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At least I’ll be able to see him again. Assuming he and I go to the same afterlife — though I’m not so sure. For everything he did in the MC, he was still a good man. Too good for that line of work. He had hopes, dreams, ambitions to not just change the club for the better, but to bring change to all of Sacramento’s MC scene.
And his laugh.
Oh, his laugh.
At least I’ll get to hear that again, soon. I hope.
That shape is closer. More real. It’s time.
He extends his arm toward me, and I wish I had the willpower to release the hold on my attacker’s wrists and reach toward Lucas, but part of me still clings to life, even though I’ve longed to see his face again for every minute of every day since he was murdered.
Then his hand changes course.
It grabs hold of my attacker by his throat and wrenches him away.
I gasp a never-ending breath of air as pain and blood flow through my body and fill my brain.
I try to sit up, but the most I manage is a moan and an inclination of my bruised neck.
Through the haze that clouds my vision, I watch the shadow of my brother beat and batter the attacker. Fists rain upon him like a thunderstorm, unleashing a torrent of violence that ends with a bone-crunching stomp on the man’s head.
I hear and feel the crack of the man’s neck deep in my bones.
My vision swirls then, and I gasp once more for air. It feels like I have to fight for every breath. Then a fit of coughing overtakes me as something that shouldn’t be loose in my throat feels loose and my head falls back to the floor.
For minutes, it seems all I can do is cough and fight to keep air in my body.
When it stops, when air finally stays inside me, a hand presses itself gently to my cheek and I look up to see my brother’s face looking down at me, compassion and caring writ in every line and wrinkle.
“You saved me.”
I’ve missed him. Missed him so much. Just looking at his face makes my heart collapse in my chest. I want to laugh and cry at the same time.
“Are you all right?” It’s not his voice.
The words that slip into my ears aren’t coming from Lucas’s mouth. They’re repugnant, sickening — they’re Dixon’s.
Gingerly, I shake my head.
My vision clears and my soul rejects what I see in front of me: Dixon, kneeling beside me, looking like he actually gives a shit about me.
“Not you. No, not you…”
“Who else would be here to save your ass? You’re welcome, by the way.”
I swing at him.
It’s a pathetic punch; I can barely move my arm, but he lets it hit him and the lack of anything it does is so much of an insult that I want to scream.
His mouth quivers a little in a smile.
“I’d rather be dead,” I spit at him.
“Join the club.” He looks over his shoulder at the man on the floor. “If that’s really the case, I can try to wake that guy up, see if he’ll finish the job. Don’t hold out much hope for it, though. I heard a pretty serious snap when I stepped on his head.”
“Why’d you save me?”
“Because I couldn’t just sit there and watch him hurt you. Now, hold still, this might hurt, but I need to check you over. He got you good.”
