by Rie Warren
That was when she loosened her hold.
I was right there for her to let me help her. Help Caleb. He came into my arms, weighing probably less than his backpack abandoned in the back of Honoré’s car a few blocks from his school.
Jesus Christ.
He tucked his head against my neck, and his tears made damp rivers on my skin.
I caught Honoré’s hand just long enough to try to reassure her. To let her know I’d look after him for her.
And I watched when she was gently—oh-so-gently—guided from the room.
Plunking down on a chair with Caleb cradled in my arms, I had no words.
I just held him like his mom had. Because his dad—the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally and protect him with his very life—had done this to them.
I rocked him and rocked him, and minutes later Momma Joan came in. Strange, she was in her nurse’s scrubs. This must’ve been the hospital she worked at.
Face stricken, she hurried over and crouched next to us, whispering little soothing noises to Caleb. He settled down enough to peer at her with such sore-looking swollen eyelids.
“Grandma?”
He slid into her embrace, smothered perfectly with tender love.
She must’ve known. Her son was dead.
I was taking the blame, taking the burden off Honoré.
And MJ looked at me with the clearest eyes to say, “What’s done is done. And we’ll walk on.” She clasped my hand. “Thank you for getting to Honoré and my grandson in time.”
Fucking hell.
I didn’t deserve her thanks.
Truth be told, if Honoré hadn’t fired that shot, I could’ve happily murdered Ripper ten times over.
But I found out moments later the worst was yet to come.
A doctor entered, and she addressed me and MJ, “Honoré’s going to need someone for this next part.”
The next part.
I struggled to breathe, fists balled right up at my armpits.
“Grandma? Is mommy okay? Daddy hit her. I saw him punch her.”
Caleb’s little voice and those words . . . he’d seen too much. He’d been through way too much at his young age.
“I know, sugar.” Shutting her eyes, MJ stood up to sway with him draped around her. “Let’s just concentrate on you right now and let Saint go to Mommy.”
I didn’t wanna leave Caleb because I’d made a promise to Honoré, but I needed to see her. Needed to be with her. I couldn’t let her go through this alone in a big hospital with only nurses and doctors around her.
Walking out with the doctor, I came up short when I saw all the members of Blood Legion plus Mercy there, lining the walls of the antiseptic corridor between Caleb’s and Honoré’s rooms.
Nodding stiffly, I stalked on. I swiped my arm against my eyes once.
And when I saw Honoré there in that bed, covered up to her shoulders and the remains of her clothing being bagged away, it felt like someone had taken a blade to my heart.
Ranging forward, I clutched her hand.
Fuck, I remembered Mercy overdosing. Remembered Grace turning up heavily pregnant and out of options.
“Honoré?” The doctor spoke in a gentle voice. “We’re ready to start the rape exam now, if you’re ready.”
Rape exam. Part of me wondered if it was even necessary, but everything gathered from her body—my throat strangled tight—could be used as evidence. As a defense if somehow, at some point, she got charged despite my decision to take the blame.
Honoré’s sad shaded eyes met mine. “I think I want Mercy to be in here. Not you. You don’t have to see this.”
My jaw clicked, and I bit my lip. “Whatever you need. You know that.”
So Mercy was called in. Made sense. I tried to think clinically but my vitals were twisting and turning. My rage hadn’t abated yet. I hadn’t been able to protect her.
Honoré didn’t want me to see.
She wouldn’t have wanted MJ to have to witness the final reality of what her own son had done either.
Mercy would understand.
I stood just outside the curtain, holding my goddamn breath and blinking my goddamn eyes every time I heard the doctor gently ask, “Are you ready?”
And Honoré woodenly answering, “Yes.”
The same question over and over again as they moved through the rape kit. Fifteen? Twenty times she was asked? I didn’t know.
Worst of all had to be the haunting sound of the camera flashing in there behind the curtained area while Honoré bared all the atrocities committed on her person.
With it over, Mercy left, and I was called back in.
Honoré’s face was drawn and bruised, and I just felt haggard.
Dropping into a chair, I held her hand and bent my lips to her knuckles.
All I could do was meet her gaze and give her my strength.
Not long afterward, the cops showed up.
It all went down pretty quickly, and I didn’t know how they knew or what they’d found out, but none of that mattered one iota. You danced with the devil, you paid the price. A price I was ready to shell out. At least this way I could protect Honoré.
She kept a death grip on my hand when the uniforms entered. “Oh god, Saint. No!”
She showed her first burst of energy since Revenge had placed Caleb in her arms back at the Death Dealers compound.
“It’s gonna be fine, baby.” Bending over her, I kissed her forehead and squeezed her hands one last time. “All you have to do is get better and take care of Caleb. Don’t worry about me.”
Stoic and strong, I stood still while I was cuffed as soon as they escorted me from Honoré’s room.
My brothers were still out there, and they knew their job.
Not to mention a single word about what really went down. Ever.
Revenge grabbed my shoulder when I passed him. “We’ll make sure she’s okay.”
I directed the police to my car, telling them where to find the gun.
Times like these I wished I was the one with the top-secret federal connections. But whatever. Didn’t have any favors to call in and didn’t want one. Honoré had done what she needed to, but no way in hell would I let her pay for Ripper’s savagery for the rest of her life.
It all made perfect sense—taking the fall. I already had a record precisely because of my bad history with the dead guy. No one would question that. Not even if Honoré did something foolish like try to confess.
Central booking.
Processing.
Fingerprints.
DNA swab.
Mugshot.
Full-body and cavity search.
Been there, done that.
Through it all, I was as docile as a newborn kitten.
There’d be a bail hearing in the morning. Bail? Ha. Doubted I’d get it for a murder one charge, and I didn’t want it. Hell, I didn’t even want a lawyer. If I got assigned a PD . . . well fuck that shit with the pointy end of a blade. I didn’t even want a trial, and I certainly wasn’t about to get Honoré up on the stand to attest to the rape to try to get me off.
That shit could stay sealed in cold storage forever as far as I was concerned.
I’d take life so she could have a life without being dragged back into the shit past.
Dressed in my pretty new jumpsuit with my pillow and my blankie and my plastic-wrapped toothbrush, I spent the night sitting on my cot in my cell.
Must’ve eventually fallen asleep because I went from one yawn to completely upright when I heard the guard’s keys clanging against the door of my fancy new one-room unit.
The door opened, and fluorescent light streamed in.
“You got a visitor.”
I smoothed my hair back and stood up. “I didn’t call a lawyer.”
“I’m just following orders, Baptiste. Now, do I gotta cuff you, or are you gonna be as pretty a prisoner as you were last night?”
I almost laughed. At least this guy had a sense of humo
r to go with his taser.
Fuck it. I’d go see.
Better not be Honoré though.
She needed to move on from me no matter how much it hurt. It would be a thousand times worse if she came to see me.
I was let into a spiffy interrogation room instead of seated at the usual plexiglass barrier with an old phone hooked up for communication.
My eyebrows rose, but I kept up the docile kitten act. Spinning out a metal chair, I turned it around and plunked down on the seat. Awaiting my special guests at the big house.
Ha ha.
When the door opened again, I shot the hell up off my chair.
“Bet you weren’t expectin’ us, couillon.”
I sure as fuck was not.
My mouth gaped open, and I couldn’t do anything but stare like a dumb fuck as—out of the clear blue sky—Storm appeared here. In my incarceration joint. In New Orleans.
Storm, Angel’s half-brother with all the big D.C. connections. Storm who I hadn’t seen since Angel and Mercy’s wedding.
Then, the rest of the us entered.
Blaize. His wife. With all the red hair. A mom, and a freakin’ mega boss-lady from all I’d heard.
Storm jerked a chair out for his wife and took a seat too.
I lowered down much more slowly—stunned, confused, rattled.
And not willing to be hopeful for a single frickin’ second.
“Seems I just can’t stay away from my roots. Plus, you bastards keep stirring up trouble.” Storm folded his hands on the table.
His posture was all business. His attitude and words all NOLA homeboy.
“Angel called you.” My brows lowered.
I hadn’t asked for special treatment. But then, maybe they were just my escorts to the gallows.
Storm shrugged. “Maybe I’m just trying to set my house in order because I was such an asshole in the past. Workin’ on my own halo too.”
Yeah, him and me both.
At that point, Blaize speared me with a look that said time to cut through the yackety-yack. “Let me break it down for you, Saint. I’ve looked over the findings and the evidence—which, by the way, covering up for your lady? Bold move.”
I was about to say thanks when the woman leaned over on her elbows and gave me another of those shut the fuck up looks.
“And what about the other dead bodies? Are you going to take the fall for them too?” she asked.
“Why not. Got nothing left to lose.” Besides, I owed the club big time.
Blaize looked more and more pissed off with me as she leaned forward. “First of all, that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, but you’ve got balls. Second, you handing yourself over is a goddam stupid move since Honoré had self-defense in the bag, and I can’t imagine a jury on earth indicting her. However”—fingernails tapping on the table, Blaize stared me down—“one less rotten to the core one percenter MC club I have to worry about. Dead bodies and all. We’ve been given special dispensation from the higher-ups to basically cut you free and bury the rest of the murders.”
“Got your old record wiped clean too,” Storm added, eyes crinkling.
It was too good to be true. Too goddamn good to be true.
I rocked back in my seat. “Y’all are yankin’ my chain.”
“Do I look like I’ve got time to yank your chain, Saint?” Blaize started ticking off on her fingers, and I was so glad I didn’t work for her. “I’ve got two babies at home. A black ops organization to run. And I’m still pumping out mother’s milk like a damn moo cow.”
“Well, shiiiit.” Swiping a hand down my face, I tugged on my goatee.
“Right?” There was Storm’s full-on grin. “Imagine being married to that. Fuckin’ hot.”
****
Still reeling—in a good way—I took my first ride in a Fed Caddy back to Thunder Road with Storm and Blaize. They remained downstairs to catch up with Mercy and Angel while I booked it to the second floor.
A quick shower to clean the jailhouse ex-con off of me, a side trip over to Mercy’s so I could raid her awesome green thumb garden for fresh flowers, and it wasn’t even twelve hours before I was back at the hospital.
I tried to keep my walk down the hallways sedate, but they’d moved both Honoré and Caleb, and this place was a fucking maze.
By the time I found their room—the nurse told me Caleb was free to go but wouldn’t leave his mom’s side—I was frantic.
I probably damn crushed the flower stems inside my clenched fist, but I perked up the colorful blossoms then entered.
Honoré looked up from reading a book to Caleb, and her hand flew to her mouth.
“Saint! What? How?”
Smile bursting across my lips, I planted my ass on the side of the bed and damn near sprung a new tear or two when Caleb scrambled right into my lap.
He hung on like a monkey, his little back shaking.
Like he thought I’d left him for good.
Like his dad.
I met Honoré’s eyes—the crystalline blue much crisper and clearer than last night.
“You’re out on bail?” she asked, voice tremulous as she took the bouquet I’d picked for her.
“Not bail.” Patting Caleb’s back with one hand, I reached out for her.
She cautiously closed her fingers around mine. “Oh.”
“It’s good, baby. It’s all freakin’ good. It’s done. Over with.” Sidling higher on the bed, I pulled her into my embrace, Caleb right there between us.
I’d been ready to sign my life away for them, and now I was unexpectedly free.
I bent over both their white-blonde heads, giving all the thanks.
That getting involved with the Leather Devils had made me do something so stupid that landed me in the slammer in the first place. And because getting out, I got my head straight on my shoulders. I got in good with Blood Legion. And through them, I met Honoré.
“Angel’s brother and his sister-in-law . . . they’re pretty big players in Washington on the down-low.”
Her eyes popped up.
“It’s all legit.” I assured her, barely touching the marred purplish skin on her cheek. “It’s all over.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but fuck, I didn’t want her to cry again.
So I kissed her very lightly on the lips and murmured against the sweet, sweet taste of her, “You didn’t even come to visit me at the big house?”
Caleb peered up then. “What big house? Like that place where the gov’nor lives?”
“Not quite, little dude.”
And Honoré laughed.
But it was half the laugh it used to be.
Because she was hurting, and it was my job to make it all right again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
HONORÉ
I THOUGHT I’D RUINED everything with my own recklessness and need for revenge. That night—that awful, awful night—I couldn’t stop Reggie from doing what he did to me. But when I saw him and Saint fighting, I knew I could end it all right then.
That was what I did.
I ended Reggie’s life.
I’d killed a human being.
A man.
My son’s father.
Saint wouldn’t let me take the blame for it, and my heart had torn anew when the cops led him away in the hospital.
I was still in a state of shock when he came back the next day. He’d been miraculously freed.
I was still in a state of shock several days later as we stood at Reggie’s burial site for the funeral.
An entirely morbid affair, and I felt like a ghost myself. I was only there for Caleb and Momma Joan. What right did I have to be at the cemetery when I was the one who’d committed the murder, and I had nothing left within me to grieve?
The entire Blood Legion MC turned out to support us even though there was no love lost between the two bike clubs.
A handful of Death Dealers were present, although there weren’t that many of them now. Quite a few had been lock
ed up, which was ironic in a way.
I remained stoic. Between Saint and me, Caleb held onto both our hands, and his eyes stayed dry too.
At the end, one of the Death Dealers laid Reggie’s cut on top of the coffin, and Momma Joan dabbed at her eyes discreetly.
Blood Legion escorted us back to my house, their motorcycles that time sounding like a death knell. Once we arrived, they carried on into the distance, leaving just Joan, Saint, Caleb, and me.
Mid June was upon us now, but even bright flowers and melodious birdsong became colorless.
Inside the house, I felt the same.
Colorless. Like I was swimming underwater and unable to touch anything or anyone.
Like I’d slip away in the undertow at any moment.
After a kiss to the top of my head, Saint crouched down in front of Caleb. “Hey, dude. What say we go to your room and get out of these annoying duds?”
“Duds?” A frown had creased Caleb’s forehead all day long, and now it dented even deeper between his fair brows.
“The suits.” Saint pinched at the tie knotted around his throat. “These things stink, am I right?”
They’d both been dressed in Sunday best for the burial and, for one second, I had a flash of what a wedding would be like with Saint as he looked after my son.
But this wasn’t a wedding.
It was a funeral.
Nodding in a very serious manner, Caleb accepted the hand Saint held out to him.
They left Momma Joan and me alone in the living room. I was nervous around her—on edge—where I never used to be. I felt like our friendship was on borrowed time.
I couldn’t let her go on believing Saint had killed Reggie.
After laying down her purse, Joan let out a long sigh.
Then she came over to me where I stood silent and unsure and all torn up inside.
She placed her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve got to forgive yourself, Honoré.”
“You know?” I reeled back in shock then bowed my head in regret.
“Oh, honey. You’ve been walkin’ around like a zombie since that night and you can hardly meet my eyes.”
I averted my gaze again, tears plumping beneath my lowered lids.
“Besides”—she stroked her palms down my arms to gather my hands in hers—“Saint had plenty of chances to take Reggie’s life and he never did.”