back once the suns goes down, but before the place fills up. Said not to come on the bikes.” I nodded to Dig. That was a club in brown town. One of the few places MM didn’t fuck with.
“We’ll take the Suburban. You can stash your bike in my garage,” I told Dig.
“Brother, you know this is it. Once this happens, there’s no going back.”
I knew what he was telling me, and I knew I was all in. We parted ways and I headed home. Any hesitancy I had about this plan shattered two nights ago when I’d driven past Elle’s place. She was sitting at her kitchen table that was pushed up against a window facing the street. The inside of her place was dark, only the street light illuminating her form hunched over in a chair. One hand was wrapped around a glass that I assumed had wine in it, and the other hand was covering her eyes. I watched her for a minute, unsure of what she was doing. It wasn’t until I saw her body shake that I realized she was crying at her kitchen table.
I was gutted. I t’d been six weeks since the shooting. I imagine she was still in pain, but on her way to healing. The doctor had said she was lucky that her injuries weren’t more extensive. The damage to her stomach had been minor, and they’d got to it before anything leaked into her abdominal cavity, causing complications that would’ve put her out of commission for months rather than weeks. I knew she’d been put on antibiotics for any possible infection. The graze to her spleen would heal on its own.
As her body shook, the hand holding the glass went to her side. She held it there and I thought she was about to pull herself together. Instead, the opposite happen ed. She bent forward in her chair, cradling her face in both hands, and she let go. Her body quaked as she sobbed. I knew it was a bad idea, but I found myself getting off the bike. It wasn’t her magnetic pull that drew me to her front door. It was guilt, remorse, desperation, and despair. In a fog, I found myself using my key, walking into her living room, and standing in the entryway of her kitchen. She didn’t even notice me.
“Elle?”
She looked up from her hands. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “J? How did—what are you doing here?”
I knelt on the floor in front of her. Taking her hands in mine, I told her, “I have a plan. I need to tell you my plan so I can fix this.”
Her eyes got wide. “Plan? You have a plan?” She shot up from the chair and looked down at my kneeling form. She was shaking, but I didn’t think it was sadness anymore. It was anger. “Get out.”
I stood up. She had to hear me out. I reached out to grab her hand, but she pulled it away and held it against her side. I watched her close her eyes and take deep breaths. Shit, I was butchering this. When she opened her eyes, she was calm—I thought.
In a low voice , she told me again, “Get out of my apartment.” When I didn’t leave, she shoved me in the chest, but I barely moved. I watched her calm demeanor fade, and rage take its place. “Get out!” she screamed, beating her fists against my torso. “Get the fuck out! Get out of my apartment you fucking bastard! Get out!” When I still didn’t budge, she gave up and pushed past me into her living room.
I knew I had to lay it on the line. “I ’m not going to say I’m sorry. Words like that can’t convey the level of remorse I have. I didn’t want you to find out, and in the end, you found out in the worst possible way.” I took a breath before continuing. “I fucking kill people, Elle. It’s what I do. It’s what I have to do. It’s kill or be killed. A year ago I was ready to die, but you shined your light on me. I can’t go back, baby. I can’t go back to the darkness. Please, Elle, don’t make me go back to the emptiness.”
She was pacing the living room, her hands shoved in her hair. Every piece of me hurt to see her in so much pain, physically and emotionally. Knowing I was the cause of that pain
“We’ll take the Suburban. You can stash your bike in my garage,” I told Dig.
“Brother, you know this is it. Once this happens, there’s no going back.”
I knew what he was telling me, and I knew I was all in. We parted ways and I headed home. Any hesitancy I had about this plan shattered two nights ago when I’d driven past Elle’s place. She was sitting at her kitchen table that was pushed up against a window facing the street. The inside of her place was dark, only the street light illuminating her form hunched over in a chair. One hand was wrapped around a glass that I assumed had wine in it, and the other hand was covering her eyes. I watched her for a minute, unsure of what she was doing. It wasn’t until I saw her body shake that I realized she was crying at her kitchen table.
I was gutted. I t’d been six weeks since the shooting. I imagine she was still in pain, but on her way to healing. The doctor had said she was lucky that her injuries weren’t more extensive. The damage to her stomach had been minor, and they’d got to it before anything leaked into her abdominal cavity, causing complications that would’ve put her out of commission for months rather than weeks. I knew she’d been put on antibiotics for any possible infection. The graze to her spleen would heal on its own.
As her body shook, the hand holding the glass went to her side. She held it there and I thought she was about to pull herself together. Instead, the opposite happen ed. She bent forward in her chair, cradling her face in both hands, and she let go. Her body quaked as she sobbed. I knew it was a bad idea, but I found myself getting off the bike. It wasn’t her magnetic pull that drew me to her front door. It was guilt, remorse, desperation, and despair. In a fog, I found myself using my key, walking into her living room, and standing in the entryway of her kitchen. She didn’t even notice me.
“Elle?”
She looked up from her hands. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy. “J? How did—what are you doing here?”
I knelt on the floor in front of her. Taking her hands in mine, I told her, “I have a plan. I need to tell you my plan so I can fix this.”
Her eyes got wide. “Plan? You have a plan?” She shot up from the chair and looked down at my kneeling form. She was shaking, but I didn’t think it was sadness anymore. It was anger. “Get out.”
I stood up. She had to hear me out. I reached out to grab her hand, but she pulled it away and held it against her side. I watched her close her eyes and take deep breaths. Shit, I was butchering this. When she opened her eyes, she was calm—I thought.
In a low voice , she told me again, “Get out of my apartment.” When I didn’t leave, she shoved me in the chest, but I barely moved. I watched her calm demeanor fade, and rage take its place. “Get out!” she screamed, beating her fists against my torso. “Get the fuck out! Get out of my apartment you fucking bastard! Get out!” When I still didn’t budge, she gave up and pushed past me into her living room.
I knew I had to lay it on the line. “I ’m not going to say I’m sorry. Words like that can’t convey the level of remorse I have. I didn’t want you to find out, and in the end, you found out in the worst possible way.” I took a breath before continuing. “I fucking kill people, Elle. It’s what I do. It’s what I have to do. It’s kill or be killed. A year ago I was ready to die, but you shined your light on me. I can’t go back, baby. I can’t go back to the darkness. Please, Elle, don’t make me go back to the emptiness.”
She was pacing the living room, her hands shoved in her hair. Every piece of me hurt to see her in so much pain, physically and emotionally. Knowing I was the cause of that pain
Similar Books
