Chapter 1
Chapter one
Cece
Two Years Later
My blaring phone wakes me up. I groan and turn over, seeing Cash’s name on the screen. Rolling my eyes, I decline his call and turn over to go back to sleep. It rings again, and again I decline it. What the hell time is it, anyways? I look at the clock on my phone. After ten in the morning. Shit.
Sitting up, I scrub my hands over my face.
God, I feel like shit. My head pounds in time with my pulse, and everything I ate the day before is threatening to make an appearance.
Not that I ate much to begin with. Pretty sure I consumed my body weight in wine—and then vodka—instead of putting anything of real substance into my stomach.
Yesterday was…not a good day. The memories were too much.
I had every intention of going to the barbecue at Elaine Dawson’s house, or rather sprawling estate, and spending time with my family and friends.
But the thought of being anywhere near a Dawson started fucking with my head.
I love Elaine, and I love Mia—her granddaughter and one of my sister’s best friends—but the Dawson name brings back too many memories, especially after finding out Mia’s brother was one of the Bone Breakers.
I remember Nolan. He was part of the group who kidnapped me and Colby—Nolan’s biological son—just over six weeks ago.
Not that I’m counting or anything. I knew him when I lived in Nevada on the cult compound—the place I called home for my entire life.
That was until two years ago, when the Black Roses stormed the property and took out the men who ran that godforsaken place.
Nolan was a member of the Bone Breakers—the MC who my “husband” was partnered with to sell the meth that was made on the property.
They used the income from the drugs to fund the cult and prepare for the Great War the elders constantly preached about.
I think that war came a little earlier than anyone expected, and it wasn’t all that great.
The Black Roses basically walked in and took out every piece of shit who had a hand in enslaving the women and kids who lived there.
Nolan was one of the men who regularly came to the compound to make the deals, and my body was usually part of that deal.
When the man who claimed me as his wife started courting me, I thought it was because he wanted a young wife who could bear his fruit, as he liked to say.
I had no idea he wanted me because I was young and pretty, and the MC who came to the compound had noticed me.
I was a bargaining tool. An extra reward for helping Otto unload the drugs that he said were poison to the nonbelievers, which is why he wanted to distribute them to the outside world.
Maybe he thought he was getting a jumpstart on weeding out the sinners for his god.
Or maybe he was just a greedy bastard. I’m going to go with the latter.
It didn’t come to light that Colby was the biological son of Nolan until right before the kidnapping.
They wanted Colby, and I was picked up as collateral, but as soon as I was recognized as Cecilia, the wife of the elder who was murdered and therefore couldn’t supply the Bone Breakers the drugs that turned them a nice little profit, they decided to take their payday from my flesh.
Two years later, and Otto was still the reason disgusting men thought they could use and abuse my body.
Thankfully, they didn’t get far before Cash burst through the door and shot the man on top of me.
But it didn’t change the fact that I was in the one place I never dreamed of being after the Black Roses saved us—under the sweaty, smelly body of a drunk Bone Breaker.
Not that anyone knows the extent of the abuse I suffered under the eye of my husband.
Before Lu—or Lucy as everyone calls her now—killed my husband in the church on the compound, she asked him how many times he’d raped me.
But that was the wrong question. She should have asked how many times he let the bikers he did business with rape me.
Maybe he would’ve had an answer for that.
Not that he’d kept track, I’m sure. I did, though. And it was no small number.
My sister doesn’t know about the assaults. She doesn’t know about the many times I thought they were going to kill me, or the times I wanted to kill myself just so I wouldn’t have to go through with another “payment.”
I shoot up from my bed and run into the bathroom, barely making it before heaving into the toilet bowl.
I try to stay as quiet as possible. No need to alarm Lucy and Jude, who I’ve lived with since coming to Shine.
Lu will fuss, and Jude will be worried about me and my sister.
Honestly, I feel a little bad for the guy.
It’s doubtful he ever saw a future with Lucy that included living with her younger sister—who is a fucking drunk basket case half the time and an angry, raging woman the other half.
My phone rings again from my bedroom, and the sound grates on my frazzled nerves.
I’m sure it’s Cash again. He’s been one of the few people, hell, the only person if I’m honest with myself, who I’ve been comfortable sharing parts of my life with.
Lucy wants me to talk to her, to open up about what happened to me on the compound after she left.
To tell her how I went from being so quiet and introverted when I got here, to the rage monster I am today.
Those aren’t her exact words, but the sentiment is there.
I lean back against the wall and grab a hand towel from above my head, pulling it down to wipe my mouth. Running through a few cycles of deep breaths to help calm my stomach, I relax against the wall and close my eyes. It’s too damn early to deal with this shit.
When I came to Shine, I was a scared girl who was grateful for the chance to be free.
I’m still grateful. But now I’m angry. So, so angry.
I hate my father for trading me for a little power.
I hate Otto for using me and hurting me and allowing other men to do the same.
Especially now that I see the way these men protect and care for the women they love.
I knew what was happening on the compound was wrong.
That no one should be treated the way me and so many other women were.
But witnessing every day what I missed by staying on the compound instead of running with my sister when I had the chance fills me with utter and total fury.
And Cash has just always…been there.
At first, when I would accompany my sister to the clubhouse, I would generally stay in the kitchen away from everyone.
I baked. A lot. Shit, I still do. It was something to keep my mind clear.
I’d concentrate on new recipes, and in some ways, it felt like it was my contribution to the family who risked their lives to set me and the other women free.
Cash was one of the only brothers who would venture into the kitchen when I was there.
I think Jude or Lucy may have warned the other brothers to give me a wide berth.
On one occasion, I overheard Lucy tell Jude to make sure the other men kept their hands and dicks to themselves or she would cut them off with a butter knife.
She said I needed to heal and not be dragged into a violent life or be taken in by a man who was only looking for a good time.
When Jude reminded her that she and her best friend were part of this life, she told him that I’m different.
That I’m soft and deserve to stay that way—whatever the hell that means.
But Cash was apparently the exception. At first, he didn’t try to talk to me.
He was sitting at the small table in the clubhouse kitchen, simply drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, when I walked in one morning to start baking.
Such a normal sight for a man who lives a life of riding a motorcycle and doesn’t blink twice at the thought of breaking the law.
The club lives by their own code. It’s one I can respect, and the complete opposite of what I thought the MC life was.
Of course, the only exposure I had was from the Bone Breakers, and the Black Roses are nothing like them.
Lu told me I could trust them, and I chose to believe her. They’ve yet to prove us wrong.
He asked if it was okay if he stayed, and I nodded shyly.
For the most part, I pretended he wasn’t there—which isn’t an easy feat with a man like Cash taking up the space at the small table.
His presence is large, and so is he. Easily six foot three and over two hundred pounds of lean muscle.
But his dirty-blond hair, always looking as if he rolled out of bed and ran a hand through it, gives him a carefree, almost youthful impression.
However, what’s behind his eyes gives away the fact that there’s more than what most people see.
There’s pain there. A sadness that, though isn’t the same as mine, is familiar nonetheless.
He needed a place to just be. Same as me.
When the first batch of apple turnovers I’d ever made came out of the oven, I put one on a plate and set it on the table.
He thanked me, ate it, and then used his fingers to collect the crumbs, sucking them clean.
My lips tipped in a satisfied smile when I saw him do that, and that’s when I decided I was going to start experimenting with more pastries and desserts.
It wasn’t something I ever had the ingredients for on the compound.
They were considered frivolous. Food was only meant to nourish our earthly forms, not to be enjoyed beyond it simply being edible.