Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2) (8 page)

She returns once the girls are settled and quietly comes to a stop beside me at the window. “They don’t understand. At least, I think they do, but they don’t want to allow themselves to believe it.”

“They’re young, so it must be hard to comprehend.”

She shakes her head. “They know death, King. We’ve lost pets and had to bury them. They know what ‘never coming back’ means. Hell, they learnt that when their biological father was 'taken care of'. They just innocently believed that their
real
dad—Twig—was invincible, that the rules didn’t apply to him.”

I draw a deep breath and search for the right words. There are none. Sometimes a spoken sentiment will do nothing but lessen the importance of a moment, only trivializing the wealth of emotion that surrounds something as tragic as the loss of a loved one. Nothing I can say will ever set this right. No reasoning will ever do the hurt justice.

“Beefy came to see me—he was the one who broke the news.”

I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her in.

“I knew it was bad, King. I knew it couldn’t be good because Beefy’s never left the club in the time I’ve known him except to get more food.” She snorts a laugh and then falls quiet with a sigh.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me who told you, Shay. I should have come straight over.”

She shakes her head against the side of my chest. “No, don’t be silly. You had issues of your own to sort out.”

I glance down at her, wondering just how far the rumors about a mystery girl and me have spread.

“How are the wounds?” Shanaya steps out of my hold and heads toward the kitchen while she continues to talk. “If you need any painkillers, just let me know. Coffee? Beer?”

The distant sound of the fridge door opening and the muted tones that drift down the hall from the kids’ movie break the otherwise peaceful afternoon. The sun peeks through the clouds and illuminates a patch on the driveway out front . . . the same spot where Twig would always park his bike. I smile up at the clouds, certain he’s watching over his family, wherever he is.

“Did you want a drink?”

Shanaya’s question startles me out of my reminiscent state. I turn my head and take her in as she peers around the doorway, her hand braced on the frame and her cheek rested against the wood. Aside from the tiredness in her eyes, there’s no trace that this woman has just been put through hell.

“I’m good, thanks. I’ll hit the road again soon. Just wanted to check in.”

She nods and turns away, disappearing across the hall once more. The club will take care of her; she’s one of our own. Most likely she’s already had the other old ladies stop by in rotation to see if she needs anything. And knowing what I do about her, she’ll turn them all away with pride in her voice and say she can do it alone.

I cross the hallway to let her know I’m heading out and hesitate when I hear the quiet sniffles drift out from the kitchen. Shanaya sits with her back to the door, the decorative slashes in her T-shirt exposing the large, colorful back piece Twig bought her for Christmas. Her shoulders are hunched, and she clutches a hand to her mouth as she quietly sobs.

I should say something. I should also leave her in peace. If she wanted my comfort she wouldn’t have hidden herself away. But that’s just it, isn’t it? The people who are the most broken are usually the best at hiding it for fear they’ll upset the people around them. She’s trying to be strong all the time, but everybody needs to fall apart a little every now and then. It’s what makes us human—the ability to be brave enough to show our weaknesses. And yet human nature is also to fight it, to pretend we’re unaffected by tragedy and heartache.

“Would you like me to stay a while longer and watch the girls?” Things at the club aren’t exactly rocketing along for me to get to Elena any time soon, and I haven’t heard back from Sully or her with information on how we can pull this off, either. I’ve got a little time.

Shanaya’s head whips around, and she wipes madly at the moisture beneath her eyes as she lets out a lifeless laugh. “I’m sorry, I just needed a moment.”

“No need to apologize.”

She sighs and slips off the stool, walking across to fuss with the utensils beside the cooktop. “I was supposed to have what I wanted on his headstone to the funeral home by this afternoon, but I can’t sum him up in a few words.”

“Then don’t.” I take her vacated seat and lean both elbows on the island. “Make the message one to him, instead of to the world. Don’t tell whoever is reading the epitaph about him—tell us what you would say to him if you were given one last chance.”

She stares at me a beat, and then nods as she blinks rapidly. “I can do that.”

I watch as Shanaya whips around the room to gather up a pen and paper, and scribbles down a few frantic lines. She chews on the end of the ballpoint, scratches out words, and draws lines to reorder the sentences before she re-writes the final message and passes it over.

My chest tightens at the honor of being shown the words poured from her heart, at the sentiment behind them. She watches with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth while I bow my head and begin to read.

You told me after every dark night comes a dawn,

But without your light I’ll forever stand in the shadows.

Her honest words slice straight through me. None of this is fair. Before me stands a woman, a mother, who’s lost her soul mate for something as fucking trivial as a turf war. All the Eagles want is our territory, and in the process they’ve taken a man from his family, torn the lives of the innocent apart.

Nothing can justify that loss. Fuck pride, fuck loyalty, and fuck bragging rights—this bullshit has to stop.

I slip the paper back over before my rage gets the better of me and I crumple it in my fist. “It’s beautiful, Shay.”

She nods, her eyes glassy as tears drop from her jaw to the faded cotton of her shirt. “Thank you.”

With my arms outstretched, I usher her in for a hug. She wraps herself about me and buries her head under my chin. “You need anything, no matter what time of day it is, you just call. Got it?”

She nods while her tears wet the front of my shirt.

“I mean it. Even if it’s two in the morning and the kids wake up with a nightmare that you can’t handle, you call. You might be in the shadows, but the sun still shines.”

Elena

The water is warm as I glide on my back, my arms circling every so often to keep me afloat in the pool while I look for patterns in the clouds. The weightlessness is heaven on my increasingly sore feet; who would have thought an extra pound or two could cause so much discomfort. The pamphlets the doc left me have been my saving grace, teaching me all the nuances about pregnancy I didn’t know. I don’t dare use the Internet for fear Carlos will see my browsing history.

That’s one conversation I’ll
never
be ready to have.

“Elena.”

I roll my head to the left. Water blocks my ear and makes my hearing cloudy as Sully comes to a stop beside the pool.

“Thought you’d like to know I’m taking the tyrant out for a while.”

“Thank you.” I drop my legs and tread water until I float across to the shallower end. “How long do you think?”

“Destination is forty minutes away, so you’ll probably have an hour and a half at minimum.”

Just the thought of being able to walk through the house without the need to keep on alert for Carlos is enough to have my muscles relaxing. Living in a state of constant fear does a number on my joints, that’s for sure.

Sully holds out a towel as I take the curved steps in the corner of the pool. I wrap it around myself, and then reach for my sunhat and book.

“Use the time to pack what you want to take with you,” he says. “I have a plan.”

His eyes are sincere; the slight frown on his forehead gives away his concern at the idea. “When?”

“Tonight.”

“How?” I roam my gaze over the house, across the large windows. Regardless, we’re on camera so I can’t let this conversation last too long without it looking suspicious. “Follow me and talk.” I head for the house and leave wet prints on the bricks as I go.

“I’ve mapped the blind spots for the cameras. You can get out of the house undetected if you go down to the north wing.”

My skin chills despite the sun that’s emerged from behind the clouds. “That’s off-limits. It’s his ex-wife’s part of the house.”

“I know. But it’s your only way out without being picked up.”

“Why can’t we pretend we’re going shopping or something?”

Sully holds the door shut that leads inside and leans an arm over my shoulder to press against the frame. “If I can get you out and claim ignorance, I can stick around a little longer and see what he does once he realizes you’re gone. If we all go at once, we’re vulnerable, we won’t know what he’s doing to track you down.”

“What do you mean ‘all go?’ Are you taking Maria away from here too?”

He nods, eyeing the house and then the camera over our heads that points out to the courtyard. I realize we’re standing in one of the blind spots, being so close to the door.

“I’ve got an idea for us, but I’m more concerned with getting you and your precious cargo out first.”

“Why, Sully?” I love that he’s doing this for me, but why risk so much? I haven’t known him long.

“Because the things he does to you, the things he does to mess with Maria, nobody should be able to get away with that.” Sully closes his eyes briefly. “We need to keep walking, otherwise the lag between cameras will be noticeable.” He opens the door, ushering me through first, and then breaks in the opposite direction to me. “Ten p.m. Be in your room. Maria will come get you.”

I make my way up the lonely halls to my bedroom to change; the realization that this is it sends a thrill buzzing through my limbs. My toes tingle as I lift my feet and kick my bikini bottoms off in my bathroom, turning the shower on to wash the chlorine off my skin.

Hours, mere hours to go and I’ll see King. The fear of what I hide being discovered will be redundant and I can get through the rest of the pregnancy focusing on what’s important: what’s inside my swollen belly. I stand under the jet of war water and let my hands roam the curves of my stomach.
Who are you?
A boy? A girl? What will he or she be like? Who will my child become? And when this is all over, will he or she ever know what I went through to protect my baby and give him or her a chance at a good life?

The challenges are plenty, and I’m not stupid. Getting away is the easy part. Life will never truly be free as long as Carlos is alive; he’ll always chase us, be that looming shadow over everything we do. The only thing that’ll bring me peace is the day he dies, the day he ceases to be a threat.

So why should I wait?

Soap runs from my toes as I freeze in place, turning the thought over in my mind.
Why
wait
for the day he meets his maker?
Why does it have to be somebody else who delivers the final blow? Because I’m certain with the life he leads it’ll be death by another’s hand, not natural causes.

Could I do it? Could I be a murderer to ensure the safety of this little one? My gaze drifts to my belly. The water runs off the tip of my nose in a stream as I let the nausea swirl at the realization.
I’m contemplating killing Carlos.
A week ago, I would have tried without hesitation. I would have dried off from the shower and headed straight downstairs to find myself a gun. But now? I hate that what he told me about his wife, his son, has even had an effect on me. But it did. He showed me that underneath all the hate, the viciousness, and the psychopathic tendencies, he’s human. However small, the coldest of hearts always has a chance at redemption.

Dressed and ready for dinner, I settle in the seat beside my window and watch as a black town car makes its way slowly around the arc of the driveway. With my arms folded before me on the side of the seat, I rest my chin on my forearms and eye the driver as he gets out and rounds the car to the rear door. Small clouds appear and disappear on the glass as I even out my breathing, finding solace in the small things. If anything, these weeks with Carlos have taught me mindfulness, how to find peace in the worst of times. I close my eyes and center myself, focus on the beating of my heart, and the soft whoosh of the air that fills my lungs.

I have clothes to wear. I have food in my belly, and I have hope at an escape from all of this. I’m thankful to be alive.

The dull thud of the car door as it closes snaps me from my meditative state, and I open my eyes in time to see the ash-blonde hair of a woman disappear under the eaves of the house.
A woman?
Carlos said he expected guests, but a woman?

I pull back from the window and try to work out who these guests are, what their reason for being here is, and if it’s going to screw up the plans Sully has. I stare vacantly at the bag containing the few things I’ll take with me tonight, wondering why after weeks and months of relative solitude Carlos has decided to open his doors to guests. What is he up to?

Maria appears breathless at my door. “I need you to come downstairs please.”

I’m out of the seat and walking toward her before I can think on it. The stress evident on her face has my heart quickening, my efforts to ground myself mere seconds before wasted. “What’s going on?”

“Se
ñ
or’s guests weren’t supposed to arrive until later, but she’s early. Sully hasn’t brought him back yet; I need you to entertain her.”

My breath comes quick and short.
Can I do this?
I don’t even know who she is. “What do I need to know? Quick, tell me on the way downstairs.”

Maria’s flat shoes scuff quickly across the floor, matched by the soft swish of the full-length dress I have on as we head down the hall toward the stairs.

“Her name is Emile,” Maria rushes out. “She speaks good English, but her accent is thick, so you may struggle from time to time.”

I glance over at Maria as we pass the last room before the landing.

“She’s French. Lives in Canada now.”

“What does she do?”