by Anne Malcom
Knowing that while he stood paralyzed by her words, shocked at the pain in them, he’d missed the pause. That moment, that lingering moment every woman gave the man she loved before she left him. Truly left him.
That chance.
That pause in the middle of the storm to give him a chance to grasp on to them, to her, fight for what they had before it was all too late.
Now it was.
Hindsight being 20/20, that pause lasted a lifetime, the memory of it taunting him with his failure.
He tapped at a thick file sitting on his desk in front of him. The one he’d been staring at, unopened, since the moment he got there at 7:00 a.m.
There was something beside that file.
His resignation letter.
He’d hand it in, but he’d given himself a few months leeway to train a replacement. Really, it was to utilize whatever meager resources he had to find Rosie. Hopefully it wouldn’t take a few months.
He’d written the letter at 7:15 a.m.
Then he’d stared at them both, not really seeing them. No, instead he was staring at the memories that were both trapping him and out of his grasp at the same time.
“La douleur exquise. The heart-wrenching pain of loving someone completely unattainable.”
At the time, he’d missed the moment, the pause. Barely saw it pass him by because he’d been blindsided by her words. The passion in them. The fucking pain and heartbreak.
All of that, he’d caused.
He would’ve utilized that fucking pause, fought until his last breath for them. That was, of course, if he hadn’t been so blind.
It would haunt him, that last moment. Because it cost him a year. A year that had a thousand lost lifetimes crammed into it.
Not that he could know that while sitting in an office that felt cold and foreign, tapping at a file that contained his life’s work.
He glanced down at it.
Opened it.
A black-and-white image of Lucky and Bex coming out of a warehouse. There were dark stains of blood on both of them. The next photo showed who the blood belonged to.
The man he’d later learned had abused Bex as a child.
He clenched his fist.
Turned another page.
Brock and Bull leaving the flaming remains of a mansion in New Mexico. The mansion where Amy had been held captive and tortured for a week. The home of one of the most ruthless and notorious criminals in the world.
He turned another page.
A sworn statement from the inmate who had stabbed Jimmy O’Fallhan, saying that Cade Fletcher had ordered the hit.
The same Jimmy O’Fallhan known for raping and murdering women. Brutally. The same Jimmy O’Fallhan who had nearly raped and murdered Gwen. Brutally.
He sucked in a rough breath, slamming the folder shut and pushing back in his chair.
The folder he’d been collecting since the second he got on the force. Waiting. Biding his time for an airtight case. It had been airtight for years now, but something had stopped him from doing anything with it.
The very thought of it felt wrong.
Because of the someone he’d be destroying, completely and utterly, if he did anything with that file.
Rosie.
But not just her.
The lives of all those broken and brutalized women who had been put back together gently and with care by members of one of the most ruthless outlaw motorcycle gangs in the country.
Luke rubbed at his jaw.
He’d be setting flames not to a handful of families, but to whatever chance remained for his future.
For his happiness.
With her.
That thought had him acting without hesitation. The file was flaming in the garbage before he even blinked.
He watched his years of work burn away in seconds.
He’d never felt like he was doing the right thing that whole time. Not really. He’d convinced himself that he was. Made himself think that so he could sleep at night. But this was the only time in all those years that he knew he was doing the right thing.
He wasn’t happy as he watched his misguided and fucked-up form of righteousness burn up in flames. He couldn’t be happy knowing that Rosie was somewhere hurting, nursing both physical and emotional wounds alone.
No way he could be happy with that knowledge.
But something settled inside him as the smoke dissipated and the flames started to disappear, revealing only ashes.
Something like satisfaction.
Maybe relief.
The door to his office swung open, rattling on its hinges.
“What the fuck have you done to her?” Cade bellowed, fists clenched at his sides as he stormed into the room, murderous eyes glancing around to make sure Rosie wasn’t hiding behind the file cabinet. Satisfied she wasn’t, the grim and hot fury of Cade’s glare settled somewhere it was quite familiar with—Luke.
One of Luke’s deputies scurried in behind him, hand on the butt of her gun, face flushed with uncertainty. “I’m sorry, Luke, but he didn’t stop,” she said, eyes darting to Cade like she expected him to shoot up the place at any moment.
Luke stood. “It’s okay, Lara,” he said calmly, eyes on Cade.
She swallowed, hand still at her gun. “Are you sure?”
Luke nodded tightly. “You can shut the door on your way out.”
The quiet click of the door behind Lara seemed to echo in the loaded silence that she left behind. Though it didn’t stay silent for long.
Cade stalked the remaining distance to Luke’s desk, slamming his palms down on it, knocking off case files and framed pictures.
He didn’t even blink at them.
Likely he would’ve if it’d been the Sons of Templar case file tossed open. If that case file wasn’t now ashes that he’d never recognize being the end of his entire family, his entire life.
Not that Luke would ever educate him, or anyone, on that. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. He was also ashamed of himself, not for making that file in the first place—he was a stupid kid who thought he had something to prove at the beginning. No, after, when he began to know better. Began to realize just how deep his feelings for Rosie ran. How deep they’d always ran. When he knew that using that file would hurt her beyond comprehension.
So it wasn’t all selflessness that had him swearing to himself that he’d never utter a word about that file. It was the opposite, actually.
Cade’s murderous face demanded his attention even more ferociously than his demons did.
“You have ten seconds, Crawford,” Cade bit out, “to tell me what the fuck you did to her and where the fuck she is. After that ten seconds, if I’m not satisfied, and I suspect I won’t be, I’m going to start smashin’ shit.” His fists clenched. “And I’m going to start with your face.”
This wasn’t an empty threat, Luke knew. Normally, with the club going legit and Cade having his family to worry about, even Cade wouldn’t assault the sheriff in the middle of a police station for anything but the most extreme of circumstances.
His sister, his love for her, and the thought of something threatening her, were considered by Cade as the most extreme of circumstances. Luke didn’t doubt that Cade would put a bullet in his brain right here and now if it meant that Rosie wasn’t hurt for another day in her life.
Which was why, among many other reasons, Luke didn’t say shit about the fact that Cade was threatening a police officer.
“I don’t know where she is,” Luke said instead.
Cade’s façade flickered for a moment at his response, but he recovered quickly. “Like fuck,” he spat. “Got witnesses that place your fuckin’ cruiser right outside her house all fuckin’ night two days ago,” Cade seethed. “Two days ago, when she disappeared without a fuckin’ trace.”
Luke sat forward in his chair, suddenly choked with fear. “You mean she didn’t say anything to anyone? Just left?” he demanded. He’d been haunted for the past two nights, sleepless. The only reason he
hadn’t torn apart the country looking for her was because he assumed she’d left of her own free will. As much as Luke hated it, she could take care of herself, better than most men could take care of her.
Especially him, or the man he’d been in the past.
But Luke knew how much she treasured her family, knew she’d never put them through the pain and worry that they’d be feeling to just disappear without a trace. She was far too fucking selfless for that. She’d cut her own hand off to spare anyone in that club a second of pain.
Cade didn’t reply immediately, only stared at him.
Luke’s own anger, fueled by fear and worry, erupted at that moment, and he pushed out of his chair so hard it clattered to the floor. “Tell me!” he roared. “Did you or did you fuckin’ not hear from her that she was goin’ somewhere?”
The fury in his voice almost scared Luke. It didn’t scare Cade—the man lived in the face of fury every day—though it did surprise him. Luke could see that.
Cade didn’t answer immediately. Luke knew it was a power play, and fuck if it didn’t make every square inch of his skin crawl letting the asshole have it.
“Yeah, she called me, left a message. Texted Gwen.”
Luke sagged. Visibly. Every ugly thought about her coming to more harm than she already did had rendered him immobile, the blame for anything happening to her settling firmly on his shoulders for letting her go.
“You better start fuckin’ talkin’, Crawford,” Cade demanded, still watching him closely. “You sure as shit know somethin’ about this, and I’ll beat it out of you if I have to.”
This was Luke’s time to stare him down. “I don’t doubt you will,” he said. “Though you might wanna wait until I hand this in before you do, so you’re not assaulting a cop.” Luke nodded to the letter on his desk.
Cade’s head snapped down. “What the fuck you talkin’ about?”
Luke stayed impassive. “You know what I’m talking about. So you can beat me, shoot me, whatever, but I’m not sayin’ shit about Rosie, because it’s not my shit to say. I know you’re tryin’ to protect her. Know you’ve been doing that your entire life, in your own way. That’s the only reason I’m talking to you calm-like. But you’ve gotta realize something that I’ve come to realize. Protecting Rosie is caging her. I’m sure that’s the last thing you’d want to do with that woman, but it’s the truth anyway. She can’t be protected, because the greatest danger that she’s ever gonna face is herself. I’d do anything to change that shit, but I know it won’t.” Luke eyed Cade, who was openly gaping at him. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to look for her, and I’m sure that doesn’t mean you won’t either, ’specially with all this comin’ from me. But maybe it might make you think twice about chasin’ her if you find her. Yanking her back to a cage.”
Luke took out his gun and laid it on the table.
Cade watched, still gaping.
“I’ve got some chasin’ to do, and I don’t wanna have the law on my side when I do. Took a long time to realize that’s my cage. Gotta chase freedom now.”
And with that, he walked out the door. He half expected Cade to snatch him by the back of his collar and beat the shit out of him. He might’ve even deserved it.
But he didn’t.
So Luke walked, unobstructed, toward freedom. Finding it, though, possessing it, that would take him through Hell and back.
Not that Luke minded. Not when Rosie was the destination.
Chapter Twelve
Rosie
Present Day
Up until the past few years, I hadn’t been to many weddings. Scratch that, I’d been to one.
Ranger and Lizzie’s. And I was young then.
I barely remembered the actual nuptials. No, I spent most of my time perving on the various attractive men from various chapters who’d come in for the celebration of love.
Or more accurately, the party and the booze.
Though I wasn’t even legal, I did my level best to get myself wasted and laid.
I only got one of those.
Guess which.
You’d think getting laid in the middle of a biker party would’ve been as easy as getting wasted in the middle of the biker party.
That was not the case.
So instead of focusing on the magical taste to the air that only happened at weddings, I glared at my brother, sucked down beers and sulked.
I was a teenager, after all.
But all—kind of—grown up, I’d gotten to see that magic. Let it warm my heart that some of the best people in my life got to experience it.
Cade and Gwen.
Amy and Brock.
Macy and Hansen.
Mia and Bull.
Asher and Lily.
Bex and Lucky.
Killian and Lexie.
All of them, they got it. That wonderful magic.
And now I got to taste it, so strong it drowned out all the hospital smells, even chased away death for a short time.
“I do,” Lucy whispered from her spot propped up in bed, eyes twinkling. I’d never seen anyone look more beautiful. Audrey was right, happy girls were the prettiest.
“I fuckin’ do,” Keltan growled before the priest could even get the words out.
Then, after a pursing of his lips, either to restrain a grin or in disapproval, he pronounced them man and wife. I would’ve thought that with Keltan’s intensity, he would’ve snatched Lucy off the bed and kissed the shit out of her. I’d seen it before.
But he didn’t. He paused for what might’ve been either the longest moment in the world or the shortest one. Staring at Lucy like he was trying to imprint her every cell into his memory. Then he slowly, purposefully, leaned down, taking her face in his hands, and he kissed her.
It was sweet. Beautiful.
And so very private.
So I subtly stepped back, letting them have their moment.
They deserved it.
Heath was grinning as he did the same, though he wasn’t grinning at them. He was grinning at Polly.
She was scowling.
There was totally a story there.
Especially when she blew her distracted sister a kiss, winked at me, scowled at Heath once more and stomped out of the room. Heath stopped grinning and followed her, without acknowledging anyone.
I would’ve thought more on that if they’d been the only ones in the room.
My eyes went to him like a magnet. As soon as I locked with his, I knew he’d been staring at me the whole time. Though I’d known that the whole time. Which was why I’d made an extremely concerted effort to look anywhere but him.
Though my whole body repelled that idea. I needed to see him. Drink him up. Catalogue every change that had occurred in the year we hadn’t seen each other. Both marvel and despair at it.
But I couldn’t.
Because happy girls were the prettiest.
Heartbroken girls were not.
They were something sad and horrible and broken.
Lucy was not having sad and horrible and broken. Not on her wedding day that somehow still reeked of love and joy despite the lingering shadow of death.
It’d hurt.
It’d killed.
But I did it.
There was only so long I could do it for.
“Woo, congrats, you’re hitched!” I said in a faux cheerful voice, my eyes ripping away from Luke to see the lovebirds had detached.
Barely.
Their foreheads were touching and they weren’t even speaking. Just staring into each other’s eyes. It somehow didn’t make me want to puke. It made my heart swell in happiness for my friend that she got it, the ‘it’ that everyone wanted, pursued, even the ones who said they didn’t. Especially the ones who said they didn’t.
Me, for example.
So no, the moment did not make me want to puke with the saturated beauty and love of it all.
It did make me want to cry my fucking eyes out. Scream at Cupid for being such a p
rick to me that I’d love someone I’d never get to do that with.
I did neither of those things.
“Though the venue blows, and the lack of champagne is a bummer, it was a beautiful wedding,” I continued, still smiling bright. “I’m going to… go and just… go,” I said, unable to find an actual excuse.
Lucy frowned, but it didn’t really work. Someone who was that happy couldn’t physically frown. “You don’t have to,” she replied, glancing sideways at Luke, who I knew was still staring at me.
“No, babe, I totally do. It’s kind of the point to kick everyone out after the I dos so you can, you know, do the nasty.” I glimpsed at the priest. “Sorry, Padre.”
He smiled. “You’re quite all right.”
I winked at him, then gave Lucy and Keltan a smile. A real one. “I’m so very happy for you two,” I whispered.
Then I left.
I had to.
I expected to hear his footsteps chasing me down the hallway.
Dreaded it.
Hoped for it.
The footsteps never came.
One Month Later
“I’m in love.”
I sipped my wine, not even raising a brow at Polly’s dramatic proclamation. “Again?” I deadpanned.
She scowled as she sipped at her own wine, eyes dreamy. “This time he’s the one, Rosie. I know it. It’s different.”
I nodded. “I’m sure it is.” I did my best to sound genuine, but it was hard.
Polly, bless her heart, fell in love as often as I fell into trouble.
She was the ultimate romantic. Believed in the fairy tale. Which was funny, since both her sister and I had always been adamant that the fairy tale was a load of shit. The only thing true about all those tales was in Cinderella—the right shoes can change a girl’s life.
The wrong man can ruin it. Fuck, the right one will destroy it.
Polly had a lot of wrong men, yet somehow her life stayed intact. Well, her life was a hurricane, but it remained that way. As did her beautiful smile, unblemished by the bitch known as reality.
It should’ve annoyed me. On anyone else, it surely would have. But with Polly, it was different. I wanted to protect her delusion, not set her straight. I feared the day when she learned the hard way.