Chapter 19 Makenna
NINETEEN
MAKENNA
I bounce my leg, trying to settle the nervousness swirling inside me. They’re still not back. It’s been hours and my stomach is doing that slow, nauseating churn it seems to have mastered in the last few weeks.
What if something has gone wrong?
I shut that thought down savagely. Nope. I am not going there. Zane is going to walk back through that door, give me that look that says everything even though his face doesn’t move, and then kiss me like I’m the breath in his lungs.
Nothing else is an option.
My gaze drifts to the door, willing it to open, but it doesn’t.
“He’ll come back.”
I turn to Dash. Dayna brought him down an hour ago. He’s propped on the couch like a Regency heroine, swaddled in blankets and swallowed by pillows. I’m not sure he should be out of bed. He looks like death. His skin is grey beneath the tattoos inked into his skin.
“He better,” I mutter.
Dayna leans her head on his shoulder. Her fingers are threaded through his, like he’s her life raft. “He will. They all will.”
The baby squalls against Maylie’s chest and she rocks him a little, trying to settle him back down. I can’t imagine how terrified she must be feeling.
“Well, I wish they’d hurry up,” Ivy says what we’re all thinking.
My gaze drifts to the tank of a man standing in the window. He’s from Manchester and looks terrifying. Dash told us his name is Terror, and I can believe it. He hasn’t moved from his position and that makes me nervous in a way I can’t describe.
Are they expecting us to get hit?
Dash rests his hand on Dayna’s stomach, the small swell of her belly barely there under her sweater.
“You should get back in bed,” Dayna says. “You’re held together with stitches and a prayer.”
“I’m good here,” he assures her, kissing the side of her head.
I snort a laugh, and everyone looks at me. “Sorry.” I wince. “It’s comforting to know that it’s not just Zane who’s stubborn as hell and doesn’t listen to anything I say.”
Dayna laughs, cutting through the tension like a knife. “None of these men listen. I think the moment they get their kuttes they forget how their ears work.”
“My ears work fine,” Terror mutters, deadpan. It’s the first words he’s said in about an hour.
Dash smothers a grin. “You want to talk about stubborn? You girls don’t listen either.”
Dayna glares at him. “I listen.” His brow arches. “Most of the time.” The amendment makes us all laugh. Then she turns to me, her eyes sharp. “You’re not what I would’ve expected for Diesel.”
She’s not the first person to say this. Plenty of people look at us and don’t get it.
I understand why. Zane is… Zane, and I’m…
well, me. Ordinary. Soft, where he’s sharp.
“I’m not sure whether I’m about to be offended or complimented,” I say around a tense smile.
I like these women, but I don’t know how to take them yet.
“Oh, no. I don’t mean it offensively. I love Diesel. The guy’s a laugh per minute.”
I stare at her. Zane isn’t funny, at least not intentionally. He’s brooding, structured. A little unhinged and breathtakingly intense. But humour isn’t something he really gets.
Dayna’s eyes soften. “I’m really glad he has someone like you, Makenna. Men like him are misunderstood a lot of the time.”
I bristle for a second at the ‘men like him’ comment, but then I pull down the defensive wall I was building.
She’s not being mean. She sees him—the real Zane—and that’s rare.
Most people think he’s weird or too quiet, too still, too everything.
I can’t even count the numbers of times over the years that people have misread his intentions or treated him badly because they don’t understand him.
“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” I say with sincerity.
I don’t know what my life would have looked like without him in it. He saved me more times than I can count over the years.
Dash leans forward slightly, wincing as his side pulls. “I do have a question for you. When I was in the hospital, I got a call to say Diesel had kidnapped someone.”
Oh.
My lips twitch, just a fraction. “Yeah, well, what can I say? He’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”
Maylie’s eyes go wide. “He kidnapped you?”
“Technically.” I wrinkle my nose.
“Okay, we’re going to need a story time right now,” Dayna says, sitting straighter. “Because I’m not sure if we should be swooning or spraying him with water like he’s a naughty kitten.”
I snort. That image is now seared into my brain. But then my smile fades, because how do I convince them I’m loyal to Zane when I was planning on leaving him? How do I explain the complexities of our relationship when most of our issues were caused by the club?
I fold my hands in my lap.
“Hey,” Maylie says. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”
I sigh. “I tried to leave him.”
Dayna blinks, then leans toward me, like I’m harbouring a state secret. “You tried to leave him, and he kidnapped you?”
The memory of him carrying me out of that hotel room is emblazoned in my brain.
“He wasn’t very keen on the idea,” I said dryly.
“Why were you trying to leave?” Ivy asks, shifting a sleeping Seren in her arms. The little girl is snoring, her lips parted a fraction, dark lashes and messy curls.
“We had a difference of opinion,” I say eventually.
Before they can interrogate me more, Terror speaks. “Someone’s here.”
Dash stiffens, and the temperature in the room drops. I stand, realising I might be the only able-bodied person in the room other than Terror.
Then he adds, “It’s Nic and the others.”
“Fuck,” Dash mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe lead with that next time.”
I hold my breath until I hear the door open and the sound of voices. Every part of me wants to run to Zane, but I plant my feet. I’m not sure he’ll want me to make a big show of it.
Mace and Riot come through first, then Nic. I ignore them and listen. Heavy boots are the first thing I hear, that deliberate, steady rhythm I know is him. Not rushed, not slow. Just measured, controlled, like everything he does.
Then he’s filling the doorway with his broad shoulders.
He looks too big for this room, and for whatever he’s dragged back with him.
His eyes cut straight to mine, like he mapped the room in advance and knew where I’d be standing.
There’s a second where his breath seems to catch in his chest, just a fraction of a second, but enough.
Something’s wrong.
He looks like he’s seen into the pits of hell and is hauling that memory behind him.
I swallow the lump in my throat that won’t move.
There’s no blood on him, no marks or bruises, but his body is vibrating with violence he’s barely containing. I’ve only ever seen him like this when he was facing our monsters, our demons. And even then he came back to me quickly. He’s still trapped in whatever he saw or did.
I don’t mean to move, but I close the space between us without thought. One foot then the other. I need to touch him, to do… something.
He watches every step I take, like he’s counting the distance, but when I’m in front of him, I falter, like I’m afraid to reach for him. Like whatever happened has rewired something inside him.
His eyes don’t leave mine, like he’s trying to chase away the horror. Then he lets out a shaky breath, and crushes me into his chest, like he’s trying to hug the dread out of his bones. He doesn’t say a word, but he holds me like I’m the only thing keeping his broken seams from splitting.
I rest my cheek over his heart, feeling it pulse too fast, too erratic.
What the fuck happened?
“Zane… Are you okay?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
I need him to give me something. Anything.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just buries his face against my neck, his breath hot against my skin, like he’s trying not to fold into a heap. Then he says in barely more than a whisper, “I am now.”
I try to pull back, but he doesn’t let me move. His arms are bands of steel around me. “Stay.”
I do, because he’s trembling and I don’t know what to do with that.
I glance over his head, still pressed into the dip of my shoulder, to the other men.
Mace’s mouth is tight, his eyes haunted.
Even Riot, who has spent every moment since I met him mouthing off, is subdued. The only sound is the baby fussing.
“We’re moving to the clubhouse,” Nic says, breaking the fragile silence.
The girls exchange a glance, and I don’t need words to understand it.
Old ladies don’t go to the clubhouse. Not this one.
“Five minutes.” It comes out clipped and he doesn’t wait for anyone to object before he steps out of the room with Terror without looking back.
Still, no one speaks. The silence is oppressive. Zane hasn’t moved, but his arms tighten around me.
“What’s going on?” Maylie asks. Mace lifts their son off her chest, and she sits up, her eyes darting between him and Riot. “You never let us go to the clubhouse.”
Riot is sitting next to Ivy and Seren, stroking the little girl’s curls slowly, rhythmically, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
“It’s the safest place for everyone,” Riot murmurs.
Dash glances between his club brothers, like he’s trying to drag what happened out of them psychically.
I cling to Zane, like he’s now my anchor.
Mace kisses their son’s head. “Ivy, can you and Toby help get the baby’s stuff together?”
She nods. “Yeah. Of course.” Riot takes Seren from her, careful not to jostle the sleeping baby.
I ignore them, focusing everything on Zane.
His fingers are flexing against my back, the way they do when he’s struggling to regulate his emotions.
“Zane?” His name whispers past my lips, but he lifts his head.
His hand lifts to trail over my face, and I see it.
Blood. It’s only a tiny amount, but it stains the side of his finger.