Chapter 5 Bane
Bane
That version of Slade is dead .
She’s unflinching, like she really is some AI reincarnated version of the full-of-life girl I used to know.
“Why is that, Slade?”
“Bacon.”
“Bacon?” I frown. “You’re trying to say that bacon did this to you?”
There’s the barest flicker of a smile. “The bacon is going to burn.”
It’s a challenge to pull my eyes away from her and look down at the frying pan. Quickly, I flip the bacon so that side isn’t charred.
“Thought you said you gained a life skill or two in your advanced years, Bane.”
I put the fork on the counter and regard her. “So that version of Slade is dead, but you still retain the ability to be a smart ass. So, not a robot after all.”
Her face is impassive but her forehead twitches, and I can picture her delicate, beautiful features turning into a frown. I’d rather she smiled and laughed, but at this point, I’d take getting any sort of reaction out of her as a win.
But with a blink, that slight reaction disappears, and the flat, emotionless expression is back.
Stoic masks, unreadable expressions… All that is part of our life, especially those in leadership positions. But with Slade, it’s something entirely different.
“What happened to you?” I ask again.
“Why do you care?”
“Because whatever it was could be a threat to our family.”
“There is no ‘our’. I’m no longer part of the MC.” She puts a block of cheese on the cutting board and cuts it. “And if I’m a threat, then all the more reason to let me leave.”
She hikes her brows and looks pointedly at the frying pan. “Again, I’m wondering if you oversold your life skills, Bane.”
I huff a laugh and turn my attention to the bacon. Slade goes to the cupboard and pulls out plates. After lining one with a paper towel, she hands it to me for the bacon. We work in silence, which, oddly, doesn’t feel strained, and I make the eggs while she gets the toaster.
Our rhythm is smooth; we’re working in tandem around each other, like we’ve done this multiple times before.
But before I can think about that any further, a shrill, shrieking noise shatters the silence and fills the kitchen.
It instantly makes my head throb, and I whip around to the source of the god-awful sound, ready to tell them to shut the fuck up. But instead of doing that, my mouth falls open.
Destiny is flying into the kitchen, eyes glued on Slade with hands raised, claws bared. Fury coats her face as she zeroes in on Slade like a heat-seeking missile.
My first instinct is to step in to protect Slade, but I force myself to remain still.
Not because I’m leaving her to fend for herself, but because my gut tells me that she can handle herself, which is reinforced when Slade—as emotional as the toaster that has just popped up our toast—sidesteps Destiny and her attack.
Then Slade grips the back of Destiny’s head and slams her face-first into the fridge. Christ, I won’t fucking lie and say my cock didn’t jerk at that.
Slade is smaller than Destiny, but she easily manhandles her, confirming my suspicion that she can handle herself. Growing up as an MC brat, plus with three older brothers, would’ve taught her how to be tough, but the quick, effective way she controlled Destiny speaks of some kind of training.
“You fucking bitch!” Destiny yells at Slade, the side of her face smashed against the stainless-steel fridge.
I cross my arms, observing the show.
“When did you get back here, Slade?” Destiny demands.
My brows lift, not having known that Slade and Destiny knew each other. It’s hard to tell Destiny’s age with all the makeup she cakes on her face, plus the ‘additives,’ like the fake long lashes, but I’m guessing they had gone to the same school.
“Answer me, bitch.” Destiny tries to jerk away from Slade’s hold but remains pinned against the fridge.
“Beatrice Merkley,” Slade drawls. “I always suspected you’d make a living spreading your legs.”
Beatrice Merkley? Christ, no wonder she goes by Destiny.
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“No, thanks.” Slade releases Destiny, then wipes her hands on her leggings like she’s wiping something nasty off.
Destiny whirls around, the makeup she wore last night is smeared, made worse by her face being smashed into the stainless-steel fridge. I can see her intent with the rising of her hands again and the curling of her fingers.
My patience for bullshit is limited on the best of days, and our breakfast is getting cold, so I clear my throat.
Destiny’s eyes fly to me in surprise, not realizing someone was in here with Slade because she was only focused on what seems to be her archenemy. When she sees I’m standing behind the island with the food, shock fills her face.
“You’re cooking for her?” She damn near shrieks again. “What the fuck, Bane?”
Slade answers before I even get the chance. “Doesn’t he cook for you in the morning after he’s fucked your brains out?” Slade reaches over to grab a piece of cheese and pops it into her mouth, then cocks her head regarding Destiny. “No? Well, I must be special.”
Shock ripples through me at the interesting path Slade has taken this down, along with lust at the thought of actually fucking Slade’s brains out.
Destiny’s face turns beet-red as she whirls to me. “You fucked her?”
Slade leans against the counter, resting her elbows on it, a smug smile on her face as she looks at Destiny. Her body is fully covered, but somehow, in her leggings and loose, long-sleeve shirt, she’s more enticing than Destiny in her barely-there clothes could ever be.
Everything about the two contrasts—Destiny, on full display, fake and altered; Slade, modest and authentic. And my cock is clear on which one it likes better.
“Doesn’t he fuck you, Beatrice?” Slade taunts without any emotion.
“Maybe he only lets you suck his cock? You always liked to brag at school about how you were the best cocksucker around.” She pushes back from the counter.
“That must be why you have those ridiculous oversized fake eyelashes. They’re called cumbrellas, right? ”
I fight the urge to burst out laughing, loving how Slade is handling this.
“Oh, you’ll get some cumbrellas, too, no doubt.” Destiny crosses her arms, glaring at Slade. “Soon after the Brothers break you in. I have the perfect Bunny name for you—Cum Dumpster.”
Any humor I felt is gone instantly. My hand slaps the counter, making Destiny shriek and jump. “Slade is not Club Pussy. There will be no Brothers breaking her in. No one is touching her.” My voice rumbles with violence.
Slade looks at me curiously, but there’s a dark look in her eyes.
Destiny’s mouth opens and closes, then she spins back to Slade with a vicious look on her face. “Cum Dumpster, just like your mom for those gangbangers—”
Slade is over the island before I blink. The way she moves seems to defy gravity, like she’s a little ninja. She punches Destiny but remains emotionless, even if she responded for emotional reasons.
I, myself, am filled with a rage that it’s a struggle to rein in, and I thunder at Destiny, who has crumpled to the floor in a sobbing, screaming heap, “Watch your fucking mouth, Destiny! If you ever disrespect a family member of our MC again, your ass will be punted to the street.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobs, looking up at me.
Slade crosses her arms, looking down at Destiny, as emotionless as ever. “Fuck off, Beatrice. I want to enjoy my breakfast and get to bed. ‘Cause, damn, am I tired and sore. Bane really puts a girl through the wringer when it’s a pussy that hasn’t been passed around. He was insatiable last night.”
She turns her back on Destiny and grabs the now-cold toast from the toaster.
Destiny gives me a simpering look from the floor. It only takes a jerk of my chin toward the door, and she’s scrambling to her feet and scurrying out. I don’t miss the glare she flashes at Slade before she finally leaves.
I take over from Slade to assemble our sandwiches, the silence growing thick and heavy between us. I have many questions, though one observation is demanding to be made.
“Interesting that you staked a claim on me.”
Slade grunts, then steals a piece of bacon from my sandwich, which I happily let her. It could be a signal that she’s getting comfortable with me, which increases the chances of her opening up about any potential threats to the MC. And what happened to her.
“There’s no staking a claim on a biker.”
“There is,” I disagree. “You know that Old Lady and Old Man status is our version of marriage.”
“Like that means anything. You bastards keep fucking the Bunnies regardless, so why even bother.”
She’s not entirely wrong; her dad is the perfect example.
Slade adds some ketchup to her sandwich before putting the top piece of toast on, then moves away from me around the island. “And I wasn’t staking a claim on you. I made an educated guess about what would set Beatrice off.”
“You read people and situations well.”
“That’s right.” She eyes me over her plate. “I’m an observer and overly analytical. Best if I’m on my way so I don’t figure out more shit around here that you’d rather me not.”
“You’re not leaving. Not until Ash says so.”
Her mouth presses together, and her fingers tighten on the plate. “This is essentially kidnapping.”
“Holding you against your will… Maybe, yeah. But at least you’re not chained up and being tortured.”
I’ve been wanting to get an emotional reaction out of her—anger, laughter, anything—but right now, seeing her truly react for the first time since she returned…
Her nostrils flare, her hands shake, and a tormented and haunted look fills her eyes.
The reaction is sudden and intense. And inside, it looks like she’s starting to spiral and be ripped to shreds by whatever has flared to life within her.
Her plate clatters to the countertop, shattering, and I step toward her.
Maybe it’s the sound of the plate or the sight of me coming toward her, but as quickly and suddenly as the emotions flared to life within her, they’re killed.
Then, she turns on her heel and walks out of the kitchen.