19. Broken Pieces
brOKEN PIECES
CUTTER
Rocco lies like a starfish in the center of the bed, leaving me to skim the edge with no blanket.
I should have taken him back to the house, but I was half cut when Claire arrived and I’d never drive intoxicated with him in the car.
“You said I can play with the cat,” his little voice announces before his eyes even open. That cat is all he’s talked about since seeing it last night. There’s a joke in there somewhere. Both of us are obsessed with Kitty’s pussy.
Chuckling, I ruffle his hair. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
A bright smile takes over his face before he springs to his feet with ease and leaps onto me.
“Oof.” His knees come down on my chest, forcing air from my lungs.
“Can we go now, Daddy?”
“Maybe we should get dressed first, little man.”
He had to sleep in his shirt and underwear last night because Claire didn’t think to bring him a bag. Usually, he stays at her mom’s and has things there.
Sitting up, I throw his small body against the mattress, making him bounce and giggle. “Are you hungry?”
“No. I want to play with the cat.”
“I know you do.”
Knuckles rap on the door then it opens without me answering. Callan enters, his brow rising when he sees Rocco.
“Uncle Callan,” Rocco shouts out, pronouncing his name as cow-wan.
“Hey, buddy.” Callan scoops him up by the ankle and dangles him upside down while Rocco screeches with laughter. Curling his arm like he’s weightlifting, he says, “Oh, you’re too heavy. I’m going to drop you.”
“Is there a reason you’re in here so early?” I ask, getting to my feet and pulling on my jeans.
“Yeah, we hit Jennings warehouse tonight.” He’s now pretending Rocco is flying around the room, making whooshing sounds and all.
The kid loves him, and it’s mutual. Never in a million years would I have thought Callan would be as involved with Rocco as he is.
When I decided to raise the boy as my own, that was enough for Callan. If he’s mine—he’s his. Family.
“Okay.”
Placing Rocco on the bed, Callan proceeds to tickle his stomach. “We can have someone else go if you need to watch him.”
Pulling on my shirt and slipping my feet into my boots, I shake my head. “Nah, it’s fine. Claire’s old man is coming to get him this afternoon.”
“Okay. Good. See you, bud. Stop eating those gross vegetables. They’re making you too strong,” Callan teases before leaving the room.
“Cat now?” Rocco jumps excitedly.
“Yeah. Let’s go see the cat.”
I don’t bother knocking, hoping she’s not sleeping naked like she usually is. The wood creaks as the door swings open and her voice reaches me before I see her.
“I’m sorry…” Her words fall off, and her brow furrows when she sees it’s me.
“You’re forgiven,” I say, entering the room like it’s my own, the door clicking closed behind me.
I didn’t expect her to be up, but she’s sitting on the edge of her bed in a tiny pair of shorts and a tight shirt that shows her pierced nipples through the fabric.
Her naturally blonde hair is messy from sleep.
I don’t know why she wears colorful wigs all the time.
The woman’s every man’s wet fucking dream just the way she is.
“What are you doing?” she breathes, getting to her feet, her eyes flitting to the empty hall behind me. Heat rises on her cheeks and creeps down her neck.
Who the hell was she expecting? My muscles flex beneath my skin.
Rocco tugs his hand from mine and races over to the cat, who is lounging on the chair. Kitty’s gaze tracks his movements as she crosses her arms to hide her nipples.
Shame.
“Seriously, what the fuck are you doing?”
“The lady said a bad word,” Rocco gasps, and Kitty narrows her eyes, as if saying, “Why is this kid in my room?”
“Rocco wanted to see the cat. I promised he could to get him to sleep last night,” I inform her.
“I don’t care,” she says, stone-faced.
“Who did you think I was?”
“What?” she snaps, irritated.
“You apologized when I entered. Who did you think it was going to be?” I jerk my chin, a slither of suspicion squinting my eyes.
“Is that your business?” Her tone is sharper than a blade, hostility simmering beneath the surface.
“Was it Wheels?” Taking a step toward her, my heavy boots skim the tips of her bare toes. My hands curl into fists before flexing open again. I need to control my-fucking-self. I search her eyes and find pain teeming behind anger.
“Who?” Her eyebrows screw together in confusion.
“Tim, Kit. Are you fucking him?” I mouth fucking, looking to Rocco to make sure he’s preoccupied.
“Have I slipped into an alternate universe?” she asks, stroking her temples. “Again, Cutter, it’s none of your business.”
I’ll make it my business. Images of them naked rolling around in her bed burn into my brain. I want to take an ice pick to my skull to shatter them.
“You think Callan’s going to be all right with this?” My heart pounds against my ribcage. Did she fuck him? Was he in here? Did she think it was him coming through the door? I’m losing my fucking mind.
“It was you who always gave a shit about Callan’s opinion—not me. I’m grown. I’ll do what and who I like.”
“You think I’m going to be all right with this?” I seethe, white-hot fury clouding my vision, causing a haze in my head.
Shoving my chest, she grits her teeth. “Why do you care? You don’t want me.” She shoves a finger in my face. “I’m not yours.”
How can she look me right in the eyes and not know how fucking wrong she is?
She’s all I want. She’ll always be fucking mine.
Slipping around me, she gathers up some clothes and storms to the bathroom.
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose and drop my gaze to Rocco. He’s holding the sleeve of his jacket out for the cat to bat with its paws. “Be a good boy for Daddy, okay?”
“Okay.”
Waltzing into the bathroom, I slam the door, rattling the shower walls. Leaning against the sink, her head bowed between her arms, she asks, exasperated, “What do you want?”
You.
Always you.
“I can’t see you around the club with another brother, Kit. I’ll kill him.” I already want to make the son of a bitch hurt, and I don’t even know that she has fucked him.
“You’re such a selfish bastard.” Sadness slices through her features.
“I know. And you can hate me all you want.”
Her eyes flash wild in the mirror back at me.
“You rely on me hating you to keep me single.” She shakes her head. Tears fill her eyes, leaking down her cheeks.
Fuck. No. What’s happening?
A knife jabs into my heart, twisting the more I look at her. Seeing the damage I’m causing.
“You want it all, and I get nothing,” she fires out, reaching for something on the counter and launching it at me. It thuds against the wall, denting the plaster, then falls to the floor by my feet with a crack.
“I was willing to give you everything, and you made me your whore.”
My ears ring. My pulse rushes through my veins. I’ve broken her. I’ve done a lot of dark things in my life, but this has to be the worst.
“Don’t say that. That’s not fucking true.”
Swiping at her cheeks, she sniffles and laughs, but it’s manic, unnatural. “I’m so tired of hating you.”
My heart stops.
Pain radiates from her, the waves scorching me from flesh to bone.
She’s five feet from me. Every part in me screams to go to her and erase all of the pain hanging so heavy around us. Tell her I love her so fucking much it’s immeasurable.
“Kit…” I reach my hand out toward her, and she takes a weary step to the side.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I lo—” A crash sounds from behind the door, cutting me off.
“Daddy!” Rocco’s cry jolts me into action.
Rushing for the door, I swing it open, finding him standing by the dresser below the window, his palm covering his mouth, his other hand pointing down to broken glass where a huge water puddle is expanding on the floor. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“It’s okay, little man. Come here.” Lifting him up, his legs curl around my hip and arms cling to my neck.
“What happened?” Kitty gasps, her eyes feral.
“I’m sorry. He broke a vase. I’ll pay for it.”
“Where’s Goldie?” she asks frantically, searching the area.
“The cat ate him,” Rocco says, his bottom lip protruding.
“Who’s Goldie?”
“My fish!” she screams, her legs giving out and knees hitting the floor.
Sobs rack her body.
The grief is too extreme for a fish.
Panic fills my chest. “Kitty, I’ll get you another.”
“Get out.” A calm comes over her, and it scares me worse than the outburst.
“Kit…”
“G.E.T. O.U.T.” Her hands rake through the glass, fisting pieces that cut into her skin. “GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT.”
The door bursts open, and Callan’s voice echoes through my skull. “What the fuck is going on?” I feel like I’m standing on the other side of a veil, looking in at the chaos I created while being helpless to stop it.
To heal her.
To fix it.
She’s the fishbowl, fractured in pieces because someone was touching what they shouldn’t have.
Blood drips through her fingers, trailing down her arms, and I’m frozen. A crashing force hinders my movements. Remorse consumes me. I’m a coward.
“Cutter!” Callan barks.
“I broke her.”
“What?” He’s by her side, holding her by the wrists.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “The glass—it broke.” I choke on the words.
“Why are you standing there? Go get Rogue.”
“I’m sorry, Kit,” I say, gulping down the shame soaking into my bloodstream. I did this to her.
“I’m really fucking sorry.”
“There are three guards—two at the shutter door, one circling the perimeter. Two cameras, both at the front of the building, and we can take them out remotely,” Callan informs us. We’re on the verge of a small hill overlooking a building just below us beyond a small gathering of trees.
Night stretches out across the sky, blanketing the landscape in a thick cloak, enveloping us in its smothering heat. The sun set hours ago, but the warmth of its rays still clings to the air. Beads of sweat stick to my spine, making me restless.