Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Hansen sat at the head of the table. Liam sat on his right instead of behind me.
That stung.
I didn’t let on.
“I’m just gonna say, what you’ve done for the club during this time, it’s noted. Appreciated,” Hansen started.
I nodded once instead of replying.
“I said I’d give you leave to go, write your story where you pleased when you earned my trust.” He leaned forward slightly, not looking at Liam. “You’ve earned my trust.”
I still didn’t speak.
“That means you’re free to go,” Hansen clarified. His gaze intensified. “You’re also free to stay. If you wish.” Still, he didn’t look to Liam, but I knew he was talking to him too.
I nodded. “Thank you.”
I normally didn’t say thank you to people for letting me go after keeping me hostage, but it felt necessary.
“You’re a good president,” I added. “I’ve seen a lot of men in charge of armies, militias, street gangs, prisons. Almost all of them turn rotten. The cliché that absolute power corrupts absolutely is a cliché for a reason. Not many men stay good when they’re given a title. Power. When they’re in charge of life and death. I just think it needs to be acknowledged that you’ve stayed decent. Through things that would’ve turned a lot of other men rotten.”
Hansen nodded once. “Think your gauge of decent is slightly skewed.”
I smiled. “I think the world’s slightly skewed. I’m just adjusting.”
Something moved in his eyes, but he just nodded again. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing. “I’ve got a family to go and spend some time with.”
“Say hi to Macy for me,” I said, hoping he knew I meant to say goodbye to her for me.
“Will do.”
Then he left Liam and I sitting across the table from each other.
“This is almost full circle,” I said, with sweating palms. “Well, beyond full circle.”
Liam didn’t speak. He just stared.
I chewed my lip, waited.
“Just because you’re not a prisoner anymore doesn’t mean you have to go,” he said finally.
My stomach dropped.
“You want me to stay?” I clarified.
He nodded once.
“Stay here, with you?”
“We’ll get a place,” he said. “A home. Somewhere that isn’t a fuckin’ dorm room.” I thought of that room. One that had been a prison. A sanctuary. A twisted kind of paradise. The room I didn’t hate being in one bit.
But it wasn’t about a room. Or a home.
“And what about my family?” I asked. “What do I tell them?”
He clenched his jaw. “You tell them you’ve met a man, you want to live in New Mexico.”
“And what happens when they come to New Mexico to meet the man who’s made me want to settle down, after over ten years of running away from anything like a romance?” I asked him, throwing the question like a bullet.
He opened his mouth, but I already knew the answer.
“You want me to come into your lie with you,” I said. “You want to tangle me up in your despicable deception. And yes, I know your reasoning, you’re a monster, you’re an outlaw, a murderer. You have scars. I even understand some of them. And you know what? I’m tempted. You’ve taken me down this dark path of yours. I started as a prisoner. But I haven’t ended as one. I did this of my own free will. I liked walking beside you in the darkness. I liked the feeling of this new, brutal and ugly you. Because it’s okay for the new ugly me to exist with you.” I glanced around church. “I can even get used to the lifestyle that you live. The danger. The death. The knowledge you run guns, that you risk life in prison on the daily, your life as well. I can handle all of that. But the lie. I won’t be part of your lie. And it seems that means I won’t be part of your life.”
I waited for him to contradict me. I waited for him to tell me that he would choose his life with me over his lie. That he’d be that good man, he’d do the right thing for his family, for me, for himself.
I waited for a long time for that good man to come out from his scarred façade.
Too long, probably.
Because he didn’t come out.
Liam didn’t speak.
No.
Jagger.
This was the point he turned into Jagger.
I nodded, the simple gesture agonizing.
But wasn’t everything with him now just varying degrees of agony?
“Goodbye, Jagger,” I whispered, my voice broken glass.
I turned and walked away.
Got into my car, that someone—Hansen—had decided to give back to me.
Drove home. For twenty hours. Bathroom and coffee breaks my only stops.
And I didn’t shed a single tear.
I cried them all for the death of Liam.
I’d just done it fifteen years too early.
Jagger
Jagger felt odd. Empty. Like he was walking around, hollowed out, with nothing on the inside. And that was different than before, when he was walking around this clubhouse with a prospect patch, fresh scars, fresh pain. He was full then. Fucking bursting. Of anger. Regret. Self-hatred. To name a few.