Disarray the hallowed cr.., p.21
Disarray: The Hallowed Crows MC 4, page 21
When another door slams behind me, I hold my breath, waiting for Aiden’s refusals to start spewing again, but when I bring my head back down, I find Killian instead. I can tell how hard it is for him to not check his surroundings, to act like everything is fine, and pretend he isn’t the enforcer I know and love him to be. Instead, he keeps his eyes on mine, moving towards me slowly, yet no doubt still scoping out the entire area. We only have one shot for this to work, he knows and I know it.
It’s one of the many things I love about him. If I turn calm into chaos then he is the opposite. He is the calm in the chaos, the peaceful, the stormless. He doesn’t bend or break at the sight of trouble, no, he charges into it head first. Never wavering, never faltering, and letting the burden bear on his shoulders alone. Yes he is part of a club, a family, but when he puts his arms through his cut, he changes, and in turn, so does everything else.
When he reaches me, erasing the distance between us, he places his palms on my cheeks, and then he kisses me. His mouth chasing away the sting of cold now lingering on my skin from the rain. Instead, I feel that familiar flare of heat tugging at me deep down in my center. Killian Drake, my silent and brooding Crow with a heart of steel, who made me fall in love with the brutal-ness of him. I pull back from the kiss and try to memorize every inch of his face, in case this is the last time I ever see it. “I love you,” I whisper, tears forming in my eyes, and his thumb swipes up to catch them before they fall.
“Stop that,” he demands, reading my train of thought with ease, and I can’t help but smile. Yet he doesn’t offer me words of comfort to prepare to never see me again, he doesn’t even bother to return my sentiments. Instead, he asks the one question I wish he wouldn't. “Is he here?”
My eyes close at those three words, the wind sweeping through us, and I find myself wishing it would take me with it, but I am done living in a fantasy world of fairytales and happy endings. If I want that, I have to fight for it. I lean into him, letting his touch on me keep me grounded, as I breathe deeply, trying to fall into my surroundings. That’s when I feel it, that sensation that used to start at the bottom of my spine and work its way up until it was choking me.
He’s here.
I nod in response, words failing me as my own breath starts to suffocate me. I can feel his eyes scraping against my bones, watching, waiting. This is it. He’s here, and one way or another, this is going to end.
Aiden and Ezra step from the car, the rain now soaking into all four of us, as the rest of the Crows from the cars behind us also step out, readying for the show. For the first time since I suggested this idea, I want them to beg me to stop, to plead with me not to go through with this, to spare myself. However, in doing that I would only be sacrificing someone else, and I’ve already done that enough times.
Ezra takes me from Killian, nodding his head at our shared lover, and then forcing a smile to his face as he looks at me, holding out the flowers we stopped to pick out on the way here. “Least they aren’t roses,” he jokes, and I don’t know if it’s my trauma, or just the fucked up situation we are in, but I laugh, drawing him in closer for a kiss.
With Carter watching, his lips taste tainted, but then I remember how angry it will be making him, so I make sure to slip my favorite VP a little tongue, which causes him to groan as he pulls away. “Don’t start me off, Love, I’ll fuck you right here on the hood of this car while that piece of shit watches.” His words are exactly what I need to hear.
“I love you, Ezra Bishop,” I smile, praying he doesn’t hear the shake in my voice, but I just need him to know that. Instinctively, my hands reach out and caress his shirt where I know two bullet holes lie beneath it, and I feel him exhale a breath.
“I love you too, Bex.” He is the one who I knew would give my wild plan his support instantly, but those five words tell me how much he wishes he hadn’t. I know Ezra though. He won’t ask me to stay, not when he knows how much I need this. Instead, he drops one final kiss to my mouth and pushes me towards his President.
Aiden is waiting silently at the side of the car, leaning against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The rain is making his ebony hair seem even darker than usual, and his eyes hold no emotion as he watches me approach. It feels like that night all over again, like I am holding my breath and waiting for him to refuse me. It doesn’t matter that the black bands now bear weight on both our fingers, when I look at him I still feel like that helpless little fourteen-year-old, falling in love for the first time.
I press myself into him, reveling in the way the hard planes of his body mold to mine so perfectly, like we were always meant to be. Last night was perfect, just like the first night we all spent together, and I hope we get many more in the future, but if not, at least I know we had something special.
“Little Sully,” he breathes, almost like a confession, and I feel that emotion threatening to spill down my face once more, as I shake my head at him. He exhales a deep breath, trying to control his own feelings no doubt, and I wish things could be different. I wish that there was a simpler way to do this, but we have tried so hard, come so far, it’s now or never. I drop my head to the center of his chest and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. I take comfort in his strength, in being his only weakness, and when he starts to pull away, I force a smile to my face.
I open my mouth to tell him I love him, but his hand comes up to cover my lips. “Don’t say the words,” he begs. “Not here, not like this.” It’s the same words he asked of me when we were captured together, and I force myself to swallow them back down. “You say them to me after,” he demands. “When this is over and we are back together, that’s when I want to hear them, when my wife is back in my arms.”
He brings his arms around me again, only this time I feel him slip under my jacket as he slides something into the band of my jeans. The metal is cold against my already near-freezing skin and I shiver, our eyes locking as I nod at him in understanding. “This is it, Rebecca, we have one shot at this, don’t fucking miss.”
His words are barely above a whisper, the sound nearly lost in the hammering of the rain as it pours down on us, yet still I nod again. I press up on my toes, dropping a quick kiss to his mouth before stepping back and saying loudly, “Give me five minutes alone guys, then you can join me.”
I turn before any of them can answer, or before I have to see the look in their eyes as I walk away from them. They know how important this is, and when I hear a few of the car doors open again, some of them no doubt taking refuge inside from the rain, I breathe a sigh of relief.
The walk through the graveyard is familiar. Even though it isn’t one I’ve done often, it’s not like I will ever forget where my father’s body was laid to rest. I make my peace in the walk though, say my prayers, whisper into my mind my fucking hopes and dreams, and when I finally reach the stone, it’s only sheer will and determination that keep me upright.
“Hey dad,” I whisper meekly. He is probably cursing me right now, screaming at me to turn and run. To go back to my Crows and let them protect me, but I am done relying on other people. I am a survivor, and I will rise from my own ashes alone.
I talk to him quietly for a couple of minutes, my head never turning, never searching, and when I feel him getting closer I sigh, finally finding solace. “I miss you.”
To my surprise, Carter appears in front of me, instead of behind me where I expected him. Stepping out of the shadows cast by the trees, and coming to stand directly behind my father’s headstone. “I missed you too, my little rose.”
It’s hard to choke down the emotions inside of me when seeing him. The anger, the fear, and worst of all, the longing for approval. Most people would find it weird if I told them that I missed him, but that’s what trauma does to you, fucks with your mind to the point where everything gets muddled up. Cruelty, violence, assault, it can all feel like love, especially if it comes from the only person around you to show you affection when you have been snatched away from everything you have ever loved.
Yes he hurt me, in the worst ways, but he also spent two years caring for me, spending time with me, loving me, and when I look into his eyes now, it’s hard to forget that just because I know it’s wrong. We’re connected, whether I want to admit that or not, there will always be a part deep down inside of me that belongs to the Mayor.
“Are you ready to come home, Rebecca? To end all of this” he asks, and the use of my name makes me shudder under his questioning command.
I nod, my eyes never leaving his as I reach behind me, my hand closing round the handle of my gun, but he doesn’t seem fazed. In fact, his smile gets even wider, then I feel the needle jab into the side of my neck and that familiar darkness claims me once again.
Every second feels like an hour as we stand outside of the graveyard, pretending we are all okay with sending Rebecca in there alone. He’s here, somewhere. That fucker is here waiting to get to our girl, and instead of looking for him, we are standing here with our fucking dicks in our hands, letting the chips fall where they may. I don’t do this, leave things up to chance, that’s a game for fools. No, this isn’t me, I plan, I plot, I fucking execute, taking out every single threat against us until we are the only ones standing.
So why the fuck am I still standing here?
The enforcer in me is screaming at me to move, to do something, anything, but the other part of me, the one Rebecca owns, keeps my feet firmly planted, utterly unmoving. I made a promise, I made a vow, just like I made an oath to my patch, yet this feels like it’s ripping me apart. Every second away from her is torture, something I am more than familiar with, yet being the one on the receiving end of it, is something I can’t bare to endure.
So I stand and wait.
Seconds turn into minutes, and every one that ticks by feels like someone is plunging my blade directly into my heart. Ezra and Aiden are silent beside me, and the rest of the Crows are inside the cars, watching our surroundings and readying for a war. A war that doesn’t seem to be coming. Shouldn’t something have happened by now?
The plan was clear, as much as I hated it, as much as I wanted to deny her, I couldn’t deny that her idea was clear and solid. Go in alone, make a quick kill, and then come back to us. It was simple, easy, or at least it should have been, but as I wait for the sound of a shot that never comes, I let regret consume me.
It’s quiet, far too quiet, and I feel the shadows of my inner-self transforming until any emotion I am feeling completely disappears. Angel is the one to finally break the silence, walking away from the other Crows and moving towards us. “Something’s wrong, it’s taking too long.”
I know he’s right, but there is still a lingering hope and denial inside of me, begging me to trust her. She knows Carter better than anyone, she said it herself, and she was right, she has to be right about this too.
“Just give her a minute,” Aiden snaps, fury and fear colliding in his eyes as they trail over every inch of the graveyard. If something has gone wrong, he won’t just bear the weight of it as her husband, he will also bear the weight of it as our President.
We can’t see Connor’s stone from here, it’s much deeper into the cemetery than I would have liked for this particular plan, but Rebecca left no room for discussion. So we give her the minute, and then we give her five more, but the shot never comes.
To my surprise, Ezra is the first to move. “Fuck this,” he snaps, striding towards the gate Rebecca entered through, and I am hot on his heels in the next second, my restraint instantly broken.
The rest of the Crows follow suit, all of us drawing our weapons, and spreading out to cover as much ground as we can manage. The rain is still heavy, fog is starting to crater over the forest in the distance, and I tell myself it’s okay, that everything is going to be fine, but the closer we get to Connor’s grave, the more I realize how much of a lie that is.
The thick gray stone sits in a line in front of a row of trees There is a path off to the side that leads towards the other entrance, and a small house on the other where the groundsmen keep their tools. I haven’t been here since the day of Connor’s funeral, and it feels worse now than it did then. I remember how I felt that day, what it was like to stare down at a mound of dirt, like I have done so many times before, only this time there was someone I loved beneath it. Not only that, but I had to watch Rebecca with her head hanging low, her shoulders completely defeated, the rain washing away any tears she might have cried. I felt her loss as well as my own, and all I wanted to do was wrap her up in my arms, warnings to stay away from her be damned, and tell her everything was going to be okay. Only that would have been a lie, because nothing has been okay since the day her father died.
Rebecca isn’t here and neither is the Mayor, and I wish that made me feel better, that I could hope that Bex just walked a different way back and the Mayor was never here at all, but I can’t. There is no sign of Rebecca or a struggle, but Connor’s grave is covered in dozens of white roses, wilting in the rain, and dripping in blood. I tell myself it can’t be hers, that there would be a trail of it leading us right to her if it was, but when it comes to Carter Fitzgerald, we can’t be sure of anything.
He was here. He was here and he saw her, took her, and now he’s gone. She was here, ready to kill him, equipped to do so, ending this once and for all, and now she’s gone. Everything around me goes still, silent, like I am realizing everything in slow motion, and when I turn towards Ezra, his face angry and distraught, I know deep in my soul that this is really happening again.
Aiden snaps, snatching up the roses and smashing them against Connor’s headstone like he wishes it was Carter’s neck, destroying them completely. As they fall to pieces in his hands, withering away into practically nothing, he begins punching, his knuckles bashing against the stone until they are split and bleeding. Irish is the one to finally move, grabbing him from behind to try and reign him in.
“Come on, Prez, we can’t find her if you lose your fucking head,” he curses at him, dragging him backwards, letting Razor step in to help him. Still, he thrashes against them both, anger fueling him completely, and I wish I could help him, join them in trying to stop him, but I feel as if I am falling apart right along with him.
It isn’t until Angel steps right up to him, gripping his face until Aiden looks at him, that he starts to calm down. “Fucking control yourself, this is exactly what the Mayor wants. You’ve been in his cage, played his fucking games, get a handle on your fucking anger so we can come up with a new fucking plan.” I don’t think I have ever seen the Boy Scout so angry before, not like this, and I’m starting to see why people now call him Ghost.
Those words seem to finally get through to him, his face turning somber as he exhales rapidly, the cogs in his brain turning over and over as he tries to regain control of his temper. He takes a deep breath, brushing Irish and Razor off him, and straightening his clothes, before snapping, “Get me Elle King on the phone.”
He doesn’t wait for a response, just storms back the way we came, heading back towards the cars, not stopping until he can climb back inside the driver's seat. Angel joins him in the front, as Ezra and I slip into the back, and then Angel is dialing a number through the car system and the dial tone rings a few times before a male voice answers.
“What is it, Ghost, we’re busy,” the guy drawls in almost a lazy manner.
I see Angel’s jaw clench, biting back his own temper as he seethes, “Fuck off, Blackwell, and put the King on the phone, it’s fucking urgent.”
Silence follows, a few clicks sounding out down the phone before we hear that familiar voice. “What’s happened?” Elle asks, concern clear in her tone.
“The Mayor has her,” Aiden cuts in. “We need her location now!” I can tell it’s taking everything in him not to shout at her, and I think he deserves more credit for the control he is now showing, because I am ready to set this whole fucking town on fire until we find her.
“On it,” Lincoln chimes back in, still on the line, and we hear the battering of a keyboard as he does what Aiden asked. Barely a minute passes before Elle curses, as Lincoln whispers, “That can’t be right.”
“What is it?” Aiden snaps, his fingers flexing around the wheel, his bloodied knuckles turning white as he grips it too tight. I will have to fight him to be the one to end the Mayor, and for once I think it will be my President who will come out on top.
A few more keys are tapped and then Elle sighs, “She’s at the clubhouse.”
“The clubhouse?” Aiden asks, that rage from before coming back in full force. “Our fucking clubhouse?” No, that can’t be right, there is no way he would take her to our fucking turf, not unless he plans on… I let that thought trail off in my mind, unable to even finish it without vomiting in my lap.
I exchange a knowing look with Ezra, who still has his weapon in his hand, ready to kill for our girl all over again, as Elle exhales another breath. “We are dealing with another problem in town with some friends from the West Coast, but I’ll send backup to meet you there. How far out are you?”
Aiden glances back and forth, before putting his foot all the way to the floor and speeding up. “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Elle curses again, and I hear her shouting orders to someone else away from the phone before she comes back to us. “I can have a team there in fifteen, don’t go in alone, it might be a trap.”
I appreciate her help, but her words just make me laugh, and when I lock eyes with Aiden in the mirror, I see a feral grin of his own spreading across his face. “Don’t fucking bother,” he snaps, rushing through a red light before he adds, “Just send a fucking clean up.” Then he disconnects the call and silence engulfs us.
The only sounds remaining are the checking of weapons, our heavy breaths, and the rapid tapping of Angel’s fingers across his phone screen. This is it. Back to the beginning, back to where it all started with her, a fight in our own goddamn backyard. I just hope it’s enough, hope she is still alive, because it might be the biggest risk we have ever taken.
