Read Online Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) by Drew Elyse - Free Book Online
Authors: Drew Elyse
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in the world I could want more for her.
And I…I could’ve had Gabe.
But dwelling on “if onlys” wasn’t going to do a thing. That dream wasn’t real. Life had taken a very different turn and there was no changing that.
Besides, I was ignoring the reason I left in the first place. Being back, being surrounded by the Disciples caring for Emmy and I the way a family would, being near Gabe again—it was all distracting me from the bigger picture.
I didn’t leave because I was pregnant. I left because I couldn’t be with a Disciple anymore.
After Dad died, I saw with stark clarity what I had ignored for most of my life. Being a Disciple wasn’t just riding and brotherhood, it was danger. It was the kind of all-consuming, destructive danger that stole good men from the world. The club had already stolen one man I loved; I couldn’t watch another die too young.
It destroyed me to do it, but I knew I couldn’t convince Gabe to leave the Disciples. So, I left without him.
That decision was one I didn’t let myself dwell on often. I knew it was the gravest mistake I had ever made, and, God willing, I would never be in a position to make another like it. Still, I couldn’t imagine not making it. Even if I could do everything over, where would it leave me? Would I still have my daughter?
I wouldn’t give up my Emmy for anything in the world.
Not even Gabe.
Not even to spare myself everything that had happened since I left.
That knowledge, though it didn’t erase the pain, got me through each day. And it got me off that step and back inside.
Four days later, I was at the clubhouse for the first time since my return. The building serving as the headquarters for the Disciples was once a warehouse for a chain furniture store that went belly-up. The location was relatively remote, no other warehouses or businesses nearby, nothing much at all around for a couple miles. The bank that seized the property was desperate to move it and got no takers, so Dad told me the club got it for a song. Good thing, too, because they had to sink a lot of money into making the large, cavernous space into a proper clubhouse.
Now, it housed a huge lounge area with several couches, TVs, a top of the line sound system, bar, pool table—everything the guys wanted. Decorated in bikers-don’t-do-frilly chic, the furniture, showing the wear it received, was very comfortable, though not exceedingly attractive. Beyond that was a huge kitchen with twice the counter and storage space of an average home, though it was not done up like a true industrial kitchen. There was also a large room that remained locked at all times where the guys had church—their private, members-only meetings. Then, halls led to a variety of rooms.
All the guys had their own rooms at the clubhouse. If they didn’t want to go home, partied too much to make it, or were on a club-wide lockdown, they stayed there. A few might be all-out living there at any given time. It was up to them. The rooms were large, with big beds and plenty of space for furniture including a desk and such. Each also had a private bathroom.
There were extra rooms, too. These might go to new prospects, be available for guests, or they might be rooms where guys fucked particularly skanky club girls they didn’t want in their own rooms. When I was younger, I had my own room next to Dad’s. When I was really little, if we were to stay at the clubhouse, I would share his. As I grew up, he claimed one just for me.
That refurbished warehouse, even more than the farmhouse we were staying at, was like home to me. It was where I had spent most of my time as a kid, besides school. Dad and I had a house in town, but club business had no set hours and even when there was nothing to do, Dad liked to have us both around his brothers. Our house was more a place where we slept than a true home. Where the Disciples were—that was home.
Being back was difficult. Being back with all the Disciples in
And I…I could’ve had Gabe.
But dwelling on “if onlys” wasn’t going to do a thing. That dream wasn’t real. Life had taken a very different turn and there was no changing that.
Besides, I was ignoring the reason I left in the first place. Being back, being surrounded by the Disciples caring for Emmy and I the way a family would, being near Gabe again—it was all distracting me from the bigger picture.
I didn’t leave because I was pregnant. I left because I couldn’t be with a Disciple anymore.
After Dad died, I saw with stark clarity what I had ignored for most of my life. Being a Disciple wasn’t just riding and brotherhood, it was danger. It was the kind of all-consuming, destructive danger that stole good men from the world. The club had already stolen one man I loved; I couldn’t watch another die too young.
It destroyed me to do it, but I knew I couldn’t convince Gabe to leave the Disciples. So, I left without him.
That decision was one I didn’t let myself dwell on often. I knew it was the gravest mistake I had ever made, and, God willing, I would never be in a position to make another like it. Still, I couldn’t imagine not making it. Even if I could do everything over, where would it leave me? Would I still have my daughter?
I wouldn’t give up my Emmy for anything in the world.
Not even Gabe.
Not even to spare myself everything that had happened since I left.
That knowledge, though it didn’t erase the pain, got me through each day. And it got me off that step and back inside.
Four days later, I was at the clubhouse for the first time since my return. The building serving as the headquarters for the Disciples was once a warehouse for a chain furniture store that went belly-up. The location was relatively remote, no other warehouses or businesses nearby, nothing much at all around for a couple miles. The bank that seized the property was desperate to move it and got no takers, so Dad told me the club got it for a song. Good thing, too, because they had to sink a lot of money into making the large, cavernous space into a proper clubhouse.
Now, it housed a huge lounge area with several couches, TVs, a top of the line sound system, bar, pool table—everything the guys wanted. Decorated in bikers-don’t-do-frilly chic, the furniture, showing the wear it received, was very comfortable, though not exceedingly attractive. Beyond that was a huge kitchen with twice the counter and storage space of an average home, though it was not done up like a true industrial kitchen. There was also a large room that remained locked at all times where the guys had church—their private, members-only meetings. Then, halls led to a variety of rooms.
All the guys had their own rooms at the clubhouse. If they didn’t want to go home, partied too much to make it, or were on a club-wide lockdown, they stayed there. A few might be all-out living there at any given time. It was up to them. The rooms were large, with big beds and plenty of space for furniture including a desk and such. Each also had a private bathroom.
There were extra rooms, too. These might go to new prospects, be available for guests, or they might be rooms where guys fucked particularly skanky club girls they didn’t want in their own rooms. When I was younger, I had my own room next to Dad’s. When I was really little, if we were to stay at the clubhouse, I would share his. As I grew up, he claimed one just for me.
That refurbished warehouse, even more than the farmhouse we were staying at, was like home to me. It was where I had spent most of my time as a kid, besides school. Dad and I had a house in town, but club business had no set hours and even when there was nothing to do, Dad liked to have us both around his brothers. Our house was more a place where we slept than a true home. Where the Disciples were—that was home.
Being back was difficult. Being back with all the Disciples in
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