Queen of Aces (Rebel Kings MC 1)

• °Fifteen° •

I do not live in darkness...darkness lives in me. 

Aces 

Tick, tock. tick, tock.

They say a watched pot never boils...but this pot is ready to explode. A pressure cooker which turns into a bomb. 

 Hickey dickory dock....

Everything is on eggshells. Tip toeing across the  invisible line. Everyone watches but is to scared to speak. As if the trauma had muted them. Watching like a sick television show as two of there own suffered. Like a cancer eating away from the inside out, at first seeming strong until the inside is so toxic you look sick on the outside. 

It's a slow and painful death.

And its exactly what He wanted.

The patience of a saint for one who is a sinner. 

Wishing the suffering on others having them be crushed by its weight like a bug under his boot.

 I don't feel as if I suffer. I feel guilt. They are not the same.

 If I suffer from anything its the guilt. 

Relentless guilt. 

Shame that I could not ease her suffering, when she had endured so much. 

Six long and painful weeks had passed since the abduction and attack with the brutality that followed, I had removed my bandages and bindings, stitches had been removed and bruises were now barely visible. I suppose the tattoos helped but Nyla was not so lucky. My already mottled skin from the black in hiding the imperfections and scars. but she is fairer in complexation with far less tattoos patterning her skin compared to the bruises.

but it was also like comparing apples and oranges, it wasn't equal. and had suffered, she does suffer. it never ended.  

Nyla was a ghost now. A shell, hollow and withered. I kept my distance at first, fiercely watching from a safe distance. I didn't expect her to want to be near me...Rosie had assured me otherwise but Nyla also barely ate, never spoke and never left her room. rehab was not working because as much as they tried at first she would turn into a screaming banshee and terrifying the therapists who were already ready to shit their pants being in the den of bikers. What shortly followed surprised the majority of the club, Bear had withdrew the rehab and refused to speak to anyone as to the reasons why.

I feared Nyla would wither away to nothing, that the afterburn would eat away at her and she would fade to nothing. 

I worried the Nyla I first met would always just be a memory, she was wounded then but she was dying now. 

I refuse to let that happen. 

So I made a plan and that plan starts today. 

Standing in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door I look like a turd rolled in confetti. With not shaving for the 6 weeks my crew cut had began to get shaggy and a beard was in full fluff. 

Looking like a yeti, yeti rolled in confetti? 

 I'd be surprised if Nyla didn't scream with fright at the sight of me but she also hasn't made any sounds other than the terrifying, nail curling screams from the night terrors. Rosie said she would pick at her food like a bird, and after I was moved out of her room and into Gunner's next door I could hear how often after she did eat that it came straight back up.