His Last Chance : Sons of Lost Souls MC Book Seven

by Ellie R. Hunter

  HIS LAST CHANCE

  Ellie R Hunter

  His Last Chance

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  #7 in the Sons of Lost Souls MC series

  * * *

  BY Ellie R. Hunter

  * * *

  © 2015 Ellie R Hunter

  Self-publishing

  ellierhunter@hotmail.co.uk

  * * *

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Contents

  Also, by Ellie R Hunter

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Also, by Ellie R Hunter

  Incurable Hearts

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  The Lost Souls MC Series

  Biker Bait

  Biker Faith

  Biker Bound

  Biker Born

  Biker Saviour

  Biker Taken

  Biker Torn

  Biker Ruined

  Biker Salvation

  Sons of Lost Souls MC: His Father’s Son

  His Selfish Love

  His Ride or Die

  Her Crazy Life

  His One Regret

  His One Choice

  Their Fractured Souls

  His Last Chance

  My chest squeezes tightly as I scream into the night until I run out of breath and my throat’s raw.

  BANG!

  I hear the shot ring out over and over again, as if on a loop. It doesn’t matter if I’m listening to someone speak or music is playing, the sound is always there, echoing between my ears, and nothing can drown it out. My mind can’t seem to dull it. If anything, it grows louder, sharper, the echoes lasting longer. All I see are her eyes, focused on Leo’s, her fear spreading over the bar like a heavy blanket. It happened so fast, there was no time to do anything but watch the scene play out, giving me no chance to save my sister.

  Death.

  Her death.

  I didn’t realise how final death was until I saw her body slump to the floor in a crumpled heap. I mean, I know and understand death, but it being my sister made it different somehow. One shot stole her life, and it was game over. My body froze. I can’t remember anything that happened around me except for the overwhelming panic running through my body. I knew she was gone, but my mind was trying to process how to fix her, to bring her back. My guilt spreads like a disease with no cure. Every day, I watch as people around me go about their business, conversing, laughing, easily breathing without each exhale feeling like spikes being dragged up their throats. To keep their condolences at bay, I mimic their actions. If they think I’m doing okay, they stay the fuck away.

  I stayed with the club when my dad laid down his cut and walked out, surrounding myself with my brothers. I even went up to Mercy and carried on like my head wasn’t permanently fucked, inserting myself into anything I could to stop the image of her lifeless body from filling my head, if only for a few minutes at a time.

  Clutching at the grass, I dig my fingers into the wet earth and fist it in my hands. Inhaling slowly through my nose and exhaling out of my mouth does fuck all to help ease the pain.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, little sister,” I choke out, releasing the grass as I get to my feet. Visiting her grave never gets easier, only worse.

  I stroll over to my bike, parked near the entrance, and straddle the seat. Revving the engine, I ride up to the stop sign and pause. Turning right will take me home to Nina, while turning left will lead me to the club, the one place I know what’s expected of me, and I know what to expect in return. I have no idea what awaits me when I walk through my front door anymore. It’s the fucking unknown. I detest it.

  How can I promise to protect Nina when I couldn’t even protect my blood? How can I talk to her when all I seem to do is piss her off, which only leads to us arguing? With that in mind, I sigh and head left.

  I’m done trying to figure shit out. I’m done trying to hide my grief when all I want to do is dwell in my misery and pain. I’ve been looking out for everyone else, but when is it my turn to grieve?

  It isn’t busy when I walk into the clubhouse. I take up a stool at the end of the bar, away from Luca and a brother at the other end. Maybe it’s my demeanour, but no one even attempts to acknowledge me, just as I prefer.

  “Prospect,” I bark out, jerking my chin for him to come over. “Is my old room available?”

  Turning his back to me, he checks the hooks on the far wall. When I see him grab the old key, I sigh in relief.

  “How long do you think you’ll need it for?” he asks.

  Cocking my brow, I growl, “How’s that your business?”

  He pales and steps back, holding his hands up. Deep down, I know the kid doesn’t mean any harm, but it still grates on my last nerve.

  “Sorry. I was just wondering.”

  “Well, don’t. It’s not your place to fucking think.”

  I snatch the key from the bar and head up to my room. Nothing has changed inside, except for me. There was a day when I thought I’d never need this room again. I had a home with the woman I was in love with. Let me be clear, I still love her, but won’t be selfish when it comes to her any longer. She needs someone who doesn’t bring death and destruction through her door every night.

  It’s time for me to do what has to be done.

  Nina

  It’s been two days since the supposed love of my life has been home. Every text I’ve sent has been ignored, and every call I’ve made has been sent to his voicemail. His mailbox is now full, only adding to my annoyance when I can’t record my rant down the line.

  He’s either at his parents’ house or at the club. I’ve thought about calling his mom, or even Slade, but what’s the point? They’re barely talking to each other, much less anyone else. And besides, if Zachery’s there, he’ll let my call go to the answering machine.

  Hauling my fat ass off the couch, I plod into the hall and try to slip into my boots, but I end up having to sit down on the bottom stair so I can zip them up. The thing about being pregnant is that I can’t do any of the simple things anymore, like zipping up my boots, not without it being a chore.

  Heaving myself up to my feet, I grab my car keys and head outside. I’m so tired, my eyes hurt. I could cry right now because I have to track his ass down, but then, anger fuels the fire inside me to drive to the club, a place that’s haunted me since I witnessed India’s murder. I force the images of her bloodied, lifeless body slumped on the floor out of my mind, like I do
every time they return to plague me. It’s then I realise I’m nearly at the club.

  As I drive through the gates, I spot Zachery’s motorcycle and park as close to the bar door as I can to save myself the trek. All I wanted was for him to answer my calls, or at the very least, respond to a goddamn text. Is that too much to ask from the man who tells you you’re his ride or die?

  I grip onto the door’s frame to haul myself up and out of the car, cursing over how big I’m carrying. I already love the tiny human growing in my womb, but I can’t wait till he makes his appearance so I can move without feeling like a whale.

  I notice a lot of new faces as I make my way inside, but I avert my eyes from the bar area once I see Zach isn’t there. The bloodstains may be gone, but no one will ever forget what was once under their feet.

  Ignoring people trying to say hello, I focus on the man I ache to hate, slouched on the couch. His head’s tipped back and his eyes are closed. So, while I’m at home, alone, carrying his child, and worrying about what the hell is going on between us, he’s here, relaxing, and taking it easy.

  Adding insult to injury, one of the club girls is curled up beside him, plucking the joint from his fingers, the two looking pretty fucking cosy to me. But now is not the time for tears and heartbreak—it’s time for kicking ass.

  My feet move, albeit slowly, as I have to hold my stomach to ease the feeling of it hanging so low. This pregnancy isn’t going how I imagined it would. I admit, when I first took the test and saw the little smiley face, I was scared. Zach had just lost his sister, and while he didn’t show his grief in front of the club, he shed many, many tears in the privacy of our home. He clung to me while I held him in our bed, pouring his heart out to me. He was strong for his parents, and in turn, I was the strength he needed when he broke, which leaves me wondering: when did he decide I wasn’t enough for him?

  I kick at his boot when I’m in front of him, and he lazily tilts his head up. When his eyes open, they’re bloodshot and glazed over. Of course, he’s fucking high.

  “You,” I snarl, glaring down at the woman. “Disappear.”

  Barking at her doesn’t help the urge to launch myself at her, but I have someone else to deal with right now. And besides, it’s not like I’m in any condition to start a physical fight.

  She jumps up, taking their smoke with her. Before I can turn back to Zach, she’s already sidling up to another brother.

  Zach looks around, confused, and asks, “Who are you talking to?”

  Fucking hell, he didn’t even know she was there. We’ve been through a lot lately, but when he’s here, I don’t worry about him cheating on me.

  His head rolls back on the couch, his eyes drifting closed once more.

  I haven’t got the patience for this.

  Heading for the bar, I order a bottle of water. Walking back to my mess of a boyfriend, I stop in front of him, unscrew the top, and pour the contents over his face. Springing to his feet, I smile inwardly. His eyes aren’t so hooded now. Everyone around us stops their conversations and gawk, but I don’t care if we have an audience.

  “What the fuck, Neen?” he barks, running his hands over his face.

  “Got your attention now, do I?” I snap back as he sways on his feet. “So this is what you’ve been doing instead of coming home?”

  He doesn’t reply. He just stands there, barely able to keep himself up as he stares at me. Well, more like, stares straight through me.

  “Zach?”

  He’s like a stranger before me. His dark hair, usually swept back away from his face, hangs limply, and could do with a wash. After not seeing him in a few days, I can see he’s lost weight. It isn’t much, but it’s enough for me to notice, as his cheeks are a little more prominent.

  “Go home.”

  That’s all he has to say to me? Two pathetic words?

  “I’m five days away from having our baby. We need to talk.”

  I’m already petrified about giving birth. Apart from Zachery, I have no one. My mom isn’t around anymore, and Kristen’s been as much help as a chocolate teapot. I don’t spend much time with the other old ladies, and up till now, I didn’t realise how few friends I have because all I needed was him. Since he walked out, loneliness has crept in, making itself comfortable. If we don’t sort this out… Dammit! I can’t bring myself to think about the next chapter in my life on my own.

  “What’s the fucking point? Nothing I say is what you want to hear. We don’t talk anymore, we fight.”

  The anger I felt when I arrived fades to sadness. Though I’m not usually the one to back down first when we fight, I do sometimes and we make up, but this is starting to feel like a breakup. Have I been naive to believe we could get through anything, and that our relationship would last forever?

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” I tell him.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to come home.”

  It’s that simple.

  He goes to walk by me until I step to the side, blocking his way.

  “Are you serious? You’re just going to walk away? Again?”

  He doesn’t bother looking at me when he says, “It’s for the best. We’re not working anymore, Neen. Why keep fooling ourselves, believing this is something it isn’t?”

  What? No, this isn’t happening.

  “I’ll send a prospect by to collect my things from the house. I’ll make sure he doesn’t inconvenience you.”

  Inconvenience me? Is he being serious? I grab onto his hoodie and grip it so tight, I feel like I’m going to tear through the fabric.

  “Zach, please—”

  “Go home.” The tone of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

  “What about the baby? Do you plan to be there at the birth?”

  My heart’s thundering in my chest, while the air in my lungs is struggling to find its way out.

  His answer is to pull the wallet out of his back pocket and pluck out a wad of hundred-dollar bills. When he thrusts the cash toward me, I let go of him and step back.

  “Take it, for the baby. I’ll send more than you’ll need each month.”

  So this is goodbye to our life together. Feeling the wetness running down my cheeks, I swipe at my eyes with my sleeve. “To be clear, we’re over, and you want nothing to do with the baby?” I can’t believe I’m hearing this. “You’re unbelievable. I’m not taking your money just so you can ease your conscience.”

  “Don’t make a scene. Go home.”

  That’s three times he’s told me to go home now, and as they say, the third time’s the charm. I hear him loud and clear.

  “If this is what you really want, it’s fine. It’s not like you’re the guy I fell in love with now, anyway.”

  I ignore the cash still between his fingers and shove past him. I honestly believed we’d end up arguing and finally having it out, not breaking up.

  I avoid everyone on my way out, just as I did when I arrived, but now it’s because I don’t want to see their eyes following me out after they witnessed my heart being broken. It’s not only humiliating, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, besides coming to terms with my mother’s passing.

  Dumping my ass behind the wheel, it sinks in that I’m going home to an empty house. There’ll be no waiting for Zach to come home, no arranging my day around him. It’ll only be me, and it hurts so much.

  I can remember the day he began slipping away from me. It wasn’t the night he lost his sister. It wasn’t even during the funeral as he watched, stone-faced, as her casket was lowered into the ground. It was the night before we were due to leave for Mercy.

  He hasn’t said a single word since last night, and it’s coming up on eighteen hours now. He’s spent most of the day out in the back yard, smoking his shit and getting high. I’m pretty sure he crashed out at some point. When he’s come into the house, he wanders around wordlessly, struggling to find things to do that’ll keep him distracted.

  I thought we’d
turned a corner after the first doctor’s appointment, but apparently, it was one step forward and ten steps back. Every item of clothing I pack into our suitcases feels wrong. We shouldn’t be going. Slade and Kristen are obviously staying here, and I don’t think it’s the right time for Zach to leave town.

  The door opens, and the man himself strolls into the room. Falling back on the bed, he throws his arm over his eyes, groaning, “Do we have any painkillers? I can’t find any in the bathroom.”

  “No. I haven’t been to the store since you finished the pack last night. I can run out now if you want?”

  “Nah, it’s okay. We’ll grab some on the way to the club. Are you nearly done?”

  Looking down at the open case beside him, I frown.

  “Perhaps you should stay behind on this one?”

  Raising his arm, he slides it under his head. “I’m not sitting shit out. The club needs the brothers going in full force, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you I wear the fucking patch.”

  I grit my teeth. It’s getting harder to bite my tongue when he snaps at me. I know he’s hurting—as I’m the only one who truly sees his pain behind closed doors—but there’s only so much I can take.

  “You’re still grieving, Zach. Cas will understand if you need time at home. Leo’s not going either—”

  “I’m not Leo,” he sneers. “And what makes you think it matters where I am? Grief doesn’t go away just because I’m at home. If anything, it makes it worse.”