“State the name,” the cleaner snaps.

“Chlorine,” I say.

“Number,” he says back.

“Three, all family,” I growl.

“Location?”

I spout off the location and how extensive the blood mess is before he tells me that it will cost a hundred grand, which is cheap considering everything he will have to do. I walk over, put my hand on Pyro’s shoulder, and squeeze.

“The cleaners are on the way,” I say quietly.

“Cremation,” Pyro asks.

“Yes, on all three.”

“I didn’t spend much alone time with her these last few months. What kind of best friend am I?” Winter cries trying to wipe the blood off her hands with her shirt.

Fuck, I hate asking her this but I don’t know this f**ker.

“Baby, what do you think your father will do next?”

“He’ll destroy everything until he gets what he wants and what he wants is me back home. But he’s not gonna get the chance to take me back home because he will never leave Nevada alive,” she curses as she stands up. “Call on every connection you have to locate him. He’ll be traveling with at least nine more men. He won’t be staying in a hotel or a motel. He’s too smart for that and he has Snake here to help him in an area he knows nothing about. It will take everything to f**king find him. He is the Russian Mafia in the U.S. My father is Vlády Belov.”

Oh, this just keeps getting f**king worse. I knew she was a Belov, but one of the main Belov’s children is even worse. I hate to do what I’m about to do next. I need to call on my other charters and call sanctuary for the families. I need to get them out of Nevada and fast.

“I fell in love with a f**king mafia princess,” I groan as I start sending out mass text messages.

“Don’t you ever f**king call me that again,” she warns. “I’m not a f**king princess. I kill people now or have you forgotten that? I’ve shed blood. Princesses don’t do that shit and I’ve never been a part of my father’s mafia shit. And Princesses don’t grow up without a mother figure!”

I’ve really set her off. Her face is bright red when I look up from my phone; I stop texting and put my phone in my back pocket before trying to sooth her.

“I didn’t mean it like that, baby. I’m sorry.”

“She’s really dead,” she whispers as she looks back to a silent Pyro holding a limp Lana.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a small whisper because I really am sorry. Her love for Lana is and will always be strong.

28

The grand opening continued without its two headliners Lana and me, and it’s been two days since my best friend died in Pyro’s arms. I’m sitting on the couch with Braxxon when Smokey comes in with a box. He sits it down in front of us with an apologetic look. Braxxon kisses my shoulder before he picks me up off his lap and sits me down beside him. He leans forward and opens the box, pulling out three urns. They are beautiful urns.

“Who is who?” I ask quietly.

Smokey clears his throat before speaking. “Haley and her baby are in the blue urn with the two doves. Eagle is in the black one with the Breakneck emblem and Lana is in the one with the Hawaiian flower on it.”

“How?” I croak.

“He’s paid a lot of money for what he does and we said they were family. He took care of our family,” Braxxon answers.

Pyro walks by and does a double take when he notices the urns sitting on the table in front of us. You can hear the swallow he takes before walking over.

“Lana’s—,” I say but Pyro cuts me off.

“She’s the one with the flower,” he says sitting on the opposite side of the table.

I know Pyro is just as f**ked up over this as I am. He loved her too. Smokey and Braxxon take the other two urns and leave Pyro and me with Lana’s.

“She loved you; you know that,” I say as I look up into Pyro’s eyes.

“I know… she… she told me,” he says quietly. “I can’t do this shit.”

He gets up and walks out of the clubhouse, leaving me all alone with my best friend’s ashes in front of me.

Braxxon calls for a preacher to do a small prayer at the clubhouse for Haley, Lana, and Eagle. The brothers all take a shot glass from Braxxon, and he hands me one. We shoot tequila straight in honor of the ones we lost. When the preacher leaves, Braxxon takes the picture of Lana and me from my hands and replaces it with Lana’s urn while he walks the other two urns to a glassed in case. I follow him and I notice photos and some other urns already in there. I spot Phil’s photo along with his prayer card from his funeral inside.

“My father started this for the people we lost that mean something to us,” Braxxon says as he slides a key in and unlocks the glass case. “The ones we love are always in view. They belong and deserve to be in here.”

Tears leave my eyes as he places Haley and Eagle inside, then takes Lana away from me, sets her inside, and places our photo in front of her urn.

“It’s not over,” I whisper as he locks the glass case.

Braxxon sighs and turns towards me. “I know, Angel. Let’s go do some lines. We need an upper.”

I want to protest because I would like to be sober in case something else happens, but anything to get me out of this miserable f**king place I’m at in my head sounds way too good. We sit at the bar and he takes out a vial and dumps it. He takes a credit card and dices it into four large lines. He reaches across the bar, snags up a straw, takes his knife from his pocket, and cuts it making a few small funnels. Braxxon hands me one and holds up two fingers.