So did Luke.
He held out his hand.
Luke took it.
Peter looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you, son.”
It cost Luke every fucking thing to look back at him and say, “You’re welcome, sir.”
The man was thanking him. Him. Who’d failed in his most basic job of protecting the innocent, prosecuting the club before this could happen.
Just as much blame rested on Luke’s shoulders as it did Bull’s.
Luke barely remembered driving to the Sons of Templar compound. He vaguely recollected wondering about the sheer lack of bikes or signs of life as he pulled in. He hadn’t pondered on that for too long.
But he was completely lucid as he pulled out his gun and rested the barrel on the back of Cade’s head, who was sitting in front of the bar, one bottle of whisky in front of him.
He didn’t flinch.
Nor did he even turn.
“Expected you might come,” he said calmly, and clearly, despite the bottle being almost entirely empty. “Didn’t think you’d be using your weapon. My money was on the handcuffs.”
Luke’s grip tightened on his gun. “Don’t have anything to arrest you for. In the eyes of the law, you’re innocent.” He spat the word at him.
Cade turned, clearly not minding that when he did so, the barrel of the gun now rested comfortably between his eyes. He met Luke’s gaze with icy determination, a snatch of sorrow dancing in those cruel eyes, something that he didn’t try to disguise.
“And in your eyes, we’re not,” Cade said.
Luke tried not to let the sheer depth of Cade’s obvious suffering get to them. “My eyes, God’s eyes,” he gritted out.
Cade raised his brow. “After everything. After….” He was unable to continue for a moment, taking a long and unhurried swig from the whisky. “After what happened to Laurie, you think there’s a man up in the sky protecting the innocent, punishing the guilty?”
Luke’s hand danced on the trigger. “No, I don’t think there is. Which is where I come in.”
Cade gazed at him thoughtfully. “You gonna shoot me, then?” he asked calmly. “Thought that would go against your ironclad morals.”
“Nothing’s ironclad after what I saw today. After telling Peter and Christine that their little girl was never coming home.”
Cade flinched. Actually flinched.
Luke’s grip on the trigger softened.
Cade took another swallow. “Do it, then,” he invited. “Shoot me. I sure as fuck deserve it. We sure as fuck deserve it. We never would’ve laid a fucking hand on that girl. Each and every single one of us would’ve fucking died to prevent her from getting a goddamn hangnail. Wasn’t our hands, but that doesn’t mean the blame doesn’t lie firmly with us.”
Luke’s resolve flickered. He hadn’t consciously made the decision to come here. Nor had he intended on murdering a man in cold blood. Whether that man was a murderer or not, he didn’t think he’d have been able to do that. Then again, a human being was able to do anything and everything under the right circumstances, more so under the wrong ones.
He toyed with it. The idea of pulling the trigger, calling in that he’d come here to take a statement and that Fletcher had pulled his piece, self-defense. He wouldn’t be the first cop to do it. Despite the fact that Cade wasn’t even carrying. His gun was, for some reason, right at the other end of the bar.
Later, he wouldn’t like to admit just how close he’d come in that moment. How easy it would’ve been. How selfish such an act would’ve been. He also wouldn’t like to admit that one thing, one person stopped him.
The girl with wild hair and an equally wild heart. Though it may have been wild, that didn’t mean it wasn’t big, vulnerable, and already bleeding.
If Luke pulled that trigger, he’d be responsible for breaking that beautiful wild thing.
And he might’ve been able to live with murder, but he sure as fuck wouldn’t have been able to live with that.
So he lowered his gun.
Cade looked at him with surprise. And relief. Or maybe disappointment. Luke wasn’t sure which. He didn’t want to think too much on that either, because that would’ve meant that Cade was much more than the simple outlaw that Luke had pegged him as.
“No, that would be a disservice to Laurie’s memory,” he said. “That girl would’ve chosen that exact same fate if it meant no blood would’ve been spilled but her own. I want you to live with that knowledge. And the rest of that fucking horrific shit. You can barely deal with the knowledge of that, but imagine how Laurie felt living that.” Cade flinched again but Luke ignored it. “That’s more of a punishment than a bullet could ever be. Bullet for you is mercy, and you deserve none of that. Maybe this will make you see what your club is doin’. Killing. Not just people who chose this life, but people who were forced into it by their hearts.” Luke regarded him with contempt. “Maybe. But I expect not. I expect you’ll need a lot more blood. Not your own, of course. Maybe your family’s, maybe your sister’s, to make you see fucking sense. And then, like now, will be too fucking late.”
With Luke tasting the bile of even entertaining the idea of Rosie sharing a similar fate as Laurie, he lowered his gun and left.
He didn’t start shaking until he left the lot. He might’ve even broken down completely if he hadn’t seen Rosie’s car speeding past the lot and toward the outskirts of town.
The small glimpse of her face in the fading light told him she wasn’t heading for the outskirts of town.
She was heading for Hell.
And no way would he let her near there.
Not alone, at least.
Rosie
Present Day
I went to a bar. Straight from the hospital.
I knew it wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but I didn’t feel like shopping. My best friend was recovering from almost dying so I couldn’t exactly unload on her, and my family would likely excommunicate me if I went to them with the truth. Not the lies I hid behind after I’d survived my encounter with Luke.
The waiting room was full of everyone I loved, which meant they all descended on me.
Lucky snatched me into a fierce hug. “We’ve been worried sick,” he said into my hair, then pulled me back to inspect me. “Well, Cade’s been worried sick. I’ve just been pissed that you didn’t bring me and Becky along for the fun. We’re a boring old married couple now.” He pouted.
I rolled my eyes and looked to his beautiful wife. My beautiful friend. Somehow smiling and whole after she was shattered. She’d put herself back together, made friends with her demons.
I wish I could’ve done that.
“You blew up our car two days ago,” she said dryly.
Lucky huffed. “Because I was bored. And no one even blinked. Like we have one car bomb and suddenly, poof! It’s not even a big deal anymore.”
She grinned, her face lighting up as she did so, cupping Lucky’s cheek. “I know, babe. It’s not fair.”
My heart smiled. Or tried to.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to the wedding,” I said.
Becky focused on me, yanking me into a hug. “You should be fucking sorry,” she hissed. “I had the cashmere mafia planning my wedding. Not that I don’t love those babes, but they wanted me to spend five grand. On flowers.”