Page 4 of Frenemies
I looked over at Ava as she adjusted the red bow tie on Mr. Bojangles. She wasn’t happy—she was pretending that she and her bear were somewhere else. Probably having tea in our castle in Everly – that was the world we made up.
Everything was perfect there. Our castle was the biggest, full of fairies and all the pretty dresses we could want.
But make-believe worlds couldn’t help us right now. We couldn’t escape to a place that didn’t exist.
“Happy little girls get treats, isn’t that right, Ava?”
“We don’t want your treats,” Logan growled.
Logan was his son, so I thought it would be okay to say something.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “We don’t want your treats.
I was wrong. . .
“Well, come on,”Ava clicked her seatbelt across her lap and sat back. “Let’s go.”
As much as I wanted to pretend I could do this on my own, I felt better knowing Ava was with me. If anything, she’d keep things interesting. Wherever Chase was hiding, we’d find him.
I glanced back at Tanner who was standing by the hospital door with his hands up, as if he was surprised we left him there–dumbass–then turned the key and started the engine.
“Can we pick up some spring rolls on the way?”
War.
The messy,bloody outcome of a disagreement erupting in a shockwave of casualties and suffering.
Soldiers spent their careers trekking through the trudges of death and decay, hoping that one day they’d find peace. But like me, the only thing they’d find around that corner was more rot. There was only one thing war was capable of—complete and utter destruction.
The result was always the same. Whether over land, titles, or money, some poor fucker would always get caught in the crossfire. Just another drop of blood in the sea of red staining the streets. There was no rhyme or reason behind the deaths—they were simply gone. More bodies to add to the pile.
Like my wife and son.
They didn’t ask to be involved or step into the firefight. Hell, it was their deaths that started the damn firefight. And why? Because Sam dared to love someone she shouldn’t have. Men like me didn’t change.
We didn’t care about the consequences of our actions or worry about how they’d affect the people around us. This life didn’t allow for you to wake up one day and decide to dance in a field of wildflowers. It fueled the flamethrower used to burn it down.
I was born into carnage, and I’d die in it. I’d come to this realization too late to save Sam and our baby boy, but there was still time for Riley and Naomi.
They didn’t know who I was—couldn’t see the blood staining my hands, which was exactly why I left. If I wasn’t around, then they couldn’t keep searching for that spark Sam thought she saw inside me.
Redemption.
That was a laugh. I snorted and slammed back the rest of the whiskey in my glass. Couldn’t be that worth redemption if my own brother wanted to destroy me. I suppose I should thank him. If Riley hadn’t have gotten shot, I might’ve stayed hidden in the delusional persona of Chase Mathers.
Chase wasn’t cursed. He was free to do things like fall in love with a beautiful girl and teach his fiery niece to ride a bike.
But Spider, he was just the ruthless president of The Lost Souls MC. A man that didn’t just cause the pain and suffering of others. He bathed in the blood of his enemies. That was what brought me here, to Al’s pub and grill. Some shithole of a bar in a bohunk town on the outskirts of Miami. If Jax wanted a war, then I’d bring him one.
“Hey there, Handsome,” a brunette sauntered up and fluttered her lashes at me. “You look like you could use some company.”
I gave her a quick skim. She was alright, I guess. Nothing compared to a certain stuck-up princess, but I was definitely a fan of that tight red dress, barely containing her tits. I’d seen her eye-fucking me from the other side of the bar all night.
Problem was that a girl dressed like that didn’t waste her time in a shit hole like this. The girl was one of two things—a high-priced hooker that decided to slum it for the night. Or, she was a plant.
“Thanks,” I tapped the wooden top of the bar, signaling the bartender to refill my glass. “But I’m better off on my own.”
If only she knew how true that statement was.
