Page 175 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
We don’t bother with helmets, climbing on and starting the engines. I curl myself around Beast, pressing myself as hard as I can into his back. I’m afraid that if I don’t, I’ll give up and let myself fall off the bike, just so I don’t have to feel this pain again.
I keep thinking I’m immune to it somehow, as if losing my sisters and losing my awful brother turned me into an emotionless lump of flesh and blood and bone.
Except that’s not true.
It’s not true, and they’re all dead, and … it’s just me.
We maneuver slowly through the woods (driving on dirt on a motorcycle is like driving on ice), making our painstaking way back to the road that leads to the highway. Once we hit that pavement, the boys pick up speed and then … we’re flying.
We’re flying, and I can feel my wings unfurling behind me.
I’m not sure they’ll ever be angel wings, but demon wings work, too.
I was born of a demon, and I’m okay with that.
For the first time in my life, I’m proud of it.
I love you, Cat. I love you, and I forgive you.
Forever, always a Daybreaker.
Three weeks later …
A lucky shift in the wind saved the Death by Daybreak compound from the fire. Ashbury, on the other hand, lost several outlying suburbs and nearly three dozen homes and business on the southern end of the downtown area.
The Artefact, of course, is nothing but ash. I know that because I went back later for Cat’s body. Or what was left of it. I’m sitting in the cemetery now, my elbows on my knees, hands clasped together in front of my face.
Nellie is screaming on her knees beside the open hole in the ground where the shiny black casket sits, ready to be buried beneath the soft, sweetness of the earth. I guess when I had that dream about Cat and the coffins, the empty one wasn’t for me, it was for him.
Just like my father did the day of my sisters’ funeral, I remain calm and stoic, sitting beside the new president of Death by Daybreak, his vice president on my right side. And by that, I mean Crown and Sin. Just as I predicted. Fuck, I should set up a fortune telling booth and charge for my premonitions.
After Cat died, the club needed to vote in a new president quickly to deal with the aftermath. With so many dead, with the Grey Wolfe Mafia’s new Don demanding an audience, we needed someone who could handle the stress of it all.
The position suits Calder Reid; the position of VP suits Sin much better than road captain did.
I sit up straight as the priest drones on, his words meaningless to me. I hope they bring some comfort to my mother though; I’m worried about her. She … isn’t doing well. I think I’m going to encourage her to go to rehab.
Without Cat, she feels like she’s nobody and nothing, and she’s medicating that way, too.
I know now that whatever happened between us in the past, I love and care about her. I don’t want to see her suffering like this. She needs purpose in life, but first, she needs to get clean again.
“My love,” she’s sobbing, crawling over to the hole as several of the other club wives reach out to draw her back by the shoulders. “My love. Oh, God. Please. Please, Leroy, don’t leave me.”
I can’t stand the thought of her melancholy; it’s breaking me.
“He’s the president first, and a father second when he’s in public.” Crown told me that once, when I remarked on my father’s seemingly empty expression during Queenie and Posey’s funeral. I try to embody that today. I’m the president’s old lady first, and a daughter second when in public.
Life is already complicated enough for me. As the liaison to the Grey Wolfe Mafia, I’ve got a unique position in the club, but it isn’t one that’s got full support from all of the members. A majority, yes, but I still have a lot of work to do.
I can’t let them see me cry.
Anyway, I’ve done enough of that. I’ve been crying for weeks. Ask my men. I’m sure they’re sick of it by now, even if they’ve been nothing but supportive.
Sin curves his hand around mine and squeezes it. I look over to meet his eyes, recognizing the glitter of pain buried deep in their silver depths. I’m not the only one mourning Cat. The entire club is—my men in particular.
I caught Crown crouched down in the backyard yesterday, rubbing at his forehead and squeezing his eyes so tight that his entire face was scrunched up in pain.
“Do you want to take a walk?” Sin asks quietly, but I shake my head. I’m going to get through this. Then I can break down. For now, I’m keeping it together.
