𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲

Chapter 76

— Chapter 76 —
Ambition, the Eighth Deadliest Sin

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N O A H

It was the perfect day for a funeral.

The perfect day to wake up to a harmony of chirping birds, blaring sunlight and a cloudless sky. It'd drizzled the night prior—dewdrops of rain were clinging to the lush grass outside the Catholic church.

You'd never see a church surrounded by so many motorcycles.

I'd been the first to arrive, early in the morning, when the only soul in sight was the wandering priest. Rays of early light flowed over the polished pews through mosaic windows, the stained glass splotching rainbows of color over chequered floors. The Chief's body sat enclosed in an oak casket on the catafalque upon the stage. It'd been decorated in crème-colored white. White cloths, white flowers, white ribbons and unlit candles and yet, it looked so bare.

I dared to sit alone close to the back of the pews. Silent. Fingers clasped between fingers, and a knee bouncing as if it had a life of its own. Maybe if I sat here for long enough, I'd become part of the furniture.

An inconsolable anguish had lumped its heap on my shoulders. My limbs were heavy; my heart was dead. The Lexapro was busy working overtime.

I didn't want to be here.

I wanted to die. But I didn't want to kill the physical self—I wanted to kill the soul. I wanted to cut it out like a tumor, stomp it beneath my feet and walk away from it feeling nothing. Because feeling nothing was better than feeling this.

What a monumentally selfish fuck I've become.

Heavy footfalls echoed into the church hall. A familiar sound of chiming keys. I didn't react to it, didn't even flinch as the stillness of the room was shattered to pieces.

Shooter was here.

The footfalls grew louder as he approached, until he was standing so close that I could feel his body heat invade my personal space. That and the smell of his hard liquor—subtle, but there.

My stare didn't deviate once from the casket across the hall. If Shooter had gathered the nerve to show up, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Mostly because I feared I'd lose control and strangle him to death under the watchful eye of my mother's beloved God.

I chose to scratch my burned arm instead—except I couldn't tell the scars there from the fresh scabs.

Shooter sat down in the pew directly behind me and let out a muffled grunt. The liquor bottle he must've been holding was heavy as he set it down beside him.

"What are you drinking?" The question was a murmur through my lips.

"Don Julio."

"Strong stuff."

The biker grumbled, "It's not a day I want to remember."

He passed the bottle over my shoulder. I couldn't explain why I took it, but I did. With a single sip, I let the liquor burn the back of my throat and the front of my mind. He took it from me when I held it over my shoulder again. Better for him to take it before I set my mind towards drinking the pain away.

I tilted my chin up and spoke through tight teeth. "I heard people aren't responding well to the new management. Not so easy being Chief, is it?"

A slow breath escaped him. He deflected the question. "How's Chains?"