16. Duel POV – Haunted Eyes, Broken Heart, Battered Soul
SIXTEEN
DUEL POV – HAUNTED EYES, brOKEN HEART, BATTERED SOUL
Demon
It’s morning. I’m in my room, waiting for Ivy to finish getting ready. I had to chuckle at her hungover state this morning. I’m sitting on my bed, hands on my knees, wondering whether this is a good idea or not, but she keeps insisting on wanting to get to know me. Fuck knows why, but she’s stubborn and very persistent.
We had a club meeting yesterday about what had happened outside the bar. I was expecting Bomber to say something to me about being reckless out in public, but he didn’t. Apparently, no one snitched to the police about the incident. We have a contact at the police station, so we would have heard about it by now. Since we’ve started helping the women and children in the charity, the town people seem to respect and trust the club. The men in the MC were empathetic because most the men know what it feels like to have their women in harm’s way.
Reaper ended up talking to the leader of the loan sharks, and we’ve come to an understanding that Ivy and Sammy are under the club’s protection. The leader of the group agreed that there will be no more harassment and that they will go after Ivy’s ex for the money. The loan sharks have plenty of people owing them money, so even though I don’t trust them, going to war with a motorcycle club over a bit of money doesn’t make a lot of sense. So Ivy could go home... but I’m not going to tell her that.
I hear Ivy before I see her. That’s what I do—I listen and observe, so I know by people’s footsteps who’s coming. I stand as she reaches my room. When she sees me, she smiles. I feel privileged to see her smile. There’s a strange feeling in my chest. She sees things in me nobody else sees. She looks at me like she loves me.
“Are we going on your bike?” Her eyes are bright, hopeful.
“Yeah, sure.”
She does a happy dance. I find her facial expressions fascinating. Always so emotive. It’s unfortunate that her smile will be wiped from her face today. I lean down and grab the painkiller and glass of water on my side table that I got for her and pass them to her.
A little sigh escapes her. “Thank you. God, I need these.” She takes them.
We walk downstairs. It’s quiet this morning, but I hear people talking in the kitchen.
“Do you know how long we’ll be gone for? I just want to check with the girls that they’re all right to watch Sammy. I feel like a terrible parent asking them to babysit all the time.”
I shrug. “The women here aren’t like that. Elena and Ava are always happy to help out. She’ll be fine.”
“I’d better go check.”
I nod. “I’ll be out the front.”
By the time I start my bike and ride up to the front of the clubhouse, she comes dashing out. I pass her the helmet and she hops on. Even on the ride over, I still find myself checking my mirrors for anyone following us. I don’t trust anyone, regardless of whether they said they aren’t following Ivy anymore or not.
Fifteen minutes later we are outside the home where my sister is staying at. Once we get off, she puts the helmet on my handlebars.
“Is everything all right with your sister?” Her voice is filled with worry.
“She’s fine.”
Ivy lets out a heavy breath, her shoulders falling.
We walk along the path and inside the home and to the front desk. The lady’s eyes bug out when she looks at me. “I’m Jett Miller, here to see Madeline Miller.”
“Yes, down the hall and to your left. Room 10.”
I feel Ivy’s eyes on me as we walk to the room. Once inside, I look at Maddy. She looks the way she always does—peaceful. Ivy goes into nurse mode and looks her over before standing at her side.
I pull a chair over and sit facing Maddy. I might as well get this over and done with... “So... you want to know what I’ve been through. I’ll tell you. My dad had schizophrenia...” I start off the shitshow story that is my life. “So Mom was the one who worked. He’d go off his meds a lot and get real paranoid. We got home from school one time and he had barricaded the front door with all the furniture.” I chuckle. “Other times, he thought we were being spied on and ruined parts of the house, furniture, microwaves, anything that he thought the government was watching us through in his delusional state.”
Ivy walks around the bed and stands next to me with a hand on my shoulder. I keep going. “The disease got worse until he was convinced we were spies for the government, so I spent as much time away from the house as I could.” My hand clenches. The biggest mistake of my life. “One night, I was at a friend’s house. After I got home it was late...” My heart palpitates. “As I walked to my bedroom, that’s when I first smelled that metallic scent, like coins.”
Ivy’s body freezes.
I close my eyes. I remember it like it was yesterday. “I followed the drops of blood, first to my parents’ room. I walked in to see my mom on the bed. She was pale. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Blood covered her and saturated the white sheets. I checked her pulse just in case she was alive, but her skin was cold to the touch and she was gone.” My last memory of her, seeing her dead, is burned into my psyche.
Something between a gasp and a sob tears from Ivy’s throat. She hugs me from behind, fiercely.
“My dad was rocking on his feet, looking out the window. When he saw me, his eyes were frenzied. As he turned, I noticed the bloody kitchen knife in his hand. He ran at me.” I shake my head. “The whole fight is a blur, but he was the one who ended up with the knife in his chest.” Even though it’s been years since it happened, the internal scars from my father are faded but still there.
I shiver, wondering if I’ll ever get schizophrenia since it’s genetic. I think I’d kill myself if I ever had those dark thoughts about hurting someone who means something to me.
Ivy’s cries are louder, so I turn. Her eyes are red and mascara stains her cheeks. I guide her around me, and she sits on my lap. “I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she says, her voice tortured, brittle. She looks at the bed. “What happened to Madeline?”
There’s a painful tightness in my throat. I take a moment before I carry on. “I rushed to Maddy. She was bloody but still breathing... still alive. She was still under the bed sheets, so she didn’t even hear him coming. I called an ambulance and went to the hospital with her. On the way she had a cardiac arrest from the blood loss, which caused a lack of oxygen to the brain.”
Ivy turns, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me so tight that it’s like she’s trying to put all the broken pieces of me back together.
“She’s been in a vegetative state ever since.”
She pulls back, and I can see the misery swirling in her eyes. I lean in and tenderly kiss the salty tears that are falling down both cheeks.
Ivy clears her throat. “Madeline got transferred from Las Vegas. Is that where you’re from?”
I nod. “I used to go there to see her and visit Mom’s grave.”
She sniffles. “How have you coped?”
I pause. “I haven’t.” Something inside of my brain broke that day. I flatlined too. I let out a heavy breath. “From then on everything went to shit. I was still under the age of eighteen. Child protective services put me in foster care, but I ran away. I lived on the streets for a while... over a year, but I always went back and checked on Maddy. To make sure she was okay. My life spiraled into alcohol... drugs. Anything to numb the pain, until the fighting competition at the club’s warehouse.”
I let out a dark chuckle. “Joining the MC kept me out of jail. I found somewhere I get patted on the back for being a monster. I get to punish people for hurting the MC or people we care about.” Since stabbing people is socially unacceptable and illegal, the club has provided me with a place to exercise my demons.
I look at Maddy. “It’s why Bomber and I are serious about protecting the club. We couldn’t protect the people we loved from getting hurt, so we’d die before letting anyone else hurt the people we care about.” I fucking hate myself for not being there to protect my family against my father that night.
She places a hand on either side of my face and makes direct eye contact. “It wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer. It may as well have been. “If I was there, my family would still be alive.”
She abruptly shakes her head. “No. It wasn’t your fault,” she whispers. She presses our foreheads together. “I know your heart’s been sliced open, but I’m here now. I won’t let you bleed out any longer.”
* * *
Ivy
We stay at the home, spending time with Madeline for quite some time. I sit in Jett’s arms, an absolute wreck. I stop crying, then minutes later start up again. Heart-wrenching cries tear from my soul. The absolute horror of what he experienced has shaken me to my core and destroyed me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the level of violence he experienced.
When we get back to the clubhouse, I go upstairs to Jett’s bedroom and close the door. I need time to myself to calm down and try to hide that I’ve been crying because I don’t want Sammy to see me like this and think something is wrong.
I look at the delicate white origami birds on his bedside table. Little sentiments like that and his tattoo of his sister break my heart. It makes me wonder: Did he specifically design himself in such a way to protect and defend himself because of the loss he has already encountered? Is his need for weapons, especially knives, a form of needing to be in control—by hurting people using the same weapon that hurt him?
I understand his obsession with protection because he thinks he wasn’t there for his family, but my heart physically hurts from the thought of him blaming himself. I could see it in his eyes. The survivor’s guilt still haunts him.
Mental illness can be debilitating for both the patient and their family, and I hate that he had to experience the worst of it. Not enough is being done to help patients and families going through a mental health battle. Everything from the lack of doctors, trouble with insurance companies, and lack of resources available to all people within the community.
I lie down and snuggle into his pillow, smelling his cologne, and it settles me somewhat. By telling me the truth, he took his mask off and bared himself to me. Even though hearing what he has gone through has horrified me. I’m grateful, thankful even, that he shared his most intimate past with me.
I knew I was right—he needs love. His past has provided insight into his lack of empathy toward people who wronged the people he cares about and his strong need to protect and care for children. On the other side of all of this, he killed his own father. His father might have had his own demons, but killing him would be a heavy burden to carry. Underneath his gruff exterior is a tortured soul that could be loved into redemption.
Tears are falling, wetting his pillow. “God damn it.” I sit up and decide to go have a shower, to try to make myself more presentable.
Afterward, I go downstairs and search around until I find Sammy at the dining table, drawing next to Jett. The sight of the two of them makes me smile. “What are you two up to?” I ask as I walk toward them and look over Sammy’s shoulder.
“I’m writing my name,” she answers me, proud as punch.
I notice the paper is laminated. “Did you do this?” I ask Jett.
He shakes his head.
Sammy answers, “Uncle Twitch did.”
I clutch my chest. Uncle. It is going to break her heart when all this is over and we have to go back home. Heaviness engulfs me just imagining it. I don’t want to ever leave. I’d like to think Jett and I are serious, but he also likes his solitude, and maybe us being here all the time might be a bit much for him. This is his home, and I don’t intend to put pressure on him.
The rest of the day goes by quickly, and by dinner time we are all outside finishing our meal. A high-pitched cry silences the table. Most people jump to their feet. I immediately recognize the cry—it’s Sammy. My heart stops and I frantically search the backyard before I see Sammy on the ground, holding her arm. My heart pounds. I run, but Jett gets to her first.
I search her body from head to toe. “Are you okay, honey? What happened?”
“I fell.” More tears fall. “I hurt my arm.”
Jett picks her up. Her little arms wrap around his neck. There’s blood on her arm near her elbow and her hand. She’s still crying. I follow them inside, where Jett gently places her on the kitchen table. With gentle hands he feels her arm. “It’s not broken.” He goes to the cupboard by the fridge while I take a look at her bloody hand.
Red eyes and a big frown mar her innocent little face, and I wish I could take her pain from her. Her hand isn’t bad, but it hurts me to see her like this.
Jett’s back. He takes her hand and applies a bandage over her scrape and then her arm, and he hugs her until her tears dry up and she settles down. He’s so doting... so caring. I watch in awe. He got to her before I did, but then I realize most of the MC men were on their feet. Even the women, and apart from Reaper and Ava, they don’t even have children. The sound of a child crying brought out everyone’s protective instinct. My eyes get watery at the amount of love in this clubhouse.
Sammy went to sleep early. I’m lying in bed with her. I’m exhausted after today, but I can’t sleep. I keep tossing and turning, and it’s making Sammy unsettled, so I get up, not wanting to wake her. I gently close the door and consider going to sleep on the couch, but... I take the few steps to Jett’s room and peek inside.
There’s movement in his bed. “Is everything all right?” a deep husky voice asks.
“Ah... I can’t sleep. Do you mind if I stay in here for tonight?” I feel rude asking, but I’d rather stay in here and still be close to Sammy than sleep in the living room.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” He pulls back the blanket.
I hesitantly walk in and get onto the bed, shuffle over, and pull the blanket up over me. The fan above creates a fresh breeze.
Jett spoons me from behind, and his arm folds around me. My lips curve up into a smile. “Are you, Jett Miller... cuddling me?” I try to keep the amusement out of my voice but fail.
He pulls me tighter to him. “I am. You’re my medicine... my peace.”
The softness in his voice makes my heart sing. Being hugged by him, being held this close, feels surreal. “I’ve fallen in love with you.” I need to remind him every day.
“Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”
I find comfort in that. His warm hand slips under my pajama top and slides across the skin on my stomach. My breathing speeds up as his hand moves farther down and over the top of my underwear. The pressure and rubbing over my clit make me gasp, then he tugs on the waistband of my pajama pants. His gentle movements are such a contrast to the last time we were intimate.
With a racing heart, I drag my underwear and pants off. He shuffles behind me. I pull off my shirt too, wanting skin to skin contact. Then he’s against me with scalding skin and his erection hard as steel. His heavy breath flutters against my ear, followed by his tongue tracing the outside of it.
“I need you.” There’s a raw, desperate hunger in his voice, but tonight he’s in control.
“You have me,” I say breathlessly. “Always.”
He presses a kiss to my shoulder as a needy ache intensifies. Then he slowly pushes inside, stretching me open. He withdrawals and thrusts back inside with long, languid strokes. Heat rushes through my body in waves, and I arch and move against him, meeting his thrusts. He pins me in place, one arm curling around me. Possessing me. My fingers hold his arm tight as his steady in-and-out rhythm of slow, deep thrusts tortures me.
“Do you know how good you feel?”
I shake my head.
“Better than anything I’ve ever felt.”
I’m waiting for him to go faster and wilder, but he doesn’t. This feels different... this feels more , like—as usual—he’s using his actions rather than his words as he claims me. Emotions are firing at me from every direction. His muscular body sliding against mine is almost too much. With the scent of sex, the heavy breathing, and the emotional connection I’m feeling, my senses are drenched in him and I’m ready to spontaneously combust.
I can’t help myself. My arm slips around him and I grab his ass as he thrusts. I’m rewarded with a growl rumbling in his throat, so I dig my fingernails in, knowing that he likes it rough. The unbearable tensions build with every thrust, and I moan as I tighten around him. Every thrust takes him deep inside me, hitting that sweet spot again and again.
We cry out together as we come, and I’m gripping and pulsing around him, my hands gripping the sheets, squeezing. Though blood is roaring in my ears, I still hear him groan my name.
He keeps working me until I’m limp and then curls his arms around me, but I turn around and kiss him. “Just remember—you are wanted, you are loved.” He doesn’t answer, but I lay my head on his hard, damp chest, feeling the raging beat of his heart. I relax.
After the intimacy, I lie awake in surprise. I hear his breathing slow and deepen. I smile in the darkness, close my eyes, and join him.