I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to let her go. But as far as I was concerned, being with me would only bring her danger and thinking about losing her too was enough to break me.

I’d forced myself to stay away from her the last week. We had a rat in the club. One of the Mafia’s own. Target had gotten to Harmony and put her in the worst kind of trouble as he attempted to take down the club using what he called one of our biggest weaknesses—our women.

While they valued family, women within the Italian Mafia were always to be seen and never heard. Things were slightly different with women inside the club. Sure we had the club whores, the strippers, and the hang arounds, but when we cared about a woman, we treasured and honored her like she deserved.

The bastard had informed us of his plan, including the fact that he’d known of my feelings for Chelsea and that she was the original aim before Harmony got in the way of his plans. Not only that, but that even if he didn’t make it the plan would still be in place, plus the added bonus of them coming to avenge his death.

I put Target down, but not before Harmony had taken her frustrations out on him with a baseball bat.

“You need to hurry up and choose, Op,” Blizzard said, shaking his head. “You know she’d stay in a second if you just admit how you feel.”

“She’s already on the DePalma’s radar. We don’t know who’s watching us. I need to keep as far away from her as possible. It’s the only way that she might possibly be left alone.”

He shook his head again and headed for the door. “Cool, I’ll go see if she wants to come up to my room then. Maybe that will throw them off the scent even more.”

Just hearing him say the words made me both want to vomit and smash his head in. I tightened my lips and gripped the side of my desk so hard I thought it may actually crumble in my hands.

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“And you’re a dumbass.”

All I could do was stare as he closed the door behind him. I knew he wasn’t going to go after Chelsea. Not only was Blizzard my VP, but he was also my best friend. As cliché as it sounds, a lot of the time he knew me better than I knew myself, as he’d just proven.

My head told me I was doing the right thing. Being associated with me left her wide open. People would target her, just so they could get to me so I pushed her away, keeping her at a distance. I should just let her leave the club, but then my heart throws in his two cents and I can’t bear the thought of not having her near.

I was tearing myself in two—a jagged rift splitting me down the center.

I knew I was hurting her.

I was hurting me too.

One day things were going to tear completely, and I’d be left with a decision to make. Tell her how I feel and risk someone taking her from me forever, or let her leave and crush the both of us but keep her safe.

I looked to my left and found my father’s picture taking pride of place in the center of my office wall.

“I wish you were here,” I whispered. “Fuck, do I wish you were here.”

My feet hit the pavement hard, the tension in my body making its way out via my feet. I forced my legs to move, pounding them over and over again onto the sidewalk, pushing myself forward.

The upbeat electronica song played loudly in my ears and allowed me to keep a perfect pace, the music driving me, not allowing me to slow down. My legs burned and my chest heaved, but I pushed through.

It was only pain.

Pain could be overcome. Pain could be conquered.

I needed to run.

Ever since I was young, running had been what I’d known. I run to escape and when I needed space, I found delight in it. The only thing at that point and time that I needed to worry about was forcing one foot in front of the other and pushing my body forward. Always forward. I never looked back.

My mother’s voice echoed in my head.

“Don’t stop running. No matter what. Never stop. Don’t stop running.”

“But Mommy...” I sniffed, clutching at her dress as she lifted me up and placed me through the window. There were raised voices in another room, one of which I recognized as my fathers. A gunshot rang out loudly from what sounded like the kitchen.

“Run Chelsea, run.”

I took one last look at my mom, her eyes pleaded with me to move. I closed my eyes tightly, squeezing out the last tears and turned away. I took off toward the woods behind our house, passing into the cover just as I heard the second shot echo through the dark night.

I didn’t stop running.

I never stopped running.

I don’t remember much about my life before that night. Sometimes I wish I had more memories—memories of a family that loved me, memories of two parents who were willing to give me the world. I figured it was my mind’s way of protecting itself, blocking out the good so it wouldn’t make me weak so I couldn’t think about what I could have had. Too bad it hadn’t been able to protect me from the years of my life that followed.

Images of my parents flashed through my eyes, closely followed by the faces of the numerous foster parents that came after.

Alcohol, drugs, guns, death.

Just run them out, I told myself.

I wanted to numb everything. The only thing I wanted to feel was my heart beating and my muscles burning.

I caught sight of the clubhouse up ahead and picked up the pace even more. My lungs screeched for air and the muscles in my body all screamed at me to stop as I sprinted toward the compound’s front gates. The song in my headphones was quickly forgotten, the only beat now was the thump, thump, thump, of my tennis shoes against the concrete sidewalk and the erratic thrumming of my heart as it pounded against my chest.

I hit the wire fence with a clang and clutched at it, my fingers looping through the wide diamond-shaped spaces. For at least a minute, I stayed like that. Clinging onto the massive fence for dear life as my legs slowly began to get feeling back in them.

“You all right, Chel?”

I blinked through the sweat that was now stinging my eyes to find Ham had stepped out of the gates and was staring at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Fine … just … catching … breath …” I managed to squeak out. He screwed up his nose as his eyes scanned me, but finally nodded and stepped back to his guard duties.

Ham was a sweet guy, older than the other two prospects at twenty-three, a late bloomer you might say. His full name was Hamlet. The patch members have been having a field day with that one since he joined. I guess his parents were both English majors with a weird love for Shakespeare—he also had a sister called Ophelia and a brother called Romeo. He grinned and bore it though and so far he seemed like a good guy.

I felt my heart finally slowing down and air began to flow more freely into my lungs. I pushed to my feet, my legs shaking and slipped through the small gap in the gate where Ham was standing watch with another prospect, Neil. It was just enough space to get a body through but not a car or even bike for that matter. I lifted my hand just to say hi and carried on to the clubhouse.

I climbed onto the deck and pushed through the bi-folding doors to the side of the main room. I frowned at the bottles that were scattered around from last night’s party. I wish these guys would learn to pick up after themselves occasionally. As much as I loved it there, sometimes it was more like a frat house full of teens as opposed to a clubhouse full of grown men.

I huffed, forcing my mind to ignore it for now and checked the time on my watch. I was on breakfast this morning. It was just after six and a lot of the men were early risers, even with the amount of alcohol they consume some nights.