need. What I want. Because right now, I only know what I don’t want, and I don’t want more of the same over and over again. I need something new, and I hope I can find it and come home when I’m done. But I think we all know there’s a chance I’ll find what I need somewhere else.

None of that means I don’t love you both with all of my heart. I do. You’re two-thirds of who I am, and not seeing you for who knows how long will probably be the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do. But I do have to do it. For me. And I hope you understand and support my decision.

I’m only a phone call away. Don’t be afraid to use it.

Love always,

Eli

I packa bag and turn to leave, then pause in my doorway. I turn back and set down the backpack before pulling off my cut. I hold it up and look at it. Someday, maybe I’ll come back for it. To wear it again.

Right now, the idea of being a Ruthless King feels like being suffocated. I lay the piece of fabric on the bed, turn out my light, and leave the room.

I manage to get out of the house without passing anyone, even when I leave my note on Eden’s desk, but as I walk out the back door toward my bike, I hear a voice say, “Hey, Eli.”

Shit.

I turn and see Julia sitting alone on the porch swing. She’s eying me in a way I recognize well. She knows something is different, and she’s trying to figure out what.

“You’re not wearing your cut,” she says.

“Neither are you,” I point out.

She smiles. “I’m staying home for the night. What’s your excuse?”

I stareat her for a while, unsure how much I should share, how much I can. It feels like the words are caught in my throat, like I’m choking on them, and they won’t come out.

But Julia seems to understand. “Don’t worry,” she says, leaning back in her seat. “I went nomad a few times. It really helps put things in perspective.” She gives me a sad smile. “I won’t say anything unless you ask me to.”

“No need,” I say. “I left a letter.”

She nods. “That’s good. That should help ease the grief of you leaving.” There’s another long, tense silence between us, and eventually, she says, “Good luck, Eli.”

“Thanks,” is all I can manage to mumble as I turn and get on my bike, pulling out of the driveway before anyone looks out and sees who’s leaving.

I ride all night, and then most of the next day without rest. I’m not sure where I’m going or where I am until I eventually cross the border into Colorado. If I thought it was cold back in La Grange, it’s frigid up here in the mountains. Something about that biting air on my cheeks makes me feel more alive than I have in months.

Before long, though, I need to get inside. I need a room for the night and somewhere warm so I don’t end up with frostbite until I get better cold-weather gear. I end up coming across a biker bar in the middle of nowhere that has a motel next door, so I check myself into one of the rooms, then head next door to get a drink before I crawl into bed and sleep for the next… ever.

I walk inside, and even though our club no longer hangs out at biker bars, and despite the fact that I left my club to be away from other bikers for a while, there’s something comforting and familiar about a place like this.

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