Affliction: An Age Gap, Insta-Love Romance

Chapter 20

Her heart in her stomach,bile rising into her throat, she turned to look at Stephie across the table from her. Her friend had the grace to look guilty…but that wasn’t what made Cilla nearly vomit…it was the sound of bikes roaring up the driveway.

She didn’t need to ask to know it was Patriot.

He’s here.

For Jaime.

“Look at her face,” Jaime said, tittering. “She honestly thought that just because she opened her chunky thighs for him that he actually wanted her. What a fucking joke. He might have been fucking you, but he was thinking of me every time—and he was fucking me last night. I even saw the leather kutte; it was in a box in his closet, just waiting for tonight to give it to me.”

Sick, her heart hammering, her chest aching with the need to exhale, Cilla nearly fainted when Patriot strode around the corner of the house, his gaze landing immediately on her. Suddenly, she felt naked, like the too tight clothes weren’t there at all. What was she thinking, letting Stephie talk her into wearing clothes that must make her look like a gross fatty? Her rolls were obvious over the waistband of her jeans, her thighs were barely contained in the stretched to hell fabric, and her top did nothing to help support her boobs. Cilla didn’t need to catalog what Jaime was wearing to know that, compared to her, Cilla was a freaking joke. And Patriot was there to laugh at her.

“You said he wouldn’t be here,” Cilla muttered to Stephie, her voice a croak.

Stephie offered an apologetic smile. “No, I said he wasn’t here. As in not at the moment. You only assumed he wasn’t coming later.”

Cilla groaned, knowing she’d been manipulated by her best friend—but why? So she would feel the pain and humiliation of watching the man she loved claim another woman, a woman who’d made it her mission to hurt Cilla?

“Just wait, Cilla,” Stephie pleaded, reaching over the table, but Cilla yanked her hand away before Stephie could touch her. “Please, just wait. I promise it isn’t what you think.”

Bracing her hands on the edge of the table, Cilla made a move to stand, but suddenly a large hand was there on her shoulder, holding her down. Shocked, she turned her head quickly and gasped at the sight of a man she’d never seen before.

“Brandon?” Jaime blurted, her face draining of color, leaving her looking like a clown with all that makeup on. “W-what are you doing here?”

The man—Brandon—raised a brow at her. The man was tall, almost as tall as Horde, who was a monster of a man, and he was wide. Broad shoulders, massive arms, thick thighs—he looked like what “beat your ass” would look like in human form. His eyes were a familiar blue, his hair was sun-streaked blond, and his face was what one would consider handsome All-American. He could pass for Captain America…if Captain America had neck tattoos.

“Is that the way to welcome home your brother, little sister?” he drawled, his deep voice like the rumble of thunder in the distance. Around her, the club brothers and the women seemed to gather, their attention on whatever the hell was happening—with her in the middle.

Jaime’s mouth snapped shut, her nostrils flared, and her gaze flit to the space behind Cilla where she could only assume Patriot was standing. Patriot hadn’t said a word yet, but she could practically feel him vibrate with tension. Could feel his eyes burning into her, pouring emotion into her…as though he were pleading with her to look at him.

She refused. She wouldn’t give him or Jaime the satisfaction of a reaction—though she really wanted to weep, to thrash and kick and scream at the unfairness of it, at the agony of seeing the man she loved, and knowing he wasn’t there for her.

“I…I mean when did you get here? I wasn’t expecting you for another few weeks,” Jaime offered, poorly covering for her blunder. She hurried to her brother, throwing her arms around his neck. “Welcome back. I missed you.”

The man, who Cilla now knew was Patriot’s best friend and club brother, Stallion, wrapped Jaime in his arms. He patted her back, kissed her head, then pulled away. Taking a step back from her, he peered at Jaime, a smile on his face…but the smile did not reach his blue, blue eyes.

“As soon as Patriot told me about you two, I knew I had to come home for this party. Wouldn’t miss my best friend claiming his woman.”

Jaime gasped, her eyes going as big as saucers. She swung around to look at Patriot.

“For real?” she squealed, her grin as wide as it was bright. From the corner of her eye, Cilla noticed Tornado slide up behind Sasha, his body taut, his hands loose at his sides. And Cilla couldn’t miss the way Frost was watching closely, his striking hazel eyes missing nothing, but also giving nothing away. If he was bothered by the scene going down, he wasn’t showing it. Did that mean he was expecting it?

As if her heart couldn’t take more of a beating, his voice sounded from right behind her, and she could swear, she felt his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Of course, Jaime,” Patriot nearly purred, the deep timbre sending shivers down her spine—and not from fear. Like a ghost apparated at her back, the feeling of a hand brushing along the small of her back made her breath catch. She stilled, the heat of need and desire pulsing out from her core, simply at the touch of the man who was standing much too close to her, considering what he just admitted to everyone at the party.

Patriot slid around Cilla to stand beside Stallion, his beautiful green-eyed gaze taking in Jaime.

And for the first time, Cilla noticed what was in his hand.

A kutte.

Jaime saw it, too, and when she turned to smirk evilly at Cilla, victory blazing across her face, Cilla flinched. She was telling Cilla that she hadn’t lied about being with Patriot last night, that she really had been in his bed, and she really had seen the kutte in his closet.

And in that moment, the last dregs of hope within her were swallowed by despair.

Unable to move, Cilla watched on, her body frozen, her blood thick and sluggish.

Patriot grinned at Jaime wickedly, but when his gaze landed on Cilla, the smile slipped right off his face.

God, she couldn’t watch this—and fuck Patriot and Stephie for thinking it was okay to trick her into coming. Shooting to her feet, she nearly tumbled right off the picnic bench in her rush to stand. Once she was on her feet, she was stopped by a massive, callused hand on her elbow.

Locust was there, and beside him Nadia was staring at him, confusion on her face.

Unable to stop herself from looking at Patriot, Cilla caught his gaze once more. She could see his shoulders rise in a deep inhale, then he swallowed and stepped forward, every eye in the clearing on him.

With a voice loud enough to wake the dead, Patriot announced, “Tonight, I am claiming my woman.”

Cheers rose up around them, celebrating Patriot’s news, and drowning out the agonized whimper that spilled from Cilla’s lips.

From the devastation on Cilla’s beautiful face, Patriot knew that she didn’t understand what was going on. Of course, she didn’t, she had no idea what he had been doing over the last several days, all the plans he was carefully drawing, all the pieces he was moving, and all the self-recriminations he was swallowing—because tonight had to go perfectly if he wanted Cilla to be his forever.

The property kutte was heavy in his grip, and he could see Cilla staring at it, her face pale. She knew what it was; Stephie was wearing her kutte from Horde and, no doubt, Stephie had explained what it was…what it meant. So Cilla’s pale face, her wide sorrowful eyes told him that she knew what the kutte meant…but she didn’t know that it was hers, despite the scene Jaime was making.

But Jaime thinking the kutte was hers wasn’t a surprise. Not only was that his intention, but it also just proved how arrogant and delusional Jaime really was. She saw her brother, hugged him, talked to him—she had to have some idea of what Stallion and he had talked about. She wasn’t that much of an idiot, even though her plans to trick Patriot and get his name patch on her back were ridiculous, they could have worked—if Patriot had any romantic feelings for her at all. But the only thing he’d felt for Jaime before this mess was duty—because of her brother. And now, the only thing he felt for her was anger and disgust.

Tonight, Jaime’s plan would come to light, she’d get what she deserved, and Cilla would get a bit of pay back against the women who’d hurt her.

Jaime, grinning like the cat who stole the cream, sauntered up to him and placed a hand on his chest.

“I just knew tonight would be the night—I saw the kutte last night, and I knew today you would make the right decision,” Jaime cooed, leaning in as if to kiss him. He pulled back and she scowled at him.

“You saw the kutte? Last night?” Jaime nodded and Patriot cursed. Jaime saw the kutte, but obviously didn’t see all of it, but that didn’t stop her from flapping her lips to the other club women and Cilla. No wonder Cilla was staring at the kutte like it was a decapitated head. And that meant that Cilla knew Jaime had been at his place last night, but it had nothing to do with fucking Jaime, and everything to do with keeping her busy, contained, and away from her house where evidence of her crimes against the club could be hidden.

While Locust was searching her place, Patriot was fending off Jaime’s hands and acting like he enjoyed watching whatever the fuck Bravo! was.

Once he’d gotten the text from Locust that the coast was clear, he’d pushed Jaime right out the fucking door, saluted Tony Dos, who was on Jaime babysitting duty, and slammed the door behind them.

Flicking his gaze to Stallion who took up a stance behind his sister, then to Tornado who was in place behind Sasha, he smiled when both men nodded.

It was time to get shit done.

“Gather ‘round, brothers,” Patriot shouted into the clearing, the echo of his voice bounding off the tree line and back. Cilla jerked, her eyes wide. He could see the tears gathering, even as she curled into herself, drawing her shoulders down, and wrapping her arms around herself as if to hide away.

But he could see her, every inch of her, and she looked fucking amazing. Stephie had done a great job picking out Cilla’s outfit, then again, when he’d come clean to Stephie and explained what he wanted tonight, Stephie had demanded the chance to dress Cilla up. She also demanded that Patriot not “fuck up” because Cilla deserved happiness.

Now, to set things in motion.

As a single tear spilled over Cilla’s cheek, Patriot grit his teeth, hating himself ever more in that moment.

Raising the kutte in the air, he grinned. “Tonight, brothers, I will finally lay claim to my one and only, my woman, my ol’ lady, the woman I want to spend the rest of my sinful days loving.”

Jaime giggled, dancing in place.

God, the fucking woman was out of her fucking mind.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at her, he continued. “My woman…fuck,” he swallowed the mass of emotions lodged in his throat. “My woman is a fucking queen. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met, she’s smart as hell, funny, sweet, and she makes the best cookies I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

At that, Jaime stopped dancing, her gaze landed on him and in their depths was confusion…then a slow-moving realization. Cilla, standing toward the back with Locust behind her, was staring, her stunning eyes like two doll’s eyes—big, glossy, and filled with disbelief.

He smirked. She was getting it….

“Jaime, you said you saw the kutte, probably told everywhere here about it, yeah?”

Sasha and Tasha both leered, thinking they knew something and wanting to act superior.

“Yeah, she sure as fuck did,” Stephie called out from where she was standing beside Horde, who was standing beside a quiet yet intense Frost. Frost knew everything, and he agreed with Patriot’s plan to reveal Jaime’s betrayal to the club in front of the club, her brother, and the woman she’d wronged.

Patriot chuckled darkly and raised the kutte.

“You saw it, but you definitely didn’t see the whole thing,” Patriot remarked, turning the kutte so the patch on the breast pocket was visible.

Jaime’s gaze darted to the kutte, and upon seeing what was stitched there, she let out an inhuman shriek.

“No! No! That’s not possible!” she shrilled, making both Sasha and Tasha wince. When they spied the kutte, they both turned pasty white. Tornado gripped Sasha’s arms, holding her in place, but she was too stunned to realize she was being detained. “This has to be some joke, right? There’s no fucking way that fat, ugly bitch is your ol’ lady—not after everything I’ve done!”

And there it was.

Stallion stepped up, cocked his head, and asked, “And what exactly did you do, sister?” Every word from his mouth dripped menace.

As if realizing what she’d said, and what it implicated, all the air whooshed out of her at once.

“I mean…all the years I’ve been a friend—and more—for Patriot,” she bleated, emphasizing “and more”. That was her game, she thought that if she outed what she and Patriot had done that one night, three years ago, it would somehow change the trajectory of the flaming shit meteor that was her evening.

“Oh, you mean how you two fucked once three years ago? Yeah, I know all about that, even made a date to beat the shit out of Patriot for that, but that isn’t what you wanted to tell me, is it?”

Stunned speechless, Jaime’s mouth hung open.

Yeah, she was expecting to come into this party, all the tricks and traps in her possession, giving her all the power. But she didn’t know that her plans and plots had been discovered, dismantled, and were now aimed squarely at her.

She was done for, and now she was figuring that out.

Movement to the side made him look toward Cilla, who was standing with her hands over her mouth. Her hands were shaking like crazy, and her legs looked like they were going to give out any moment.

Tossing the kutte to Horde, he hurried to Cilla’s side. Locust dropped his hold on her elbow and took a big step back, and drew his woman into his side, giving Patriot room to take his own woman in his arms. Which he did.

He wrapped his arms around Cilla’s trembling frame, closed his eyes, and moaned at the rightness of it. Finally, she was back where she belonged?—

“No! This is not happening! She’s supposed to be dead, and I’m supposed to wear your property kutte! I have waited too long, made so many plans for this to all fall apart now.” Stomping her foot, Jaime whirled on Sasha. “Where the fuck is Roger? He was supposed to take care of her! What the hell happened to fucking him until he begged to do it?”

Sasha gasped, and beside her Tasha, shock emblazoned on her copy/paste features, whimpered. Apparently, these twins didn’t think alike.

“Jaime, what the hell? I had nothing to do with whatever this is!” She turned, panicked, to Tornado. His silver mercury gaze was as hard and chilling as ice. When Patriot and Red discovered, through cloning Jaime’s phone and reading through her texts, that Sasha was indeed involved in Jaime’s schemes, they’d had a face-to-face with Tornado. He hadn’t claimed Sasha yet, had only been bringing her around because she was a good and easy fuck, which made dealing with her easier. Patriot had no idea how Tornado was feeling, though, the man was as calm and chillingly self-controlled as an android. His road name came about when Frost was there to witness that one, single moment…when the calm broke. Since then, Tornado was the stoic brother, the one who lived and breathed the club, and when a little bit of chaos was necessary, the storm was loosed.

Jaime cackled. “Don’t act like this wasn’t partly your idea. You hate Cilla, too, and you want her gone just as much as I do, except that with her gone, I’d have Patriot.”

Patriot grunted, unable to believe that Jaime was just laying it all out, like the most dangerous people in the state weren’t looking on, rage building in their expressions.

In his arms, Cilla jerked at Jaime’s words. He could hear her dragging in breaths, and he could feel the pounding of her heart against his chest. He held her tighter and, thankfully, she didn’t fight him.

She listened on.

“So what you’re saying is,” Stallion interjected, “you both plotted against the club.”

Jaime snorted, waving away his words. Sasha choked, shaking her head like a bee was buzzing around her face.

“This had nothing to do with the club. I wanted Patriot, and I knew that if I could get him close and keep him there, he’d eventually see that we belong together. So what if we’d only been together that once, I knew that night, after what we shared, that you were perfect for me. I have spent years waiting for you to figure that out, and I finally got tired of it. So, I…well, I made up the stalking to get your attention. And it was working, and then that fat slut—” she pointed a finger at Cilla who tensed “—had to open her fat, fucking thighs and try to lure my man away. If I wanted Patriot to come back to me, to stay with me, I needed to get rid of Cilla. But fucking Roger was too good to kill anyone—but he’s good with lying and stealing, though?” She huffed as if Roger’s smidgeon of moral compass was an annoyance. “So, Sasha volunteered to…change his mind. She was supposed to fuck him, get him to kidnap Cilla and get rid of her, but, obviously, Sasha’s pussy isn’t as good as she thinks it is.”

Tornado grunted as if agreeing with her, which made Sasha gasp and turn to glare at him. He simply shrugged, then tightened his grip on her arm.

Having heard enough, Frost stepped forward.

“I think that what we have here is a clear case of plotting against the club,” Frost rasped, barely contained anger making his large frame as hard as stone. Emily, his ol’ lady and wife, stared at him warily, like she wasn’t looking at her husband right then.

“But it had nothing to do with the club. Cilla isn’t club, so getting rid of her wouldn’t matter to the club,” Jaime replied snappily, like she was talking to a group of toddlers. Fuck, the woman was cracked.

Frost shook his head slowly, measured, his gaze pinned to Jaime.

“Patriot made his intentions for Cilla known months ago. Only a blind idiot couldn’t see the way things would turn out—the asshole just needed to get out of his own head. And now that he’s made a claim on her, she is club. She’s an ol’ lady, and you planned to kill her. To cut out the heart of a club brother.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head once again, and Patriot watched as the color completely leached from Jaime’s skin. “Stallion.”

Jaime’s brother stepped forward, a look of disappointment and resignation on his face.

“Prez,” he said, his voice flat.

“You’re her brother, and I believe I’m a fair man,” all the brothers in attendance nodded, “so you tell me how we should deal with her for what she’s done against the club.”

The air seemed to sizzle with coiled energy, the violence’s kinetic potential like a crimson wavelength that only those who’d stared death in the face could see. Silence filled the clearing, and Cilla shook in his arms, her breathing shallow now. She was waiting to see what punishment Stallion would request, and what would happen next. Death? Torture? Banishment? Each one of those grotesqueries was on the table…and he knew which one Stallion would choose. What a brother who loved his sister—no matter her sins—would choose.

“Banish her,” Stallion spoke into the silence, and Jaime’s angry shriek shattered the air.