Page 11 of Devil’s Torture

It doesn’t smell right. Not like Bexley. Not like our life.

Some things change; some things don’t.

A man in his fifties opens the door and looks at me with a mixture of worry and wariness. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” my voice is rough and I’m barely holding on because I should be looking at Bexley.

Even if her eyes are filled with hatred.

I finally force the rest of the words out, “I’m looking for Bexley Waller?”

The man’s eyebrows pull together, and he shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry,” he sounds sincerely apologetic, “I don’t know anyone by that name.” I narrow my eyes at the man, and he straightens slightly while holding his hands up. “I’ve lived here for four years; I don’t know who was here before that.”

“Thanks,” I grunt the word and turn around to stalk back to my bike without another word.

I definitely don’t look back. That was the first place we shared. Without realizing it, I start rubbing my chest right over where my heart is, right where the ache lives. It’s been there for ten years.

It doesn’t take long to get to the clubhouse. The prospect on the gate lets me through when he sees my cut and I give him a nod. I’m glad it’s not busy when I step inside the main room for the first time in ten years. A few of my brothers stop what they’re doing and look at me with wide eyes.

But I don’t have time for them or some fucking reunion right now. I head straight toward the Prez’s office and knock without hesitation.

“Enter.” The word is barked from the other side of the door which I swing open before marching inside. When Lucifer’s head snaps up from whatever he’s doing at his desk, his eyes widen. He’s not the kind of man who is surprised easily, but he’s not fast enough to hide his reaction this time. “Holy fucking shit,” he mutters, “Rune.”

“Prez,” I try and keep my voice neutral, but the way his eyes flash tells me I’m not completely successful. “My ten years is up.”

The words are flat and the tension in the room rises. He looks me over and lets out a heavy sigh.

“You went to the apartment first,” he’s not asking, he puts it out there as a fact.

“Yes.”

“Bexley doesn’t live there anymore.”

“I’m aware.”

Lucifer sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as he leans back in his chair. “We’ve kept your room here. It’s the same.”

His words feel like a punch to the gut. My old room will be a fucking time capsule, one I’m not sure I’m ready to open.

“Where is Bexley?” I try to keep the anger, suspicion, and regret out of my voice.

I shouldn’t have to ask him. I should know where my woman is.

But I don’t. I can barely swallow past the lump forming in my throat.

Lucifer prints something out and hands me the piece of paper. He stares at me for a long time, his face a neutral mask. Then it cracks and I can see the regret in his eyes.

“I don’t know if I made the right choice ten years ago,” he says the words slowly, like he’s weighing them and their honesty. “I did the best I could in the situation we were in. I do regret it. Bexley never came around the club after that night, and I can’t really blame her. I tried to keep an eye on her as best I could, but it wasn’t easy. When she moved, I made sure the bills were paid at her new place. I haven’t had a conversation with her in years.”

“You left her out there alone,” my words are filled with righteousness; as if I have any room to be that way.

Lucifer scoffs and shoots me a look. “It’s not like she gave us much choice. The best I could do was make sure the bills were paid. She wouldn’t accept anything else, not from anyone.”

My eyes slide closed and something breaks inside me. Bexley has always been stubborn, but I hoped she wouldn’t push the club away. It was fucking naïve of me.

I’m also not surprised, but that doesn’t make it okay. She’s been alone for ten years without even the club at her back.

“That’s her address and where she works,” Lucifer’s voice has my eyes snapping open.