Page 65 of Storm's Deliverance

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

STORM

Dixieand I had rushed to Rusty, but tried and failed. He was so young, too young. Fear danced in his eyes as his life slowly faded, as his last garbled breaths left his body. Knowing there was nothing to be done, knowing there was no saving him, I held his hand, a small and maybe insignificant comfort.

My solemn gaze looks to Dixie, her sadness mirroring my own. She clears her throat. “He needs to be moved, buried or cremated,” Dixie states, her voice strong and assertive.

“Rage, Acid. Take him to the garage. Lock down or not, he gets a Black Hearts burial,” Dad orders.

He places a firm hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. “I need you to stay here. I need you to not leave the compound,” he says with his assertive tone. I get to my feet, standing toe to toe with him.

“I could help. What if someone gets injured? What if I know something about Zeke that could help?” I argue.

He shakes his head, pain flickering in his eyes. “I failed you once before. I cannot, and will not, fail you again. Please,” he pleads. My dad, the President of the Black Hearts MC, pleading.

My heart cracks seeing my dad, the most ruthless, the most terrifying man I know, vulnerable. I give him a small nod. “Okay,” I answer softly.

A small breath of relief spills from his lips before he presses his lips to my temple. “Thank you,” he says softly before turning and barking his orders, now back to his role as leader.

I watch as everyone in the club moves quickly and efficiently, securing and doing their role in securing the compound.

“Hey.” Drix’s voice breaks through my fog. I blink and turn to him, his gaze full of concern. His hands cup my cheek. “You, okay?” he asks.

I nod and give him a small smile. “I’m fine, really. Go and do what you need to do.” He pauses, a war of uncertainty flickering across his eyes. “I said I’m fine. Seriously. Biker brat, remember?” I smirk in reassurance, rolling my eyes.

He grips the back of my neck, pulling me to him, pressing his mouth firmly to mine. It isn’t rushed, and it isn’t hungry. It’s saying everything he feels and doesn’t have time to say. A promise, a love you. The one word neither of us have had the balls to say. I kiss him back, giving him every piece of me, of what I feel. Unable to shut down the terrifying, gnawing fear that I may not get a chance to kiss him again.

When we finally part, we press our foreheads together. “Keep safe and please don’t die.” The words are a confession of the fear I cannot quiet.

His eyes search mine. “Not a fucking chance,” he says with absolute certainty.

“Just whatever happens, come back to me,” I say, the fear clawing at my throat. His brows furrow slightly in confusion. There is no gunfire, no ambush. A threat, yes, but nothing out of the ordinary for the club. But as that feeling swirls and continues to niggle at me, I want—no—need the assurance from him.

He presses a soft, feather-light kiss to my lips, his hand at the back of my neck, squeezing in reassurance. “I will always come back for you, BB,” he whispers, pressing one final kiss to my temple before he runs off to secure the compound and follow my dad’s orders.

Everyone is running around in a rush of energy, not frantic or panicked. Just assertive in what they have to do, and making sure they get what needs to be done, done.

I walk into the clubhouse, and mom and the other ol’ ladies are doing a count of supplies. “We only have four bottles of bourbon,” Mom yells from behind the bar as she pours herself a shot and knocks it back, her face grimacing as it burns her throat. “Shit. I needed that,” she wheezes.

Maggie comes out of the kitchen, notepad in hand. “We have enough food for maybe three days tops, and that’s providing the guys don’t have second helpings,” she sighs.

“Well, then, I will have to do a grocery run.” Mom shrugs.

“No, it’s not safe. We don’t even know who killed poor Rusty. We will manage for now. Who knows? We could be out in a couple of days,” Alina says with hope in her voice.

Mom arches her brow in her ‘yeah right, and I’m the Virgin Mary’expression.

I stand there feeling completely useless. “When do we know what to do, and when to do it?” Maisy asks beside me.

I look at her and shrug. “I don’t know, but surely we should be doing something. I kind of feel useless just being stood here,” I point out.

“At least you tried to help with Rusty.” Maisy shrugs.

“Yeah, just wasn’t enough,” I say solemnly.

“So, who do you think shot him?” Maisy asks.

She looks at me, and I know exactly who she thinks it is. “It can’t be Zeke; to shoot someone, to make a threat to my dad, theclub.” I shake my head. “I mean, you saw how scared of everyone he was at the cookout,” I state.