by Naomi West
There was no way that was happening and no way I was going to give in to him. She may be dead but I found that I couldn’t do that in my mother’s presence, no matter how much he begged or pleaded.
“Daria, please.” His voice cracked at the end and it took all of my might not to look at him.
“Please leave.” My voice was so monotone and detached that I almost shocked myself. It sounded as though I had never known happiness in my entire life; it sounded as though my entire soul had been ripped out of my body leaving an empty carcass behind.
I could tell that Rocky, too, was taken aback by my words and tone because it was a while before he took another step forward and spoke.
“Don’t do this to me, Daria. You need me.”
Rocky took another step forward and reached an arm out. It reminded me of when I was younger and I tried to lure in birds from my windowsill, reaching an arm out slowly so as to not frighten them.
“Don’t touch me.” My voice was like a whip and it had the desired effect, his arm dropping down to his side as if he’d been electrocuted.
“You're not coping,” Rocky tried again. “You can’t keep shutting everyone out. You need help. I want to help you.”
“You can’t help me. No one can. Just leave me alone.”
“That’s not true. I can help you if you let me.”
“Get out.”
“Daria please—”
“Get out!” I screamed, turning on him with more fire in me than I’d ever experienced before. “How dare you come here and try to do this in front of her? How dare you think I would ever forgive you? It’s your fault that she’s here, that she’s dead.”
“That’s not fair, Daria. I didn’t kill her.”
“You may as well have! You could have stopped her. You could have let me die!”
A pause.
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” I whispered. “I really do.”
“Daria, I need you in my life. Please don’t shut me out.”
“It’s over, Rocky,” I said calmly. “I’m leaving town and you’ll never see me again.”
The unsaid ‘and I will never see you again either’ seemed to settle in the silence between us.
“Where will you go?” he asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes clenched shut.
“Anywhere but here.”
That was a jab that I almost regretted. I could very nearly see Rocky flinch from the blow of my words.
“At least tell me if you need something.”
“I don’t need anything.” From you.
Many moments passed with both of us standing mute beside each other, a lifetime of unspoken words filling the air around us and threatening to choke me.
“I guess that’s it then,” he said finally.
He stepped a little closer to me and at first, I thought he was going to touch me, something that would most definitely cause me to unravel, but instead he leaned down over my mother and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I’m sorry, Corinne. Thank you for being the only mother I’ve ever known.”
My eyes filled to the brim with tears, but I blinked back the moisture, knowing that as soon as the first teardrop flowed the rest would follow in a waterfall.
He left the room without looking back, something that I appreciated more than he’d ever know.
I waited for the sound of his footsteps to disappear completely before I allowed myself to exhale.
Hopefully, that would be the last time I’d ever see Rocky Weston again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rocky
I’d been riding for hours. It was just past eleven when I left the house and it was now well and truly dark. I didn’t know the time, I didn’t know where I was, all I knew was that I couldn’t stay there.
Not in the town that was filled with every bad memory I had, not in the club that had taken everything and everyone I loved away from me, and especially not in my apartment, where Daria and I forged a bond that brought us closer to each other than I’d ever been with another human being before.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay there and pretend everything was okay. It wasn’t. Daria was gone, Cameron was still around, and I was more alone now than ever.
It had been days since I’d found out about my lying, cheating, betraying uncle, and yet I’d done nothing. I’d ignored the fact that I was living moments from the man responsible for my father’s death. I could go over to his house at any time and put a gun to his head, but I knew I wouldn’t. There was no way I could even look at him now. I hadn’t seen him since the night that Corinne had died and I wasn’t planning on it either.
Corinne.
I still couldn’t believe that she was really gone.
Daria was right, it was all my fault. I should never have dragged Daria into my revenge bullshit. I should’ve kept the promise I’d made to Corinne all those years ago. If I had, none of this would ever have happened. Corinne would be alive, so would those several men caught in the shootout in the alley, and Daria would at least be still in my life.
She wouldn’t have been mine, not truly, but I could live with that if I knew she didn’t hate me. If I knew she was safe. I hadn’t seen her since the other day and I didn’t even know if she was alive anymore. If anyone had asked me a few weeks ago if Daria was capable of hating anyone, I would’ve replied that there was no chance in the world.
Christ, was I wrong.
The way she’d looked at me, the way she’d spoken to me…
Fuck.
It was like I was a complete stranger. No, worse. It was like I was dead to her.
She couldn’t even look at me. And the only time that she did … I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone that angry. I’d grown up around bikers and gang members my whole life, big burly men who killed people like it was no problem and yet I’d never seen anyone so enraged.
And all of it was directed straight at me.
I may as well have been dead to her.
I’d spent hours while Daria had locked herself in the hotel room pounding on the door and demanding her to open up. She was like a robot, unfeeling, unthinking, uncaring, completely withdrawn. When I realized she wouldn’t answer, whether it was because of me or because she didn’t even realize there was someone even at the door, I collapsed back against the wood and slid down to the ground. I waited there for hours, hoping she would come out. I didn’t move, didn’t sleep. I knew Daria was inside there, hurting. How could I have left even if I wanted to?
Especially since it was all my fault. I knew it and Daria knew it too. I should’ve stopped Corinne. Sure, she’d made up her mind, but what would she have done if I’d grabbed her and locked her in a room or taken the bike keys from her? If I was being honest, I didn’t really want to stop her. She was the only way Daria would have left the Nightmares alive and deep down I knew that I wouldn’t have put up too much of a fight if I were to do it again. Daria would always be my first priority.
I was crazy to think that I’d ever even have a chance with her, though. I’d made the ultimate gamble when I decided that maybe, just maybe, I could have her, and ended up being responsible for her mother’s death instead. I was no better than my uncle.
After Garcia’s confession, all anger, bitterness and notions of vengeance towards the Nightmares were immediately drained from me. They were not to blame after all. I’d let my short temper and delusions of vengeance make me easily manipulated but I wouldn’t let that happen again.
Cameron had been getting away with his deception for too long and enough was enough. Now that I didn’t have Daria, I needed something else to distract me before I went crazy.
My mind kept replaying my actions over the last few months and I was getting more and more irritated with myself. How could I let myself be so easily controlled? Had my father taught me nothing?
Though we didn’t always get along, if there was one thing my father knew, it was how to run the club successfully and with
integrity. He’d described it as the ‘old biker way’ and explained that some people would understand and some wouldn’t.
Despite how hard it was to lose Corinne, I knew that Steele had stuck to the old biker way that my dad had so often talked about. It was about honor, respect, and morality, something that Cameron had never understood.
It killed me more than I could ever explain that I’d never realized the true Cameron, especially since it made so much sense if I thought about it for even a moment.
I was so blinded that I couldn’t see what was right in front of me. I had a plan to resolve it though. Something that I should have done a long time ago.
###
Arriving at the Nightmare clubhouse, a place I’d frequented during my stakeouts with Daria, brought up mixed emotions within me. I knew I was doing the right thing at last, something that put me at ease, but a part of me wished that I’d done it so much earlier.
There was a prospect at the front door that stepped forward hesitantly as I stopped my bike.
“Who are you?” he called out.
“Rocky Weston. I need to speak with Jason Steele.”
“About what?”
“Just tell him I’m here,” I growled.
The prospect lifted his walkie-talkie up to his mouth.
“It’s Slim. There’s a Rocky Weston here to see the Prez.”
“Is he armed?” the voice said back.
“No,” I put in. I lifted my shirt for good measure and showed him the lack of gun in my waistband.
“He’s unarmed,” the prospect confirmed.
Idiot, I thought. He didn’t even search me. I remembered how Garcia’s men had gins strapped to their ankles, knives on their thighs and several holsters. Rookie move, Prospect.
“Boss says let him through.”
With the door open, I headed inside. I didn’t get three steps in before I felt something hard press into the back of my head.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”
“I don’t have one.”
There was a silence and then I could feel the gun being pulled away from the back of my head. I turned around slowly so as not to alarm him and came face to face with Jason Steele himself. I couldn’t help but feel I’d passed some sort of test in Steele’s eyes considering my brain matter wasn’t exploded on the wall behind me at this point.
“You’re brave to show your face here.”
“I needed to see you. I should’ve come a long time ago.”
Weeks, months. For a moment, I imagined what would have happened if I’d come directly here after my father’s funeral, gotten everything sorted out back then so I didn’t have to deal with months of bullshit, and now the loss of the best thing in my life.
“This better be good,” Jason said.
Jason turned on his heel and walked down a hall. With no other option, I followed him until we got to a kitchen area. What was going on?
“Beer?” he asked.
I was thrown for a moment but kept my cool.
“Thanks.”
He passed me a beer and leaned against the counter, lifting it up to his mouth and taking a long pull. I assumed he was waiting for me to speak so I didn’t delay any longer.
“I came here to apologize.”
Jason didn’t respond in words, just raised an eyebrow at me and drank his beer.
“I was played. I thought you’d killed my father and I was consumed by my need for revenge. I’m sorry I tried to kill you.”
Jason scoffed. “Took you long enough to realize I had nothing to do with it.”
Yeah, it had. I would have given anything to go back and change it. Trying to control my scowl of regret, I continued. “It was my uncle. He’s been lying to me for months, trying to get me to start a war so he could take over your club.”
Though I wouldn’t have understood it before, Cameron’s plan would never have worked. The Nightmares were too tightly knit, too close and too solid. He didn’t stand a chance at whatever he’d been planning and Jason probably knew it too.
“I’m not surprised. Cameron Weston was always jealous of Billy. I’m surprised there’s even a Satan’s Wings left with what I know of him.”
I was surprised as well. The club should have collapsed ages ago but it was narrowly staying alive. It needed a president that was less like Cameron and more like Jason —calm, determined, driven and intelligent. In saying that, Jason was a lot calmer than I’d expected and I took this as a good sign.
“I’d like to offer a truce.”
“A truce?”
“Yes. There’s too much animosity between our clubs. You’re the closest club to us and we should be using it to our advantage. Teaming up and covering more ground, opening up charters elsewhere, opening a trade link between our clubs and others. We don’t need to be rivals.”
“You know, your dad had been nagging me about the very same thing for years. Difference was, we didn’t know if either of our clubs would go for it.”
I was taken aback at this news. Had my dad really been all about peace and harmony with the Nightmares? Cameron had always spoken of how much Jason had hated my dad, but I was starting to doubt even the smallest things he’d told me over the years.
“Would you try it now?” I asked. I held my breath for the rejection that I was sure would be coming.
“I think I will.”
I released my breath. “Thank you.” I held out my hand for Jason to shake and for the first time in a long while, I knew I was doing the right thing.
“What about Cameron?” he asked.
“Don’t you worry about him.” I smiled bitterly. “I’ll be taking care of him.”
With our discussion over, I thanked Jason one more time and turned to leave the room.
“Hey, Weston,” he called out.
I spun around to see him gaze at me with a contemplative look in his eyes. Something about that look made me feel like he could read my mind.
“You're a lot like him, you know. Like Billy.”
Inside, I was shocked, but I remained calm on the outside. My whole life I’d been told I looked like my mom. People barely mentioned anything about my dad. Somehow though I knew he wasn’t talking about appearances.
“Don’t you forget that.”
I wouldn’t. The club was all I had left now and I knew it could be great again with Cameron gone. I was going to pit everything I had into restoring the club to its former glory, to the way my dad had always dreamed it would be.
Giving him an appreciative look, I turned to leave the room but stopped suddenly.
“Hey Jason? One more thing,” I began. “Who was the bastard that kidnapped my girl?”
Jason sat silent for a moment before he shrugged.
“Dex!” he called out.
A moment later someone stuck their head into the kitchen.
“Yeah, Prez?”
“Escort Mr. Weston to the exit, would you?”
“Of course. Let’s go Weston.”
“Thank you,” I said to Jason, following Dex out of the room.
He walked me to the exit of the clubhouse and stood there expecting me to leave. Clenching a fist, I punched him dead in the nose, the telltale crack of bone breaking sounding out in the air.
“That was for my girl,” I told him, leaving him groaning on the floor in agony.
Feeling marginally better, I climbed onto my bike and prepared to head home.
I’d spent too long avoiding what needed to be done but I would do that no longer. There was no stopping what I had planned now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Daria
Packing had always struck me as a strange affair. How could anyone fit their whole life into a suitcase? How could anyone decide out of every single thing they owned what was important and what could be left behind? Packing up someone else’s life was considerably harder. It felt like a strange sort of betrayal, deciding that the most important things of Mom’s were a few odd items that I
would take with me while the rest would be discarded. If Mom were here, then she may have kicked up a fuss and demanded I take more things of hers to remember her by but she wasn’t here. And I couldn’t take everything, no matter how much I wanted to.
I was several hours into packing up the hotel, a job that should’ve taken less than one hour. It didn’t help that every third or fourth item I picked up was associated with strong memories that I wanted to relive for a moment before I was willing to pack it away. It was a long process and despite how often I kept reminding myself that it was necessary to leave town, I still wanted to delay the inevitable.