Chapter 20 – Amanda
Twenty
Amanda
R ivercrest Drive has a fancy sound that doesn’t necessarily match Ethan’s brutal demeanor. When he parks his bike outside his house, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking him if he’s sure this is his house. Ethan has a scowl plastered on his face – someone cut him off ten miles ago – once he removes his helmet. I take mine off and breathe in the fresh Missouri air.
I don’t know why I expected it to smell like a swamp out here. It’s… clean.
And the house…
Ethan owns a red brick carriage house with a large detached shed that could be a guest house, it’s that big. Damn. I haven’t seen him work since I met him and he owns all this? I doubt my career choice for the first time since I announced to my parents that I got into Boston University to get my doctorate. I work my ass off, I pay my student loans on autopay, I even have a savings account… but I can’t imagine affording a house like this anywhere near Boston without committing a bank robbery or fraud.
Then again… maybe that’s how Ethan got the house.
When he catches me staring at the property, which is probably thousands of square feet larger than my apartment, his scowl cracks into a smile. My eyes dart to his lips and my pussy throbs at the visual cue.
“Like it?” Ethan says, interrupting a dirty thought about his mouth from forming in my head.
“This is your house,” I say, trying to force my neutral-therapist-voice when I’m truly surprised.
“Best thing I ever won gambling,” he said. “Played for it when I was twenty-five. Pot bellied pig race at the state fair.”
I fight the urge to ask him what would have happened if he lost instead of won. I can’t deny that “winning” a house this big would make anyone jump for joy, regardless of the potential downsides.
“It’s enormous.”
“No separate bedrooms,” Ethan says. “Didn’t plan on you coming and I only have one room made up.”
I throw him a knowing look.
“I can put sheets on a fresh bed myself,” I tell him. “No need for us to share now that we’re off the road.”
“You’re killing me, doc.”
“I’m just trying to be practical.”
“What’s practical about me having to crawl back to a cold ass bed after eating your pussy every night?”
He registers the smile on my face with a booming, masculine laugh. This man laughs at me so much that it makes me want to throw the helmet at him. I roll my eyes and Ethan takes the helmet from me.
“Front door code is my birthday. 0415.”
“Makes sense.”
“What does?”
“That you’re an annoying ass Aries.”
Ethan laughs again. “I don’t know what that means, but we can discuss it inside over dinner.”
“Who says I’m cooking you dinner?”
“You’re not,” he says. “All I have in there are frozen waffles. I’ll get us some takeout… then we can keep fighting until you let me between your legs again.”
“Ethan…”
“You’re stuck here, doc. So… get used to it.”
He turns pink, gets closer to me, then before I know it, the giant bear of a man plants a shy kiss on my lips. How can he feel nervous about kissing me when last night he had his tongue deep inside me? He pulls away, the redness deepening.
“I like you, Amanda. I didn’t expect to like you, but I do. And… I didn’t choose the way we met, but I don’t regret it. Even if it almost got my ass killed.”
Ethan is so earnest that it scares me. We haven't traveled together that long and while I can't deny the immediate emotional and physical response my body has to Ethan's. He's physically handsome and the things he can do with that tongue force me to question all my morals and ethics.
But I can't return any of his feelings. I haven't sat with my feelings long enough and... I can't jump off the deep end into "love" or any type of relationship with a man after all the therapy I've been through and all of my education about healthy relationships.
Can I ever have a healthy relationship with this man? He might have justifications for kidnapping me, but the truth remains... he violated my personhood. We started off on the entirely wrong foot. My feelings are... not to be trusted with a man like this or with a man who violates every rational thought in my head.
I don't feel like myself around him. I feel like a woman on an adventure when before him... the biggest adventures I had were staying up late to study for my board licensure exams.
"I'll see you inside, Ethan," I offer him with a warm smile, which doesn't make up for the fact that I leave his statement hanging in the muggy Missouri air between us.
He grunts and proceeds to fuss with the bike while I walk towards the giant carriage house. I sigh as I stop in front of the keypad and ask myself... what is my life?
Should I make an effort to call Mallory again? Or Keyshawn? Do I really just open this door and walk into a life with this man? My hands move to the keypad ahead of my brain, making the choice. 0-4-1-5. The door pops open, and the house is black.
I glance over my shoulder to find Ethan obsessively fussing with the bike, dragging a large black tarp-looking thing to cover it up.
I trust that he'll follow me and shut the door behind me. A shiver runs up the length of my spine once I close the door. I have to laugh at myself for the initial reaction. There's no danger here... it's a big, empty house.
My shoes come off, and I regret wearing Skechers to work and getting stuck with plain, unfashionable black sneakers as the only shoes I now have available to me. I'm guessing Ethan doesn't have a shopping budget in mind for my stay here. The floorboards above me creak and I freeze.
The shiver up my spine returns and travels to the back of my neck, causing all the hair to prickle up and stand on end. There's nobody in the house. Nobody. No bikes or cars parked outside. Nothing like that. We're alone here in the middle of nowhere and I'm just afraid from all that excess adrenaline I built up riding on the back of Ethan's bike.
The intellectual explanation does nothing to stop my body's reaction. The carriage house foyer splits off in two directions. On the right, the stairs lead to (I assume) the bedrooms. To the left, there's a small hallway, which I hope leads to a kitchen or at least a bathroom. I take a few steps down the darkened hallway, my hand searching on the wall for a light.
Three steps down the dark hallway and my body continues trembling with misplaced fear until I find a switch. The light provides a warm wash of orange along the hallway. I hear another creak, this time from the room around the corner. I take two quick steps forward and peek around the corner to find out what my body knew before I did.
We're not alone.
I scream at the sight of the hulking figure in the kitchen. He has his back to me, but quickly spins around once I scream. The man might not be as tall as Ethan, but he's huge, muscular, and worst of all, locked onto me.
Yelling again, I stumble backwards into the kitchen counter, throwing open the drawer behind me in search of a weapon. I don't take my eyes off the looming figure, but it doesn't matter. He laid this booby trap and he has the element of surprise over me.
The man shoves the drawer shut and clamps his hand over my mouth to stop me from screaming. My eyes fix on his black leather cut, and I'm face to face with a sewn on patch that says "Southpaw". I try to step back from his grasp so I can get enough range of motion to kick him, but I don't have nearly enough control over myself.
I scream again, but the air just puffs out of my mouth around the small slits between his fingers and I have no breath left in my lungs, nor any progress getting away from him.
"Stop yelling," he growls. "And tell me who the fuck you are and where you met my brother."
His brother? Who is this man? I scratch at his forearm and try to drag it away from my mouth.
"You scream again, I shoot," he says. "Now tell me before I lose my fucking mind."
His hand falls away and I scream again as I face this terrifying, black-haired monster.
“Stop fucking screaming,” he snarls, which only makes me scream louder. His large hand clamps around my neck and he shoves me up against the fridge. I can breathe and talk, but that doesn’t stop my ass from hyperventilating while this beast threatens to choke me out.
“What is Ethan hiding from me?”
This is Ethan’s brother?
“HEY! What the hell are you doing?!”
Southpaw releases my neck at the same time a gunshot fires through the house. The bullet explodes through the ceiling, spraying drywall everywhere as the loud crack deafens my hearing. Southpaw and “Bear” face each other in the kitchen, their resemblance apparent now that they’re standing face to face.
“I’m going to kill you,” Ethan growls, puffing his chest out as he comes eye to eye with Wyatt. They’re like two wolves fighting for territory, the first war beginning with their eyes, but I know this could easily devolve into fists… and bullets. Ethan still has his pistol pointed up to the ceiling, continuing to glare at Southpaw.
“For all I know, you’re already planning my death. Go ahead and do it, because I’m sick of all the fucking lies in this club.”
“You’re paranoid,” Ethan says, his hand tightening around the pistol handle. I freeze against the back wall of the kitchen. If I had any money, a cell phone or a place to go, I’d be gone. They’re both too locked in on each other to worry about me. I fade into the background, observing this family fight and wondering if intervention will do more harm than good.
I need to learn more.
“I’m paranoid, but I’m right. Who the fuck is this?”
And just like that, they’re both paying attention to me again. Ethan’s body language changes. It’s like a house cat, puffing out all his fur.
“She’s none of your concern,” Ethan responds defensively.
“We’ll see about that.”
Wyatt reaches into his pocket and in seconds, the cold barrel of a pistol presses against my head. He grips my forearm and drags my body against his. I try not to scream, but I can’t help but yelp as he forces me against his chest with a gun to my head.
“I’ll paint the floor with her brains unless you can convince me you haven’t betrayed the club…”
“You finally lost your fucking mind,” Ethan says, but his voice is distant and his eyes locked on mine with emotions I never expected from him. Remorse. Terror. He swallows and returns his gaze to his brother’s.
“She’s innocent.”
“Then you will be more motivated to save her life,” Wyatt snarls.
“She’s my therapist.”
Oh now I’m his damn therapist? That had better work on the Ethan-shaped ogre holding onto me. Their family resemblance becomes more clear by the second. Southpaw loosens his grip as he gazes down at me with menacing murky eyes.
Southpaw asks, “Is that true?”
I had better have the right answer, judging by the rage coursing through him.
“Yes. I’m a therapist.”
“For what?” Southpaw asks me.
“Addiction counseling, mostly. But I have other certifications.”
“Addictions?” Southpaw growls, looking angrily at Ethan again.
“Let her go,” Ethan says, his voice getting lower. “She has nothing to do with this and I never got involved with you and Anna…”
“She has answers,” Southpaw says coldly. “This gun stays pressed to her skull until I get those answers.”
Ethan drops the bomb.
“Mom has cancer.”
“What?”
“Mom has cancer,” Ethan repeats more angrily.
“This isn’t a fucking game, Ethan.”
“Do I sound like I’m joking?” Ethan’s voice gets quiet. The gun presses more tightly against my skull. I don’t think he’ll shoot me, but accidents happen, and I have never been closer to death before. Ethan doesn’t meet my pleading gaze and I’m powerless to do anything but trust him with my life.
“Mom has cancer and I’ve been helping her get treatment in secret. She didn’t want you or Owen to know because of the pressure…”
“You’re lying,” Wyatt says, his voice getting deep and more terrifying. “Tell the truth.”
He isn’t lying. Deb told me herself that she had cancer. She shared the other symptoms of her treatment with me. The bald spot on her head. Her appetite loss and nausea. How all she wanted to do was sleep. How she missed white wine.
“He is telling the truth,” I speak up, stammering through the sentence, but spitting the words out to everyone’s surprise, including my own. What the hell am I doing?
“She met mom?” Wyatt growls.
“Yes. I’m serious, Wyatt. Mom’s sick…”
“Then what the fuck is the therapist for?”
“Because it’s time for me to quit gambling and be there for my family. That’s why. Shit got a little out of hand.”
“That’s what you call a homicide?”
“There were no witnesses. Well, except… the doctor.”
The gun falls away from my head. The room begins to come into view as I can process something other than the adrenaline and blood coursing through me, hyperfocusing on the barrel of the gun and the tight grip on my arms.
Wyatt releases me from his grasp and I quickly stumble away from him to find another pair of arms dragging me across the room. Ethan yanks my body away from his brother and drags me against his chest, shoving me beneath his cut and holding me close. His arms wrap around my torso and he squeezes gently.
He’s so warm and his heart beats loudly enough for me to hear from this position against his chest.
“I told you, she’s innocent.”
“Mom has cancer,” Wyatt says, his voice fading away to a whisper.
“She didn’t want you to know.”
“You can’t carry that type of shit on your own.”
“I know. I… lost myself a little with the gambling.”
“How much?” Wyatt asks knowingly. “You must have lost or you’d be here with a Ducati instead of a therapist.”
Ethan’s heart quickens. “$250 grand. Something like that.”
“Fuck.”
What the fuck? Ethan won’t let me move against his chest, but I can’t believe how much I’m learning about this man here and it’s hard not to say something.
“She could be doing fine for all we know,” Ethan says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it. “She wants to get back to Boston for her next appointment, where they go over the results and… all that shit.”
“Mom…” Southpaw groans. “She almost got us both killed.”
His mother probably hoped her grown ass sons had more sense not to shoot each other over some bullshit, but I bite my lip.
“How bad is it, Ethan?”
“What? The cancer? It’s fucking cancer.”
Wyatt sighs. He seems more reactive than his brother, or maybe I just don’t know him well. “The cancer. The gambling.”
“She’s good at her job,” Ethan says, his grasp on me tightening. “I’m… healing.”
Healing? He might be temporarily clean, but I don’t think he’s anywhere near healed.
“What the fuck is mom thinking?”
“She’s our mother. She’s a crazy ass biker chick who stole dad from someone else. She’s thinking crazy ass biker chick shit.”
Wyatt grunts in response.
“We need to talk about Boston, then. Since, as it turns out… my wife was right.”
“What did she say?” Ethan asks. “Anna has always… disliked me.”
“She said you would never betray our family. That you loved us… and that you were probably distracted by a woman.”
Ethan guiltily loosens his grip on me and all but shoves me out of his jacket. I guess our little moment is over.
“She’s just my therapist.”
“She looks familiar, which made me wonder if… I don’t know. She’s some sort of spy.”
“I promise, she isn’t.”
“I’ll have Tamiya do a background check regardless.”
“Just leave it, Wyatt.”
“Fine,” he says. “So does she stay while we talk about Boston, or are you going to lock her in the basement like your last girlfriend?”
“He’s joking,” Ethan says quickly.
Wyatt laughs, but his brother doesn’t find him funny. Maybe because Ethan knows it’s very believable that he would be the type of crazy man to lock a woman in a basement.
* * *