Because that’s the way things were done.
It was maddening, and there was no one I could take my mood out on.
Mama had gone for a nap, barely able to meet my eyes. She wasn’t sleeping, though. I could hear the soft sobs coming from her room, and in all honesty, it made me lose whatever tiny amount of respect I had for her.
She had the power to get through to Crash. She had been his old lady long enough to have had this argument for decades. But no, she had been happy and content to reap the benefits and rewards of being his old lady, of being the leader, but when things got difficult, she ran to her bedroom and cried.
Gemma had taken Bee to the park, which was conveniently near church, just in case they got the call that we were going into yet another lockdown.
Balls to that. I couldn’t care if they hogtied me and tried to cart me to church. I wasn’t going through another lockdown this week.
I was restless, unable to settle. All I could do was argue with myself, heightening my anger.
And the person I was most mad at was myself.
I had stupidly let my walls crumble. And though the walls weren’t totally removed, there was a big enough gap that Dante had managed to crawl his way in there, and somehow make me care about him.
I didn’t want to fucking care about him. I didn’t want to be the woman sat at home, wondering if her partner was going to return night after night. I didn’t want the knock at the door asking me to identify his body. The thought alone was enough to have me sucking a breath in between my teeth, the pain squeezing my heart.
This was no way to live, and I’d be damned if Dante was going to brush me off once more.
He had best hope he survived whatever happened with the Riders, because I had every intention of killing him myself for doing this to me.
Chapter 49
Rachel
After a restless few hours, I finally fell asleep on the sofa, just as the darkness of the evening was beginning to creep in.
Gemma had texted me to say she had taken Bee to Jenna’s, and they were going to stay there until the men returned.
I fell into a restless sleep on the sofa, my dreams plagued with fire, gunshots, and death.
Until a noise awakened me.
I startled awake, my eyes shooting to the door, my hand snatching the knife I had left on the table.
“Put the knife down, Rachel,” Dante said, his voice weary. “It’s me.”
“That’s even more of a reason to clutch this knife, as far as I’m concerned.”
He sighed heavily. “Not tonight. Please.”
“What happened?” I asked, placing the knife on the table and taking in the absolute fucking state of him.
His jacket was ripped, his clothes were covered in soot, and his jeans were stained with blood.
He collapsed against the door with a bang, sinking to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, hanging his head down low. “What the fuck do you think happened?” He said, his voice devoid of emotion.
I stood up, wanting to go over to him, wanting to offer him some comfort, but couldn’t find it in me to make my feet move. Instead, I folded my arms and glared at him. “How many did you kill?”
He looked up at me then, his eyes bloodshot. “Funnily enough, we didn’t line them up and count them.”
“Ballpark. One? Ten? A hundred?”
“We did what we needed to do.”
“Two wrongs don’t make a right. You know that, don’t you?”
