Turning back to Gibson, I ran my eyes over his body, taking in every bruise and wound I’d inflicted. I tasted my revenge before I took it. It felt fucking good. However, it would never be enough, and I knew that. But it would be a start.
I stepped close to him and pressed the tip of the blade to his chest. “You won’t ever hurt my family again, motherfucker,” I said through clenched teeth. “Charlie will be safe from you. And I don’t give a flying fuck what you say—she’s my daughter.” I pulled my arm back and then stabbed the knife into his chest with all the force I had in me. “Mine!”
I stabbed him repeatedly.
I couldn’t stop myself.
Blood oozed from him.
It covered him, soaked through his clothes and dripped to the cement floor creating a grisly red pool that only excited my thirst for his death.
I wanted every drop of his blood down there.
I didn’t want to stop carving him up until he ran dry.
The blade sliced through every body part as I stabbed him to death.
The sound of flesh ripping apart was the soundtrack I moved to.
The sight of that gaping flesh and his blood, my reward.
It wasn’t until Nitro stepped in and pulled me away that the vicious frenzy ended.
I stared blankly at him as he took the knife from my hand.
I was numb.
Dead inside.
I’d taken his life.
Delivered my revenge.
But betrayal had carved a wound that cut deep that day. And that wasn’t something Gibson’s death could ever soothe.
Chapter 34
Monroe
My heart ached when Hyde came into view. He sat alone at the clubhouse bar, staring at the drink in front of him, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed slightly.
I had no idea what I would say to him. All I knew was that he needed me. Desperately.
Closing the distance between us, I was glad we were alone. It was almost midnight, and there were a few club members still around, but King had cleared the bar when I arrived with Nitro. He’d looked at me with those fierce eyes of his. He hadn’t said anything. Had simply let me in and jerked his chin towards the bar. But those eyes had said so much. He hoped I could help his brother in ways he hadn’t been able to.
I took the stool next to Hyde, sliding onto it, and placed my handbag on the counter of the bar. My nerves had gotten the best of me on the way over here. I didn’t want to screw this up. Didn’t want to let him down.
We sat in silence for a while. Him staring at the drink on the counter, next to a full bottle of whisky. Me watching with my heart in my throat.
Finally, he asked, “Why are you here?”
His question slayed me in so many ways. It hurt that he even asked it, but the rational side of me understood it came from a place of such desolation.
“Charlie called me. She told me everything.” His daughter had been a wreck on the phone. By the end of the conversation, I’d understood why. She’d also shed so much light for me on why Hyde was the way he was. And then she’d made me believe that she had to be his daughter when it became clear the reason for the call was because she wanted me to find him and make sure he was okay. She’d had the shittiest day of her life, and all she cared about at the end of it was that someone made sure her father was all right. That was something Hyde would have done, I was sure of it.
His head dropped further and he muttered, “Fuck.” Looking sideways at me, he added, “I’m the worst fucking father, Roe. I haven’t even checked on her.”
I shook my head and placed my hand on his forearm. “No you’re not,” I said softly. “She doesn’t think you are.”
“She fucking should.” He inhaled sharply and looked up to the ceiling. “Fuck, I may not even be her fucking father.”
The despair blazing from him was unlike any I’d seen in my life. I really was out of my depth here, but I persisted.
“So you’ll get a paternity test and find out.”
My words triggered his temper. “You say that as if it’ll fix everything,” he snapped. “It fucking won’t.” He reached for the glass of whisky, gripping it hard, but not lifting it. All the while, staring at it like it was his long-lost saviour.
Being on the end of Hyde’s temper wasn’t a fun place to be. I cut him some slack, though, because he had good reason to be angry.
As I watched him with that glass, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. He often tasted like whisky, but I hadn’t seen him drink it often, so I hadn’t put two and two together.
“You going to drink that?”
He glanced at me but didn’t give me an answer. Instead, he looked back at the glass, still gripping it hard.
“I asked you a question, Hyde.”
He scowled at me. “You can go.”
I swallowed my hurt.
He’s in pain.
Let it go.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His chest rose as he sucked in a harsh breath. Exhaling it, he muttered, “Your choice, but I’m not in the mood for twenty-fucking-questions. You stay, don’t ask me shit.”
My face heated as his words hurt me again. “I’m not here to ask twenty questions.”
He stared at me with eyes that were dead. His brokenness killed me. “What do you want from me, Monroe? I don’t have anything to give you tonight.”
I placed my hand against his cheek and nodded. “I know. Just let me be here with you.”
He watched me for another few moments before turning back to look at his drink. We went back to sitting in silence, for much longer this time.
I wished he would let his drink go, but he didn’t. He kept his hand around the glass the entire time, and I felt every bit of his silent battle. I also felt completely useless, not knowing how to help him through this fight.
So I waited.
I remained quiet.
And I prayed that my presence would be enough for him to win this round.
Finally, he asked, “What the fuck am I gonna do if she’s not mine?”
I closed my eyes, forcing my tears away. Now was not the time to cry. Now was the time for strength. When he couldn’t be strong enough to get himself through, I’d be strong for him.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “You’ll do what you’ve always done. You’ll get through it.”
He lifted the glass. “She’s the reason I fucking got through.”
I stared at the whisky, feeling like he was slipping through my fingers. “So you’re gonna empty that bottle, then? Make yourself feel better with all that whisky in you?”
He scowled again. “You got a problem with that?”
I didn’t want to fight with him. Not tonight. But I was so deep in this with him that all I could do was fight back. Fight for him.
“That whisky isn’t going to solve a goddam problem of yours.”
He swirled the amber liquid in the glass. “It’ll sure as fuck make me feel better.”
I gripped his bicep hard, desperate to make him hear me. “Let me help you feel better.”
His eyes bored into mine. “Don’t you fucking get it? Nothing you say can fucking help me feel better.”
“I know that, Hyde. But tell me something—how many days has it been since you’ve had a drink?”
He shifted his gaze from mine and stared straight ahead. “Almost two.”
I let his arm go. “I guarantee you that you’ll regret taking even a sip.”