Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (24 page)

And he's gone.

We don't move for a long while, just stay like that, without a single word to pass between us. Ryan moves first, removing the piece of torn shirt from Jim's side. He looks up at the human shield the girls have created. My eyes follow his. Alex's body shakes in silent sobs from what she's just witnessed. Her face is contorted in ways that must be painful for her and her scars, but she cries anyway. Still, no sound escapes her. Immediately, Ryan pulls her down to him, and he lets out a cry that is so honest, I know I'll never forget it.

Mindy moves in to comfort Ian, but he pushes her off and stomps away. Once he's standing over the body of the man who took his father from him, he gives it a kick. And then another and another. He doesn't let up until Grady drags him away. It's only then that my boy's eyes dart up, and he looks for Mindy. When he finds her, the tears fall openly from his eyes.

There's no shame in crying, I used to tell him.

Even the strongest of men cry.

Looking down at the man in my arms, all limp and lifeless and still so formidable--even in death--I work to pull his deadweight up higher, so I can hug him better. It's not easy, but I make it happen. Everybody is sort of immobile now, some intently watching me, others determined to do anything but. I ignore them and give myself this final moment with my man. It starts with one tear, and then there's many. A memory surfaces, and it knocks me on my ass.

You don't shut us out
, he'd once told me. I was depressed over the twins' birthday and had pretty much given up on the entire world. My pushy, determined, loving man told me I don't get to quit when our kids need us.

"They need me now," I whisper to myself on repeat until I can bring myself to do what I need to. With one final moment, I brush Jim's hair back from his face and look into his empty gray eyes. I close one eyelid and then the other and shush whatever may be left of him into eternal rest. "I got this now, baby. I got this."

"Somebody get my mom out of here," Michael says. Looking up, I find everybody's position has changed. The women are largely removed from the space now, standing back behind their men. This isn't a rescue anymore, but a massacre. I carefully extract myself from beneath Jim's body and place his head gently on the cement. Jeremy approaches me, but my face and gun encourage him not to.

"I'm here, baby," I say to my youngest son as I push my way through the men. Ryan's the last in my way, but I don't push him. I only have to gently sneak by, and he lets me go. My heart is breaking into tiny little pieces that can't be collected and put back together. And it's fine and I don't care, because the only thing I had to stay together for anymore just took his final breath. Still, I push on.

Michael stands, with Leo by his side, in front of his father's men. In front of Michael is his father. He's got his knees to the ground with his legs tucked beneath him. His head is bowed. Execution style, only he's made to face his own men. If it weren't for the tremble of Mike's hand, I might think he was sedated somehow. Not that anybody here would give him that courtesy. He needs to feel every single piece of the pain he's about to endure.

"There's a new boss at the helm," Michael says. His shiny gold Desert Eagle looks heavy in his hand as the barrel points at the back of his father's head. Maybe it's not the gun itself but the act instead. I don't care either way. Mike took my babies. Jim helped me save them twenty years later. And now here we are. So many are dead, and those who are left are hurting. My attention shifts for half a moment to the curvy woman in the corner of the warehouse. She's got her hand over her mouth and her eyes clamped closed.

Gloria
.

I want to comfort her, if only to focus on something other than my own pain, but my body won't let me. Instead, I stand, glued in place, as I watch my baby boy deliver a speech to a crowd of frightened men. They don't show it much, but it's there in the ticks of their jaws and the flickering of their eyes. Dead men always know what's coming.

"I will not stand for loyalty to anyone but me, is that understood?"

One lone man steps forward, despite the multitude of guns pointed in his direction. He spits on the cement and snarls in Michael's direction as he says, "I answer only to your father."

In response, Michael winks at the man and then pulls the trigger. His .38 lands center in the back of Mike's skull. His body slumps forward, death immediately taking him. I feel nothing. Where I should feel relief and vengeance, I just feel even more sorrow. Michael's face is impassive, as though he didn't just put a bullet in the back of his father's skull. The man who challenged him takes off running, but he doesn't get far. Without pause, Michael takes him out with three bullets to the guy's back.

"Does anybody else want to challenge me?"

Nobody does. They all stand in silence at my son's feet. Leo takes to one knee in a show of fealty that I've never before seen in the Italians. It doesn't take long for the wary and fearful men to do the same. As I scan the room, watching each of Mike's, now Michael's, men pledge their loyalty to him, a sinking horror overtakes me.

This might be the end of the war for Forsaken, but it's just the beginning for Michael. He won't ever give up his position of power, and he won't leave New York even if I ask, so I won't. Instead, I stand by his side, terrified to look him in the eye and discover that he's more his father than I ever realized--a merciless killer with no remorse for any of his sins.

The End

Exactly three years after our journey began we now end it with Cease.

Thank you for joining me on this epic ride.

NOW PRESENTING MR. & MRS. STONE

Ryan

Fort Bragg, California

A few years later

The icy wind cuts through my thin black button-up and practically leaves icicles on my arms in its wake. It's not so bad on my chest and back, where my cut provides a little extra protection, but the rest of me is covered in goosebumps. Even my rather sizable nut sack has shrunk to something less than impressive. Still, I don't move. I'd have been warmer if I'd worn flannel, but I promised my dad I wouldn't.

Give her what she wants. You won't ever regret it making her happy
.

Cub asked for the button-up. The cut, the jeans, the boots were all fine. But the plain black button-up was a must. After years of being turned inside out by this woman, of begging her to wear my ring, she finally accepted. If all she wants is one fucking thing, I'll do it. Hell, I'd have worn a full monkey suit if she'd ask me to. But she didn't, because that's my girl. She doesn't ask for more than she needs.

And in just a few minutes, my girl becomes my wife.

My nerves get the best of me, and I have to suck in a shaky breath to calm myself down. It doesn't work, but at least when I scrub my face I can get rid of the water in my eyes without feeling like such a pussy. I wish my dad were here. I wish so fucking bad that I'd have taken that bullet instead.

I love my girl. She's pesky and pushy and wormed her way into my heart. I didn't even know I
could
feel this way, and I'm still not entirely sure it's healthy. It's got to be a sickness, right? This constant need to touch her, to hear her voice, and to see her must be the result of some kind of fever that melted my brain. Best fucking thing that ever happened to me. Meeting my mom and brother are a close second, but my girl fucking takes it.

"If you're having second thoughts, don't bother jumping. I'll just push you off myself." Ma carefully navigates the rocks and climbs her way up to where I'm sitting. I turn toward her, my heart in my throat as she makes her way to me in those fucking heeled boots she has on. We're close to the cliff, and it's a steep drop. I'm not ready to bury another parent. If she goes overboard, I'm just gonna go ahead and throw myself over after her.

"Last thing on my mind," I say once she's settled beside me.

"So then what are you doing all the way out here when you're getting married in five minutes?"

"Thinking." She doesn't push my answer. That's the thing about my mom. She never pushes me to be somebody I'm not. Ever since the first day I met her, she's always just accepted who I am. If I'm a dick, she's cool with it. If I'm an unforgivable monster, she finds a way to justify it. She does the same with Ian, and she did the same with Dad. "I miss him."

Ma nods. She sniffles, but I don't look at her. My throat is closed up, and my hands are shaking again, but this time not from the cold. If I see my mother crying, I'm going to lose my shit.

"So do I, baby. Jim would've liked to see this. You in a button-up. Alex in a dress. He was so happy at Ian and Mindy's wedding. I know he's sad that he's not here."

"You talk about him like he's not dead," I say in a much harsher tone than I intend.

"Because for me, he's not dead. I know where his body is buried. I picked out the headstone, remember? But Jim's body was only part of him. Your dad's spirit? That hasn't gone anywhere."

"You're crazy, Ma. He's still dead."

Reaching over, she pats my knee and rests her head on my arm. She does this shit all the time--always hugging me and finding small ways to touch me as a means of giving me comfort without being too overt. I take it for granted, she does it so much. But right now it means the world to me. Dad patted my shoulder a lot. He'd squeeze the back of my neck in greeting, just so I'd know he was there. My head drops, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My throat constricts around what feels like a fucking golf ball. And of course, because it's my mother next to me, she has to cuddle closer and hum the same fucking tune she used to make us feel better when we were kids. Dad used to mimic her for fun, and he was terrible at it. He never could make it sound even half as good, but fuck, he tried. On the nights when Ian couldn't sleep and the terrors got to be too much, he'd scream. Those were the nights when I'd go and lie next to him in his bed until he calmed down. If he couldn't stop screaming, eventually Dad would make his way in there. And if all else failed, Mom would come in clutch.

Tears well in my eyes. Not a single one falls before Ma notices and decides to make it worse by telling me her favorite memory of us together. I was nine and called her "Mom" for the first time. It was intentional, she remembers that much, but doesn't remember everything else. Unlike her, I vividly remember every detail of that day. That was the day I finally got a mom.

Fuck.

I don't even try to hide the tears now. I've cried four times in my life that I can remember. Once was when my grandma died, the second when Mancuso cut up Cub's face, the third when my dad died, and then now. I didn't even cry a few weeks ago when we found out we're going to have a baby. I was just happy then. It's about fucking time I knocked her up--I've been playing fast and loose with the condoms for almost a year now.

"I think you're trying to kill me," I say when Ma finishes.

She laughs softly. "A mother's greatest joy is finding new ways to emotionally devastate her children."

"Then you must be the happiest fuck alive."

"Sometimes I am," she says. "Like now. You're officially late to your own wedding, punk."

We wipe away our tears once we're safely away from the edge of the cliff. I'm still freezing. I think my man nipples could cut glass right now, but my heart hurts too much to pay it any mind. I give the cliff one last look and head toward the fence that separates Forsaken's property from city land. The ocean side of the fence is covered in hundreds of white Christmas tree lights that are collectively bright enough so that we can be married by the ocean without any ugly barriers in the way. We didn't exactly get a permit for it--and by that I mean Alex asked me to, and I said I did even though I didn't because fuck the city and fuck that shit. Forsaken doesn't ask permission.

"You're late, fucker," Ian says as I rush past him and the rows of folding chairs that are filled with our family and friends. I give him the bird on my way to the altar but stop short. Off to the side, in a big, poofy white dress is my girl. She's huddled with her twin, Michael, and laughing about something. When he notices me watching, he gives her a nudge. My girl stands there in her wedding dress like it's no big deal. But it's a very big deal. She's gorgeous. I close the distance between us and cup her face in my hand. The rough skin of her scars reminds me of all she's endured and all that we've lost. With my other hand, I rub her still-flat belly to remind myself of all that we still have.

"Have you been crying?" she asks in a hushed tone.

"I miss my dad," I admit. I've been working on being more honest with her. It's not easy, and most days I don't even try, but it's our wedding day. I won't be pissing her off before this thing is legal.

"I miss him, too," she says with a sad smile. And then she kisses me. We're not married yet, but I'm happy to wait a few more minutes if it means I get to spend that time kissing my girl.

AND IT NEVER ENDS...

Ruby

And several years after that...

"Ma!" Ryan shouts through the open kitchen window. I huff and meet his eyes. He's no more than twenty feet from me, but he insists on yelling. Some things never change. My boy stands at the large stainless steel grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs. He's got the same loaded expression on his face that he did the day I met him. That was something like thirty years ago now. It's only in moments like these that I remember I didn't give birth to him. Growing frustrated, he shouts again. "Ma! Come on, I need the fucking patties."