Chapter 44
SIM
Istep into my loft, and a sensation of helplessness, and crushing weight, hits me so hard it almost knocks the breath out of my chest. I despise the feeling; it’s foreign, and it makes me feel small, because it reminds me I’m losing control of something I never meant to let slip through my fingers, or into my heart.
The sensation hollows me out from the inside, scraping bone, carving me into pieces, and making me weak.
My eyes are instantly drawn to the dark, heavy, velvet curtains separating my living space from my bedroom.
They’re just fabric, just decoration, but my mind betrays me, conjuring the image of a sexy Olly, naked and tangled in my sheets, soft panting breaths against my pillow as her purple hair fans out below her, the imprint of her body warming the mattress.
God, I don’t want to be here without her anymore.
That realization is not only unhinged, but genuinely terrifying.
This small loft has always been my sanctuary, my controlled environment, my goddamn peace, in a world that tests my resolve daily.
The place I could shut out the noise of the world, and my own uglier impulses, and think with clarity.
Now the air feels stale, and the place I love feels wrong, empty, and cold.
Light pours in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, bright and expansive, but somehow the place is dimmer than it’s ever been.
It's as if it's been stripped of its purpose and warmth, and only an empty shadow of it remains.
No, that's not it; it's because it's been stripped of her. Without Olly here, it’s as if the whole place has lost its soul, or maybe it’s just me losing mine to her, piece by piece, every time I let myself think of her.
"Fuck, this is crazy," I drag my hand through my hair violently, as the words wring out of me, rough and uneven, swallowed immediately by the empty loft.
The sound barely echoes, as if even the walls are tired of hearing me unravel, and are calling me out for my madness.
My legs force me of their own accord into my bedroom, and I reach for one of my pillows on my unmade bed, bringing it up to my nose with the pathetic hope of smelling her scent still on it.
I haven't been able to bring myself to even change the sheets since I fucked her on them, like some lovesick sap that can't let go.
I'm a man frozen in the aftermath, afraid that washing the linens will wipe away the only proof she was ever mine for a moment. When did I become this pathetic?
I drag a heavy hand through my hair again with visceral frustration, tugging at the roots because I need the sting, I need something to ground me from my rambling thoughts, but it doesn’t help, fuck, nothing does anymore.
The profound truth staring me right in the face is that I'm now a fool, who's clinging to a girl who has no idea the wreckage she’s left behind in her wake, and may not even want me.
I replay everything that's happened, in the hours since I went searching for her on campus, to breaking down her door, and sleeping next to her in her bed.
It feels like so much in such a short period of time.
I sit myself down on the edge of my bed, my head hanging low with the realization that after everything last night, and this morning, with Olly and Mayhem, my fighting career is toast in Soule, and I won't be able to support myself for long.
Shit, I'll be lucky if those three miscreants don't try to run me out of town by the end of the week.
I've sabotaged myself for a woman that I barely know, who's filled with secrets she doesn't trust me with, and who just confessed this morning, after all that shit with her malevolent stepfather went down, and we were parting ways, that she willingly slept with River Brackley. It was a slap in the face, and had me grasping at straws at what to say to her. No matter how many times I claim her, she doesn’t claim me back. Am I prepared to have to share her with other men? I’ve never had the inclination to do that before with anyone.
Am I an idiot? Am I being led by my dick right now?
How could I implode my whole life, all my plans, and put myself at risk like this?
I saw that look on Gerald Weyburn's face, the fucker is vindictive, just like his son, and the idea of me touching and soiling his new stepdaughter, and the fact that I refused to cower in front of him, and ask for mercy, doesn't bode well for me.
Others have disappeared without a trace for far less.
Then there's the three fuckers who drugged and chased my girl through the woods, terrorizing her with some depraved and unhinged primal play.
Cross, River, and Damon don't fear me, Olly, or any repercussions for their actions.
They think they can take what they want, even if it's by force.
The mere thought of all the panic she must have felt, when she awoke naked and disoriented in the woods, and then was chased by three masked men, has bile racing up the back of my throat, followed by hot rage building in the pit of my stomach.
They could have killed her out there. One wrong move and she could have died at their hands, and they didn't seem to care, or feel the slightest bit of remorse.
What's one more death at Mayhem's hands in Soule?
It's not like they wouldn't get away with it.
Law enforcement here is bought and paid for by Gerald Weyburn, and Mayhem, just like most of the other businesses.
They’re untouchable, or at least they believe they are.
They have secrets, and a plethora of unmarked graves, that could sink them if one knows where the bodies are buried.
They need to be punished for what they've done to her, and I need to protect Olly from the storm she doesn't even realize is forming around her.
She thinks she's safe, and that yesterday was an isolated moment, that the three of them will shrug it off and move on, but I know them. I know what they’re capable of in those dark, sinister hearts.
Mayhem doesn't forget or forgive, and the very idea of my Lavender choosing me over them?
That's a wound they'll dig their fingers into, until it bleeds and festers.
I'd rather they come for me, and I become their target.
Every blow meant for her, I'd take twice, with a smile on my face.
That's not nobility, it's an animalistic instinct to protect what's mine.
Is it a tad irrational? Sure, but this whole situation with Olly is.
The question that claws at me is how long I can keep their eyes fixed solely on me.
How much time can I buy her before they circle back, and she's on their radar again? A day? An hour? Minutes?
The truth is glaringly obvious, and a jagged thing to swallow, scraping all the way down, even as I'm attempting to convince myself otherwise.
They'll never lose interest in her. They can't leave her alone any more than I can.
There is something about Olly that forces you to make her the center of your orbit.
We're all trapped in her gravity, dragged toward her without permission or sense.
Olly pulls people in the way black holes swallow stars, quietly, inevitably, without even realizing the destruction she leaves in her wake.
Maybe it was always going to end like this, and we'll all go down in a fiery crash.
Fuck it! There's no point pretending or fighting it.
I can't stand back and watch her make choices that lead her straight into danger.
If I'm going down, if everything I've built, everything I've hidden, burns and I lose it all, I need to be by my Lavender's side, protecting her, even if that's from herself.
I rise, my muscles tight with decision, and reach under my dresser.
My fingers close around the slick tape, and the cold metal beneath it, and grab my gun.
It's my insurance policy, and now my confession of what I'm willing to become for her.
I shove it into my waistband and head for the door, prepared to go to the school to try to talk some sense into her, and convince her to stay with me instead of remaining in that house, where I can't protect her.
If she agrees, I'll finally be able to breathe, knowing she's not within reach of the three idiots who want to hurt her.
If they dare step in my way, they'll finally understand why I've never lost a fight, and if my fists don't teach them… a bullet will.
I pull into the school lot, my pulse already vibrating under my skin, and the first thing I see are their three Ducati Superleggeras lined up like trophies, just sitting there taunting me.
Neon blue. Venom green. Hot pink. Each one gleaming, curated, perfect for each of those rich, entitled assholes, not even street legal, but that doesn't matter when you're Mayhem, and are the law in Soule.