Chapter 14 Makenna
FOURTEEN
MAKENNA
Terror crawls over my skin as the minutes tick by.
I watch the clock, which seems to be moving in reverse and bounce my leg to release the tension strangling me.
If Zane isn’t back soon, I’m going to his little clubhouse to find him.
They don’t get to keep him. They don’t get to hurt him.
He’s mine and he was mine long before he put that kutte on his back.
Suddenly, everything I was angry about seems so insignificant.
I could lose him to this. I could lose everything for real.
The key sounds in the front door and I bolt to my feet so quickly it makes my head spin. I grip the back of the couch to steady myself as the door opens and Zane steps inside.
Fuck.
He’s here. There is no blood, no bruises, but he looks drained. His shoulders are hunched, bags around his eyes as if he hasn’t slept for a month. I slide the gun onto the coffee table, relief surging through my veins and I cross the room to him without a thought.
As soon as I’m in front of him, I fall into him, pressing my cheek to his heart so I can hear it beat. His smell in my nose, his heat against my skin, breath in his lungs.
“I didn’t think you were coming back.”
He gathers me tight, just as he always does, like he’s scared to let go. “Nothing would ever stop me from reaching you.”
I pull back just enough to look at him. “You don’t get to do that again.”
“Do what?”
“Walk into something without me. I’ve been losing my mind for the last hour, wondering if you were already dead. From now on wherever you go I go.”
He stiffens. “That’s not happening.”
I glare at him, bristling. “I get that you want to keep me safe, but why don’t you understand that I also want to protect you? Do you think I wouldn’t have taken that bullet for you?”
He growls. “I know you would have and that’s what fucking scares me, Makenna. That isn’t your job.”
I step out of his grasp this time, putting distance between us. Is he serious? “So it’s okay for you to bleed for me but not the other way around?”
“Exactly,” he says, his voice low and flat.
I resist the urge to put my fist through the wall or to shake some sense into him. Maybe even scream into a fucking pillow. “That’s not how this works. Not anymore. You don’t get to sacrifice yourself like you’re on some noble quest to keep me breathing.”
He doesn’t say anything now, just stands so still he looks like a statue. I shove his chest, wanting, needing some kind of reaction from him. He goes back on a foot but doesn’t move otherwise. That just pisses me off more “Fuck you. Fuck you all the way, Zane.”
He reaches for me, but I stumble back. If he touches me, I’ll fold and I want to keep my anger.
“There is no scenario in which I’m going to stand there and watch you bleed for me.” The words are dragged out of his throat like he’s measuring his temper with each one.
Anger pulses hot through my veins. “But you expect me to do that? You expect me to sit by and watch the only person who has ever given a shit about me give his life in place of mine?”
“Yes.”
I scoff then throw my hands in the air. “If you wanted someone compliant and obedient, then you shouldn’t have married me.
I am not a pathetic damsel who needs to be shielded from the world.
I already know it’s bad out there, Zane.
I already know how much worse it can get.
So, no. You don’t get to throw yourself on a blade meant for me, unless you expect me to do the same for you. ”
I’m breathing heavily, my lungs aching as if I’ve run a marathon and not stripped myself bare to him.
His jaw works, his eyes narrowing before they narrow further. He’s trying to understand, but all he sees is this is his job. That his sole purpose is to keep me safe. And I hate it. Because he’s not my fucking bodyguard. He’s my partner. My soul.
“I don’t know how to do this without—” He breaks off, as if he can’t bear to say the words ‘without you’. There’s a beat of silence while he recalibrates. Then he says, “I don’t know how this plays out and that terrifies me.”
My stomach fills with ice. He always has a plan, always knows what’s going to happen. This… this is uncharted territory for both of us.
“We’ll figure it out.”
He stares at me, like he’s mapping my face.
Like he thinks he may never see it again.
“I’m trusting men who all have one finger on the trigger.
Everyone is paranoid and has a lot to lose.
But Nic. He’s trying to build something I think we could make a life in.
A place that’s safe for families again, for old ladies.
Something we should’ve had from the start. ”
“And you trust him to do it?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, his brain doing that slow analysis he always does when the stakes are high.
“Yeah. I do. He was my mentor when I first came to the club. I know what kind of man he is, or I hope I do.” He takes a breath, and I hold my tongue, waiting for him to finish whatever thought he’s having.
“I need to make sure that the world around us holds you with the same care I do.”
My heart flutters. I don’t know how he’s so sweet even when he’s not meaning to be. “So what do we do?”
“Nic wants me to come in properly. There’s a safe house we’re using. The other old ladies will be there under protection. I need you where I know you can’t be touched.”
My stomach drops. “You’re locking me away?”
He shakes his head, grabbing my face between his hands.
Desperation flashes in his eyes, a plea for me to understand.
“No. Fuck no, Kenna, that’s not what I’m doing.
I’m bringing you into the fold, but you can’t be on the battlefield with me.
So while I’m fighting for this, I need you where I know nothing can touch you.
And that’s not here.” He glances around the apartment. “Not anymore.”
“You’ve been protecting me since I was seven years old. But I’m not that scared little girl. I can fight for you too.”
“I know, but there are some battles that aren’t yours, firefly. This is one of them.”
I want to argue, but I know it won’t make a difference. There are some things he’ll never bend on, and I just need this over with.
“Okay.” I close my eyes, grateful he’s not shutting me out again, that he’s letting me stand in this with him, even if it is on the sideline.
He kisses me slowly, as if he’s trying to savour every moment our lips touch. I melt into him, my emotions mixed, my fear and anger swirling alongside uncertainty and confusion.
“I don’t know if I’ve done enough yet to make you trust me again,” he murmurs, “or to make you love…” He stumbles over the word and repeats it with more certainty. “To love me again, but I swear everything I did was because of how deeply I feel for you.”
Oh. The way he says it, like he’s trying to understand human nuances, makes my chest ache.
It’s hard to be pissed at someone who doesn’t think in straight lines.
Zane’s always worked outside the box, always seen things in black and white.
It makes it hard for me to hold on to that righteous feeling.
I grip his shirt, letting the feel of him anchor me.
“Forget about the past. I need you focused on what you’re doing now.
No distractions.” He peers down at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
“And I’m not going anywhere. We have things we need to sort out, sure, but we can do that once this is over. Once everything is back to normal.”
“You really think anything will ever be normal in our lives?”
I smirk. “Probably not.”
He squeezes me before reluctantly letting me go. “Grab what you need. Only the essentials.”
Just like we used to when we were running from foster placements or being shifted around different group homes. I never had things until we stopped running and put down roots. But all this stuff is meaningless without him.
I head into the bedroom, ignoring the shake in my hands and pack with military precision. Bare essentials he said and that’s all I take. I grab the folder with our important documents in, stuffing those in the bottom of my rucksack, before I pack some things for him too.
I find him in the kitchen, a row of knives and sheaths lining the table.
Weapons of war.
I’ve seen him handle blades since we were teenagers, but lined up like this, knowing what’s coming—it hits different this time.
My stomach dips as he glances up from what he’s doing.
His shoulders are bunched around his ears, as if he can’t loosen them.
I wish this was over already, that we were settled back into whatever life comes after.
I’d give anything to be standing here complaining about dirty socks on the floor and not waiting to wave him off into a war he might lose.
Zane stands and packs up each knife with precision. When he’s done, he tucks two into sheaths on his body, the others are placed inside one of the bags. “Ready?”
I nod. A lie, but I give it anyway. I feel like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at the jagged rocks below. One wrong move and we get torn to pieces, shredded on the sharp edges.
My mouth is suddenly dry, but when he takes my hand, I feel the weight on my chest lift just enough that I can breathe. He clutches both bags in one big fist and leads us out of the apartment.
He keeps close to my back while I lock the door behind us, then he takes my hand again, his grip like an iron band around me. I know whatever happens he won’t let go of me, but I interlace my fingers with his anyway, just in case.
The walk to the car is torture. I feel eyes everywhere, even though we’re alone. Every noise feels like a detonation. Every breath loud in my ears.
Between my shoulders itch as he guides me across the car park, moving at a clipped pace.
There’s a phantom pain in the back of my head, as if I’m waiting for a bullet to strike, but Zane keeps me pressed into his side, protecting as much of my body as he can, and that kills me.
Because no one is protecting him, and he thinks I’m supposed to just be okay with that.
A car backfires in the distance and I flinch hard enough to bite my tongue. He holds me tighter, crushing me into his side, moving a little faster.
There’s only relief when he opens the car door and helps me slide into the passenger seat. His eyes are everywhere, checking for danger as he pulls the belt around my body, clipping it in like I’m a little girl and not his wife.
Our eyes meet for just a second, just long enough to convey a multitude of emotions before he steps back and shuts the door.
I hold my breath as he tosses our bags in the backseat and then slides into the driver’s side.
I inhale a lungful of air until he starts the engine and pulls out of the space.
His knuckles are tight around the steering wheel as we drive into the city.
I hate this. I hate that he’s afraid, and not for himself, but for me.
But it’s always been that way. When we were younger, trapped in a system designed to destroy kids like us, he never cared about himself getting hurt.
He would take beating after beating, all the verbal abuse, his shit getting stolen, his life being upended, and he only ever really lost his temper when that stuff touched me.
I’ll never forget the first time one of my foster parents backhanded me hard enough to split my lip. The look on his face when I turned up to school the next day was enough to scare me. He made sure that fucker never touched me again. He always did.
“You’re quiet.” He lifts my hand as he says it, brushing his mouth over my cold skin.
“Just thinking.”
He hums low in his throat. “Dangerous.”
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking about to say whether it’s dangerous or not.” I keep my voice teasing, knowing that we both need this levity.
“No. But I know you and that’s enough.”
My smile is tight, but I give it anyway. I don’t want to ask what happens if his club changes their mind and betrays him. He’s already carrying enough on his shoulders without me adding my own concerns and fears.
So, I put my trust in him, in these men I don’t know, and I hope like hell that everything is going to work out.
And the only thought I have is that if they’re going to kill us, at least we’ll be together when it happens.