30. It’s Real #2
“Let’s pretend I didn’t, okay, buddy?” I offer him one of the three cupcakes I stole from the kitchen earlier and groan when Claire marches over to us, swipes up the ball, and pulls Rocco away from the plate like I’m giving him grenades to play with.
“You don’t feed other people’s children. You don’t know if he has allergies,” she snaps.
“Does he?”
“That’s not the point.”
I want to give her the point of a knife, but I put the plate down instead and hold up my hands. “Fine. I’ll eat them myself.”
Sweeping her gaze over my figure, she thins her lips. “You’re irresponsible.”
I know her outburst and goading have nothing to do with me giving the kid a cupcake and everything to do with Cutter leaving her for me. I know what losing him feels like, but he was mine first. He’s always been mine. “And you’re a bitch,” I retort, velvety smooth.
“You said another bad word.” Rocco gasps, and Claire looks ready to burst. If she thinks that’s the worst word the kid is going to hear today, she’s got another thing coming.
“Everything okay?” Chris interrupts like a knight in leather armor. He hands me a beer and nabs one of the cupcakes.
“No. It’s not,” Claire seethes, turning on her heel and practically dragging the poor kid away.
“I overheard.” He shakes his head and pulls a chair over, straddling it while tearing the paper off the cupcake. “You okay?”
Getting to my feet, I fiddle with the leg of my lounger, prodding it back into place before sitting down. “Fine. Thanks for the beer.”
“Sure. I’ve been meaning to check in on you after what happened the other morning. Is there a reason Michael Carnell hurt you?”
“Are you asking if I did something to deserve it?” I push up my sunglasses and raise a brow, staring at him.
“No. God, no, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” He fumbles over his words, his head rocking back and forth. “I hate seeing those marks on you. It should have been his hand.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“But you’re okay?”
“I am.” I hold up my bottle to clink with his.
“The kid is missing out on these cupcakes.” He grins, stuffing the entire thing in his mouth.
“I didn’t want to part with any anyway, so you owe me one,” I say, only half joking.
“Looks like Pres is going to make a speech.” He sweeps his gaze over the crowd gathering then stands and offers me his hand.
Pulling me to my feet, I groan. Chris disappears into the throng of brothers.
Kids squeal, splashing in the pool, and Grease stays by the grill, manning the meat, so it can’t be anything important.
I attempt to slip away when Cutter’s scent wraps around me as he closes in behind me, whispering, “You’re driving me crazy in those tiny shorts. ”
Warmth fills all the cracks inside me, and I suck at the air to regain the breath he stole. “Maybe I should take them off,” I tease without turning to face him, pretending to focus on my dad.
Cutter’s guttural moan tightens my core. “I’m going to rip them off you later,” he promises, skimming past me, lingering his hand across my ass before heading toward Claire. With Rocco balanced on her hip, she throws daggers at both of us over his shoulder.
“It’s good to see all our families here at the club and the next generation of Kings growing up fast. It hasn’t been an easy year.
We’ve lost brothers, but we’ve also gained brothers.
The Kings are stronger than ever, and there’s a lot to look forward to and celebrate today.
Cheers to us.” Hoots ring out, and bottles clink, then Claire’s voice flips my stomach, sending an icy hand scraping down my spine.
“While everyone is gathered, Cutter and I have some news.” Is she going to announce their split right now in front of Rocco?
Placing the kid down, she takes his hand, then slides her other into Cutter’s. My heart flops around in my chest like a dying fish, and my mouth goes bone dry.
The world narrows and spins as her lips move, announcing, “We’re pregnant!”
Voices blur and distort, nothing making sense.
Pressure builds in my head and chest, weighing me down, filling my legs with concrete.
Am I breathing? Opening my mouth, I gasp for air and stumble backward.
Fire ignites in the corners of my eyes. Did he know?
I can’t be here. Her smug face seeks me out.
No. You’re not going to see the damage you just caused me.
Turning, I will my legs not to fail me and start walking away.
My heart bursts in my chest. I choke on the blood, my airways clogging.
As soon as I’m far enough away not to be seen, I begin to jog then outright sprint until my lungs catch fire and my limbs turn to ash.
I find myself heaving against the wall of the outhouse at the far end of the club.
Vomit chases up my gullet and spills to the floor.
This isn’t happening. Battling my thoughts, I try to calm myself.
She’s lying to get him to stay , I rationalize.
Or he knew and wanted one last time with me.
He wouldn’t be this cruel. As I think the words, a torrent of memories shoot into me like bullets from a machine gun.
Him telling me he fucked her and knocked her up then the marriage announcement. I’m such an idiot.
My cloud nine turns gray, and I plummet straight through it, hitting the concrete with a thud.
The sudden sound of a door opening startles me, then Monster’s back comes into view, waltzing away from the outhouse.
Willing my breath to steady, I look at the building and frown.
I’ve never really thought about this place or what it’s used for.
From birth, it’s drummed into biker brats not to ask questions or pry, and I sure as shit know you don’t get answers when you do ask questions.
The memory of seeing him and Rogue out here sparks in my mind and curiosity gets the better of me.
Waiting for Monster to disappear into the main clubhouse, I step around to the entryway, taking in the keylock on the door.
There’s one code for all the doors in the main clubhouse apart from where they keep merchandise.
It probably won’t work, but I punch in the code anyway, letting out a surprised exhale when it beeps and unlocks.
They must not keep valuables in here. It’s probably Monster’s room.
He needs a place to himself just to contain that thing in his pants.
I hope he doesn’t come back and think I came looking for the pleasure or comfort he offered the other night. Pulling the door wide, I slip inside.
Whatever this place is, it’s nothing good.
The air is warm and sticky, clinging to my skin like glue. Bare concrete walls make up a narrow passageway with three doors. Hairs rise over my flesh in awareness when a muffled sound reaches my ears. Someone is in here .
Taking slow and cautious steps, I inch farther inside, opening the first door.
It leads into an empty storage space. Moving to the next, I hold my breath.
It smells in this hall, reminding me of dirty water left to ferment.
Shivers chase up my spine, sprinkling tiny bumps across my arms. The thundering of my own heartbeat pounds loud in my ears.
Creaking the door open, I brace myself against the frame.
The slightly sloping floor makes me uneasy as my eyes gravitate to the drain in the center before slowly shifting up toward a man tied to a metal table above it.
Shit.
I know our club has responsibilities and business to take care of. Hell, I’ve witnessed enough of it firsthand. This man will no doubt never leave this room still breathing.
He fights against his restraints when he sees me, but it’s futile.
He’s not going anywhere. I wonder who he is and what he’s done to deserve the wrath of the Kings.
It must be something extra awful to warrant Monster’s dark hand.
Stifled words die against the rag in his mouth.
And despite my better judgement telling me to leave and never return, I edge inside until I’m standing over him.
Flawed, ruddy skin stretched over crooked features and small gray eyes make up the face of the stranger staring at me with a calm reserve in contrast to the thrashing from moments before.
“What was your sin?” I ponder. He attempts to shake his head, but there’s a strap across his forehead, pinning it in place.
I imagine myself lying here helpless and then replace me with Claire.
A shiver runs through me as my skin tugs tight against my bones.
An incessant pulse drills into the sides of my head, leaving behind a harsh and unrelenting ache.
It’s eerie to think of everyone out there partying and having fun. Kids are playing innocently while a man is tied to a metal table in what I’m surmising is a torture chamber.
Muted sounds come from the man once more. “I can’t help you.” I shake my head, and he says something else unintelligible. “What are you saying?” I snap, exasperated.
Leaning over him, I rip the tape holding the cloth in his mouth away. “I’ll stuff it back in if you scream,” I warn.
“Thank you.” He says it so relaxed, you’d think I just opened a door for him or offered escape.
“Who are you?” He’s wearing beige slacks and a checkered shirt. He carries extra weight around his middle, but has broad, muscular upper arms.
Stretching his lips, he replies, “Trevor.” His eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
I don’t know anymore. “Does it matter?” I suddenly wish I wasn’t dressed in a bikini top and shorts. The walls speak here. The darkness clings to the air, seeping into my skin.
“It could matter.”
“How did you end up here?” I ask, looking around the cold, barren space. Tools sit on a shelf above a cabinet at the back of the room. Acid bubbles in my gut.
“Some man with a big beard hit me over the head and I woke up here.” His words are matter of fact.
“You must have done something.”
“Are you going to kill me?” He looks me over with curiosity. How is he not begging for his life, screaming for help? Crying? Pissing himself? I’d have no air in my lungs from screaming if it were me on the table.
“No.” Could I kill him? It depends on what he’s done.
“Is the bearded man going to kill me?”
Unease swims through my veins. “Probably.” He doesn’t say anything to my confession, just attempts to nod. “Are you not scared?” I ask, confused by him.
“Some of us are hunters. Others prey. Someone has to end up on the table,” he says, exploring my face for a response. “Which are you?” he adds.
I always thought I was a hunter, but now, feeling defeated, weak, and once again fucked over by the man I love, I wonder if I’ve always been the prey—Cutter’s bounty that he taunts before killing.
“Untie me,” he suddenly demands, opening a pit in my stomach.
“No.” I say firmly, shifting on my feet.
“You’re trembling.” He drops his eyes to my hands. Flexing my fingers, I reach over and stick the tape back over his mouth. My heart races wildly. Even with the tape and cloth over his mouth, he’s smiling at me.
He’s a hunter. My brain screams. Trying to prey on you.
“I may tremble on the surface, but there’s strength inside me that goes beyond fear. I’ve been broken and had to reassemble myself over and over. I’m resilient. I’m stone.” Leaning over him, I add, “And I’m not the one on the table.”
All heat leaves my body when he manages to grip my wrist in his hand, preventing me from moving.
“Let go,” I spit through clenched teeth, yanking my arm.
His grip is supernaturally strong, even restrained.
Choked laughter rattles his chest as I attempt to peel his finger away from my flesh with my other hand.
“Let me fucking go.” A scream rips from my lungs when Monster appears beside me.
A steel blade whips past my eyes, plunging into Trevor’s forearm, and twists.
I fall back hard on my ass when the grip releases, landing directly on the drain hole.
Horror washes over me. Scurrying away on my hands, I don’t stop until my back hits the cold wall.
“Kit?”
My breathing comes in ragged pants, and I try to bring focus to my mind. That wasn’t Monster’s voice…
Dragging my gaze up tanned legs and over the floral dress to the knife clenched in Rogue’s hand, I choke out, “What the fuck is going on?”
“You weren’t supposed to be in here. No one is,” Monster grunts, shaking his head and tutting.
“Who is that man? And how the hell are you Rambo right now?
Chris must have doped my beer. I’m tripping out. Nothing has made sense since I got up to hear Dad’s shit speech.
“Are you okay?” Rogue’s soft voice irks me. She leans over me with her hand out like I’m a frightened child.
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Just caught off guard,” I defend, smacking her hand away and getting to my feet, swiping dirt from my shorts. “I knew you were hiding something from me.” Pointing to the table and then Monster, I say, “Is this some freaky torture kink you two are into?”
She has the guile to look offended. “You really think I’d cheat on Callan? And with a brother, of all people?”
“I don’t know.” I throw my hands up, letting them collapse against my thighs. “I thought I knew you, but here you are with a massive knife and a man tied to a table in a weird horror house fifty feet from where we sleep.”
“It’s actually a hundred and seven feet from here to the clubhouse,” Monster points out, like I give a flying fuck about the facts right now. “I’m going to take his hands for not playing nice.”
Heat rises up Rogue’s neck and spreads to her cheeks. “I didn’t want to involve you in this.”
“What is this? Does Callan know this man is here? Does my dad?”
“No. And that’s another reason why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you put in a position where you had to hide my secrets.”
“You don’t trust me.” Folding my arms, my back straightens. I let the irritation and resentment speak through my glare.
“That’s not what I said. You’re twisting my words.” Blood from the knife drips down her leg to her sandal. I can’t stop staring at the crimson trail. She stabbed him effortlessly. She’s not rattled by it or scared. Spilling blood isn’t new to her.
My eyes close and open slowly as exhaustion bleeds into my bones. Burning aches my eyes. “This isn’t club business, is it?” I ask what I already know the answer to.
“No.” She hitches a shoulder and smiles sadly. “But there is a reason for it.”
“And what is that?” I demand. If she doesn’t tell me, I’m done. I need honesty. At least from her. I fucking want it from her.
Swiping at a falling tear on her cheek with the hand still gripping the blade, she says, “Harley.”