Chapter 15 Makenna
FIFTEEN
MAKENNA
The house Zane pulls up outside looks… normal.
I don’t know what I was expecting when he said we were going to a safe house, but I thought it would be more like a prison, a compound maybe, but this could be any house on any estate, in any part of the UK.
It’s hidden at the end of an unadopted road, the dirt packed with stones that needed to be replaced years ago. The car jolts and wobbles as he guides it slowly over the potholes, careful not to jostle us too much.
I’m grateful, because I feel sick to my stomach. I hate walking into the unknown, and I hate that this feels more like our past rather than the life we were building. The illusion of safety is gone, just the never-ending churn of fear.
My hand presses to my stomach, fisting over my lower abdomen like the pressure can stop the nausea.
It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.
We’ve been in bad situations before, but this feels so much worse than anything we’ve faced before. I swallow down my fear. I need to be strong and keep my wits about me to keep him safe too.
I focus. I scan. I watch. So I can be ready to act if I have to.
When we reach the end of the lane, there’s a long house. The walls were once white, I’d guess, but now they’re a grey colour, like they haven’t seen any care in years.
There are two other cars pulled up in front of the building and Zane parks behind one of them before he cuts the engine.
My mouth feels like I’ve swallowed handfuls of sand.
He doesn’t move and neither do I. “This goes south, you get out of here and you run. You don’t look back.”
I stare at him. “I’m not leaving you.”
His jaw flexes. “Yeah, firefly, you are. I’ll find you.”
“And how exactly are you going to find me if you’re dead?” I snap, then shake my head. “I’m not leaving you and don’t ask me to. You wouldn’t leave me.”
His lips pull into a tight line. I cup his face, feeling his stubble under my fingers. Slowly, I kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and then I claim his mouth. When I’m done, I press my forehead to his, just, breathing. “Don’t ask me to do what you wouldn’t.”
“Stubborn…” he mutters.
“That’s why you love me.”
He doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t confirm it either. He lifts his kutte, checking the gun holstered underneath.
“Ready?”
No.
I nod.
He opens his door, and I do the same. My body is vibrating with anxiety as I get out of the car. I should’ve waited for him to come around to my side, but I don’t want him focused on me. I want his head in this, ready to do whatever is needed.
“Stay close,” he warns, and then hand in hand, we walk to the front door.
Before we reach it, it swings open and a guy is standing in the entrance, wearing the same leather vest as Zane.
He’s tall. Really tall. And built like a fucking tank. I feel tiny between them both, even though I’m not that small.
His gaze scans Zane before landing on me, his eyes hard as stone. I feel like he examines every part of me in that split second glance before his attention goes back to Zane.
“Come on. Everyone’s here.”
I watch as in front of my eyes he switches from Zane into Diesel, like they’re two different people. The man holding my hand is not my husband. This man is harder, darker, and closed down in a way I hate.
Then his hand tightens around mine, just a little reminder he’s still Zane. That he’s not completely wearing the costume he’s expected to.
I keep close to his back as we step into a darkened hallway that smells of musty damp.
I scan, seeking danger, looking for shadows, for anything that might pose a threat, but everything is calm. Normal even.
The decor is dated, the furniture old, but the space is warm, chasing away the cold that has already settled in my bones.
“This your girl?” the guy asks over his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Zane doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t introduce me, doesn’t introduce him either, and I don’t open my mouth.
I learnt that lesson the hard way. I may not understand the dance happening here, but I know enough to recognise the tight rope being walked by both sides. I’m not about to start swinging on it.
As we get to the back of the house, I hear soft feminine voices, little chuckles, that seem out of place.
Zane’s hand tightens in mine. A warning wrapped in softness. Stay alert.
I’m not sure what to expect.
Hard women carrying guns, wearing Kevlar and combat pants, but the scene in front of us is not even close to that.
There’s a young woman lying on the couch, covered with a thick blanket.
On her chest is a tiny, pink baby. It can’t be more than a week or two old and it’s grunting like it’s debating whether it wants to cry or not.
The woman looks exhausted even as she presses her lips to the baby’s head.
There are thick black smudges under her eyes, and her skin is pale in a way that makes her dark blonde hair look washed out.
A second woman is sitting at the end of the couch by her feet. She’s also blonde and holding an older baby that’s probably heading toward the sticky fingers phase. She looks at me with uncertainty, but a softness I’m not sure we’ve earned yet.
The third woman is standing at the window, her back to us.
Her dark hair is thrown up into one of those messy buns that somehow seems by design but is more about comfort.
I never mastered them. Somehow I always look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge when I try.
When she turns, I take in her full lips, sunken eyes and that bone weary tiredness they all seem to have.
They’re not alone. Two guys are sitting at a table that looks like it was dragged out of the 80s against its will. It has those fold-down leaves, designed to make it bigger when you have company, and the wood is that fake stuff that looks almost orange.
I don’t recognise the first guy and in fact on a second glance, he’s a kid. I barely give him my attention because the other man at the table is Riot. My jaw tenses. Fucking prick. I’m going to shove that gun he pointed at us where the sun doesn’t shine.
Zane’s grip on me becomes steel before I can move. “Play nice,” he murmurs, but I hear the amusement in his voice.
I want to argue, but I don’t. We’re not in friendly territory.
“Good of you to join us,” the man who isn’t Riot says, his attention sliding to me.
“Wasn’t sure I’d be welcome,” Zane replies.
I don’t miss the way he angles himself so that he’s covering me with his body.
“If you’re loyal to the patch, you’re always welcome.”
“Jury is out on that one,” Riot mutters and I bare my teeth at him.
The dark-haired girl standing in the window turns. “Of course he’s loyal,” she snaps. “It’s Diesel.”
She crosses the room, and Riot stands as if he’s going to intercept her. He doesn’t get a chance, because she suddenly throws her arms around Zane, and presses her face against his chest like their old friends.
My heart seizes. Jealousy spikes hot in my chest. Who is this woman and how the hell did she know my husband well enough to hug him? Zane isn’t a hugger.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says when she pulls back from him. Her eyes are soft, her smile real. It takes every ounce of my patience not to shove her back from him. “Rhys got stabbed.” Her eyes fill with tears, and for a moment I forget that I am angry she’s pawing my husband.
Who is Rhys?
“I heard,” Zane replies. “Where is he?”
Her eyes lift to the ceiling. “Upstairs. He should still be in hospital.”
Zane strokes his thumb over my hand, trying to soothe me, but his attention is on her.
“He’ll be okay, Dayna.”
“He’d better be,” she grumbles. “I need him breathing.”
“How’s the parasite?” There’s fondness in his tone that still has my shoulders squaring.
She snorts, then steps back from him, creating distance that makes that tension wrapped around my chest loosen just enough for me to keep my green-eyed monster caged.
I follow her hand as it splays over her belly and the tiniest swell. It’s a baby bump. She’s pregnant.
“Sucking the life out of me. Obviously. It is Rhys’s kid.”
Right. So she—Dayna—is pregnant by the guy who got stabbed and should be in hospital but is upstairs. And my husband thinks her baby is a parasite.
Of course he does. Because that’s how Zane’s brain works. He sees the science and the medicine, not the wonder of what her body is doing.
Dayna peers past him and when our eyes meet there’s curiosity in hers. Maybe a little softness too. I don’t expect that, and it unsettles me.
“Are you going to introduce us?” Dayna asks him.
“I’m his wife,” I say before Zane can open his mouth.
And now I seem like a demented jealous bitch.
You are a demented jealous bitch.
I don’t like how comfortable she is with him. Zane never lets anyone close to him.
Her eyes flare. “I didn’t know you were married, Diesel.”
“No one did,” Riot bites, his words dripping with sarcasm. Ass.
“Play nice,” the blonde with the older baby warns him.
“I’m Ivy. This grump is my other half, Nate—or Riot—and this little bundle of cuteness is our daughter, Seren.
The guy looming behind you is Mace. He’s with my sister, Maylie.
She had a baby two days ago. The little one in her arms is their son, who as of yet is unnamed.
” She says the last bit with a mix of frustration but also amusement.
“Never mind the fact they’ve had nine months to decide what to call him,” Dayna interjects with a snort of laughter.
“He doesn’t look like the name we planned,” Maylie defends. “I’d get up to say hi properly, but I’m wearing a nappy and bleeding from my uterus.”
I blink. “Graphic. But I don’t need a welcoming committee.”
“And to complete the introductions, this bundle of joy is mine and Maylie’s little brother, Toby.”
The kid at the table gives us a smile and wiggles his fingers.
“Who else is here?” Zane asks.
“Riley, Nic, and… Blade,” Mace says.
I feel the ripple of tension work through Zane, and not because his hand tightens in mine. It’s a full body reaction. “Why’s he here?”