Page 49 of Vandal Unbound

“Knox is worried about him… If that’s what you’re not saying.” Maren places her fork down.

I let out a breath on a whoosh. “I was trying to think of the right way to say I don’t think he’s in the right place for the two of us right now.”

Maren places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on her fists. “You know, I can totally understand why he looks like a risk on paper. But from what Knox says, Vandal was the happiest guy in the club before. Singing. Always laughing.”

“What happened to him?”

Maren smiles sadly. “I think you should ask Vandal about that.”

“That’s fair.”

Two men come and lean on the glass fronting of the bakery just behind Maren. They’re facing the street, away from us.

“And you know, it’s perfectly okay to admit in a perfect world, you’d just, you know, bone the guy because he’s hot.”

I laugh at that, almost spitting my coffee. “Maren!”

She shrugs. “Vandal’s a good-looking guy. I don’t blame you for noticing.”

I can feel my cheeks heat. “He is, isn’t he?”

The two men move. One of them moves, shoving his hand into his pocket. And then I see it.

A tattoo I haven’t seen in two years.

A tattoo I never wanted to see again.

Maren continues to talk about Vandal, but I can’t hear a word she says for the whooshing sound rushing through my ears as my pulse pounds. I drop my head and stare at my cake like it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen.

My ex had one in the exact same place, and it’s the symbol that he gave up his freedom for.

15

VANDAL

Six hours later, I still can’t get how pretty Daisy looked in that sundress out of my head. But unfortunately, the reel is interjected with the soundtrack of her telling me how I can’t even look after myself and asking me if I’d been drinking.

Which is ironic seeing as I was on a bunch of pain pills when I saw her. And since I came back to the clubhouse after seeing her, I drank enough that Knox benched me from even attempting to ride out with them tonight. Now all I’m left with is the regret of feeling like every last thing has slipped out of my fingers.

Because I’ve tried to quit.

Four times.

Thought it would be as easy as just not drinking or not taking pills. But nothing prepared me for the way it felt. How my skin itched and the world spun and how every hurdle sent me hurtling to the nearest bottle.

My gun sits on the table next to me in my room at the clubhouse as I nurse a glass of vodka. The number of times that SIG has saved my life is countless. And there are many bodies out in the world with bullets in them from that specific gun.

It doesn’t leave this room much anymore, because I’m one ballistic test away from being linked to too many murders. But tonight I’m looking at it like it might be my own salvation. I pick it up, the weight cold and heavy in my hand.

It’s even colder when I press it to my temple.

I close my eyes and take a breath as I wonder what would happen if I squeezed the trigger. For a fleeting moment, it’s who would miss me, but quickly switches to the logistics of cleanup. And how Havoc would blame himself. He’s already beating himself up. He was meant to come to Mom’s with me that evening I was attacked, but Knox asked him to do something, so he canceled.

As my hands shake, I force myself to visualize him walking into the room to find my dead body. But it’s the image that he has Daisy and Elsie with him that forces me to put the gun down.

I don’t want any of this to touch that lovely little girl and her mom who…

“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging my hand over my face. What the hell am I thinking? Just when I think I’ve hit the bottom, I fall a few flights more. I empty the chamber and bullets, shove the gun back into the box it came from, then slam it into my drawer and lock it. I place the ammo in a drawer on the other side of the desk and lock that too.