21. Michael
MICHAEL
CUTTER
Smoke plumes from the cigarette Wheels is sucking on, the stench sticking to the back of my throat.
Prick .
I’m taller than him by a couple inches, my stature lean with sharp muscles compared to his naturally slim frame. I could easily take him. Scrub that face in the asphalt until all that’s left is nerves and bone.
“Is there something on my face?” he asks, glaring at me.
“Not yet, asshole,” I bite out.
“You got a problem with me?” Squaring his shoulders, he takes a step toward me.
Brave man.
Yes, motherfucker, I have a problem with you.
My hands fist, a spark of fury coursing through my veins, then Kitty’s image bursts into my mind. Her small, weeping frame huddled on the floor, clutching the glass in her hands. I did that to her, and if I fuck up this dick, it will probably only hurt her more.
“What’s with the fish?” Monster asks, slicing through the tension, drawing our attention to him. He’s picking dirt from his fingernails with a six-inch blade while leaning casually against a tree trunk. “The goldfish you got, Kitty,” he clarifies.
Three sets of eyes all home in on me.
I crack my neck, releasing an exasperated exhale. “Rocco knocked over her other one. I was just replacing it.” She was replacing me.
Checking my watch, I change the focus. “The fucker is late.”
“He’s legit. Let’s give him five more minutes,” Dodger pipes in, kicking his boot through a gathering of leaves. Usually, we’d hang on to the stock and sell it to the highest bidder, but Pres wants it gone yesterday—before word spreads about Jennings being missing and it becomes a criminal case.
Headlights cut through the darkness, and the rumble of an engine shatters the desolate street, roaring toward us.
“That him?” Monster asks, looking to Dodger for confirmation.
“Yep.”
About time.
The light blue convertible pulls up at the curb next to my bike.
A heavyset guy steps out in a bright flowery shirt open at the collar, shorts, and a pair of sandals.
His full beard could rival Monster’s. Popping the trunk without saying a word, he pulls out a sports bag.
All hands go to our weapons, making him chuckle a thick, throaty sound.
“You want to count?” he asks, raising a bushy black eyebrow.
“We trust you, Eddie.” Dodger walks over, takes the bag, and drops the keys in his hand.
“Good.” He nods to each of us then heads toward the van loaded with the crates we took from Jennings warehouse.
“What about your car?” I call after him.
“It’s not mine.” His chortle rings through the dead airspace.
“I like him,” Monster announces, tapping his knife on Dodger’s chest. “But if the money is short and I have to hunt him down to take body parts, I’m starting with one of yours.”
“It’s all here. Trust me. Eddie doesn’t fuck around.”
“How the hell do you know him?” I ask, watching Dodger secure the payout in the lockbox in the back of the truck.
Flashing me a row of stained teeth, he quips, “He’s in the porn business.”
“Why would a porn guy need guns?” Wheels scoffs, speaking my thoughts.
“It’s a dangerous business. Competitive.” Dodger shrugs. “You want to see the pussy he gets to fuck, though.” Closing his eyes, he tips his head to the sky and blows out a kiss. “Grade A.”
“We have very different standards of pussy.” I walk over to the truck door and lean against the window after he climbs inside.
Monster takes the passenger seat and knits his brow. “Is that the guy who ordered those dildos of my cock?”
The image of the purple dildo Kit keeps for shits and giggles after Monster gifted all the women one at the club springs to mind, and I shudder.
“Yep. Made you a pretty penny.” Dodger laughs, deep and throaty.
My phone buzzes against my leg. I tap the roof of the truck, pulling the device from my pocket. “Get going. See you back at the club.”
Claire’s mother’s name blares across the small screen. Fuck my life.
“Edith, everything okay?” I force my tone to be light, pushing a hand through my hair.
“Liam, I can’t get ahold of Claire, and it’s awfully late for Rocco to still be up. Is he staying here tonight?” Monster holds a hand out the window, signaling their departure.
“She was supposed to pick him up hours ago.”
“Well, I know that. That’s why I’m calling.” Scratching my forehead, I pace the street as the truck lights fade into the night.
“She’s probably at home. The pain meds they have her on are strong. Maybe she fell asleep. Please keep Rocco for the night. Tell him we’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks, Edith. Bye.” Ending the call, I curse, bringing up Claire’s number.
After five rings, she answers. “Hello?”
“You couldn’t pick up your kid? You had a fucking stitch in your boob. What’s the issue?”
Music drones down the line. “He’s with my mom,” she shouts over other voices.
“Where the fuck are you?” I bite out.
“Out. I needed a girls’ night.”
Is she fucking kidding?
“Lately, you have more nights away from that kid than you have with him.”
An incoming text alert sounds in my ear. Pulling the phone away but keeping her on the line, I open it to find a picture of Claire cuddling up with some club sluts.
“You at the clubhouse?”
“No. Twenty-Four-Carat Gold.” Static scrambles my brain. The Carnells’ club. More to the point, Michael’s favorite fucking club where he can be found every weekend.
“I’m coming to get you. Meet me outside in ten minutes.”
She murmurs her acknowledgement and disconnects.
Turning, I frown, seeing Wheels still hanging around, watching me with calculated eyes.
“You need to be dismissed or something?” I mock.
Knitting his brow, he says, “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.” My feet eat up the asphalt to my bike.
“I ain’t asking.”
I ignore the urge to pull my blade and grit out through clenched teeth, “Be very careful.” I take a measured step toward him.
We stare at each other, hostility teeming in our eyes. “I don’t want to fight you, asshole.”
“’Cause you’ll fucking lose,” I inform him.
“Yeah, I probably will, but I don’t give a fuck because this needs to be said.”
“So say it.” Christ, this prick is pushing on a raw nerve.
“You need to stop fucking around with Kitty.”
And there it is. My heart pounds in every part of my body.
“Why—because you want her?”
Tension coils every muscle. This is dangerous territory. Shut it down.
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Is it?” I seethe.
Blowing out a breath, he grimaces. “We’re friends. She’s made it clear that’s all we’ll be.”
The wires in my brain take a second to compute the information, then a weight lifts off my chest. She’s not fucking him.
At my pause, he takes the opportunity to continue. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two. I just know she’ll never be able to move on if you don’t release the hold you have on her.”
“I thought you said she just wants to be friends.”
The flash of pain in his gaze is perversely pleasing. “She did, and I accept that. I mean move on with anyone else.”
I don’t want her to move on, and that makes me the biggest piece of scum walking the earth.
“She’s not your fucking woman. Claire is.”
Like I need a fucking reminder of who I sacrificed my life to. “You don’t know anything about me or my situation, and you sure as shit don’t get to tell me what Kitty is to me.”
“Do you seriously not see her drowning?” He arches a brow, shaking his head in disgust. “If you cared about her?—”
“We’re done,” I grit, stabbing a finger in his direction.
“Cutter—”
“We’re fucking done,” I repeat, turning my back on him.
I’m not talking to this prick about her. Fuck him.
“Cutter!”
Ignoring him, I swing my leg over my bike, slip on my helmet, and bring the engine to life, leaving him in my rearview.
I maneuver my bike through the streets, his words slicing me to pieces as they reverberate in my mind. The audacity of him dictating what I need to do. He doesn’t know our history, why I’m with Claire.
“Do you seriously not see her drowning?” My heart punches against my ribs.
I told myself I couldn’t be with her, she was better off, then I kept her anyway.
In secret. A woman like Kitty should never be hidden.
She’s the sun my soul revolves around, and she doesn’t even see it. What a fucking mess of my own making.
Fuck .
Swerving the machine around a bend, I hit the throttle, eating up the road, and find myself pulling into Twenty-Four-Carat Gold without even remembering the journey.
Idling the bike, I kick down the stand, a fist squeezing the air from my lungs.
No matter how much I toss everything around in my mind, I keep coming back to the same conclusion: I hurt Kit.
The web of lies and secrets pushed her over the edge, and I owe it to her to fix things.
Heels tapping against the asphalt fill my ears before Claire’s voice calls out, “That wasn’t ten minutes, Cutter. I’m freezing my tits off out here.”
It’s not cold. She just wearing fuck all to keep her warm. I paid for those fucking tits. Claire isn’t a bad person, but no matter how much she tries, she isn’t my person.
Dismounting my bike, I gesture toward the club. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
A shiver moves through her.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Do you know whose club this is?”
“That’s not why I’m here. I would never?—”
“Shut up and get on the bike.”
“In this?” She blanches, looking down at the ass-skimming leather skirt and two scraps of shiny material hanging off each tit, revealing the bandage across the side of her boob.
“I don’t care.”
“You’re overreacting. I came out to have a good time,” she drones, her voice scratching across my skull. “Do you know how hard it is to get in here?”
“I don’t fucking care. It’s over. You’re done for the night.”
“I’m lonely,” she whines. If she went home to her kid, she wouldn’t be. Liquor steams from her breath.
“You’re drunk,” I correct.
“Why won’t you fuck me?”
For fuck’s sake, not this shit again.
“Claire…” I warn.
“We’re married, Cutter. I didn’t ask you to love me, but you give me nothing. We live one life in front of people and another behind closed doors.”
“Because this isn’t a real fucking marriage,” I bark. It’s never been more than what it was when I first took the bullet and married her. I’ve never fucked her, shared a bed with her, or given her any illusion this is real.
Laughter carries across the street from a group of teenagers, drawing her eyes toward them.
“Get on the fucking bike. I’m taking you home.” I grip her under the arms, and she begins crying.
What the hell is happening?
“Claire, don’t fucking do this,” I plead, releasing her.
“You didn’t even care that I had surgery.”
“You had a stitch to fix a scar.” I rub at my temples.
“So?”
Fuck my life. “So, you’re already out partying. How bad can it be?”
“That’s not the point.” She folds her arms, black streaks running down her face.
“What is the point?”
“That I need more. I want more from you.”
No. I have nothing more. I pace the space between us.
“I gave you my life, lied to my pres for you, raised your kid. Is that not enough?”
“That’s not true. We saved each other.”
“How’s that?” I ask, my tone bitter.
“You saved me from Jericho, and I saved you by keeping the secret that could get you killed.”
Ice slips down my spine, eclipsing all warmth from my body. “Is that why you came here tonight—to remind me?” My eyes narrow.
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently.
I clasp her arms and bring her nose-to-nose with me. “Did you think you’d find him in there and maybe get cozy with him?”
She scoffs, spitting out, “It’s not me you should worry about him getting cozy with.”
“What does that mean?”
Silence.
“What the fuck does that mean?” I roar, shaking her.
“Everything okay?” a passing stranger asks, stopping a few feet from us.
“Fuck off if you value keeping your teeth.” His boots pound away in the opposite direction.
“What do you mean by that?” I say more calmly.
Her expression turns sour. “Your precious Kitty. Seems Carnell has taken a liking to her.”
Recoiling, I ask, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
She smirks, seemingly proud of herself, and nods toward the club. “She’s inside.” My eyes shoot toward the club, the name an illusion of gold dripping down the front of the building. “With Michael.”