Chapter 20 Slade
Slade
A knock on my bedroom door makes me jump, which makes me poke myself in the eye while I’m washing my face.
“Shit,” I mutter. Once I’m able to open my eye, I examine myself in the mirror.
I look like shit. Correction: I look like shit that has been stepped on, trampled over rough, rocky ground, then flicked off the bottom of a boot and set on fire.
“Okay, drama queen.” Granger didn’t even need to be here to call me that.
But I really do look like shit.
Hollow, haunted eyes with dark circles underneath. Pale, ghostly skin.
It probably wouldn’t hurt me to get outside and get some sun; however, I’ve been in my bedroom since I woke up late in the morning. I stayed hidden in here, not even leaving my room in search for food, and Jaarl brought me a lunch tray with a note from Bane folded on top of it.
Sorry, little one, I needed to head into the city for business and couldn’t be here for lunch.
I made the sandwich and cut all the veggies and fruit myself (I know, shocker that this grown man has those skills).
Eat everything, including the protein bar and the shake.
I’ll bring a restock of candy as your reward.
Bane
I ate everything on the tray. One, because I needed to replenish my energy stores from the intense sparring session last night, which was followed by a trip down trauma lane, and my body is still physically recovering from it. And two, because I wanted that candy as my reward.
The knock sounds again, and I toss the washcloth onto the vanity and go out into the bedroom, steadfastly squashing the hope that’s blooming in me that it might be Bane knocking on my door.
I don’t want to see Bane.
But instead of Bane standing there when I open the door, it’s Army.
He studies my face in that quiet, analytical way of his. “Can I come in?”
I step back from the door. “Sure.”
“We can leave the door open.”
He’s obviously here for a reason; I don’t have the same relationship with him as I do with Ash or Bane.
Or even Pix and Digits, because I remember them better than Army, as he had left to join the military a couple of years before Mom dragged me away to Houston.
Since he’s clearly here to talk and probably wants to psychoanalyze my fucked-up brain, I’d rather not broadcast that conversation to Jez, who is standing outside as a sentry.
“It’s okay, you can close it.”
Army closes the door and moves to the chair in the corner of the room. As I look at the chair, a vague memory flashes of a hulking figure sitting there in the dark, the scent of pine in the air. But I hadn’t felt threatened, just a distinct awareness before sleep pulled me back under.
I shake the vague memory away and sit on the bed, making sure my jeans haven’t ridden up to expose my ankles and my scars. I then pull my shirt sleeves so they cover my wrists and the scars hidden there.
The room is silent as I wait for whatever Army wants to say, even though it doesn’t take a brain surgeon to know what the topic of our discussion will be.
He regards me and steeples his fingertips together under his chin. The man is what you’d call beautiful—defined cheekbones, sharp blue eyes, all that shiny black hair artfully mussed—but you’d never mistake him for feminine. This man is all alpha masculinity wrapped in a sinfully beautiful package.
No lust flares within me, though, as I look at him; it seems that growing, intense lust only awakens whenever I look at Bane.
Or think of Bane…
Or dream of Bane…
Like last night, he was larger than life in my nightmares, but not as a threat.
He tore through the thick, swirling black fog, swinging a cleaver and slamming it into Antwane’s heart.
And every time the scene replayed of Antwane rising from the dead, coming to punish me for continuing to live while the Numbers had died, Bane was there every single time without fail, protecting me.
I woke up this morning feeling physically exhausted but less mentally drained. And I was wet.
For the first time since Antwane had taken me captive, my sex drive was back. And I masturbated to thoughts of Bane—to him as a man and his rugged attractiveness, and to thoughts of him killing Antwane to protect me. I know I’m a twisted, fucked-up mess, but it is what it is.
I pull my wandering attention away from distracting thoughts of Bane.
Army is still regarding me and asks, “Do you dissociate often?”
He asks it casually, like he’s asking me how my day has been.
“I…” I wet my suddenly parched lips. I pause before answering, testing to see if everything inside me is trying to wake up by talking about this, but none of my demons stir and the numb nothingness remains. “I don’t know if that’s what you’d technically call it, but to answer your question, no.”
“Because until coming here, you rarely felt anything, and it happens when those emotions wake up,” he guesses, and I nod. “What happens when it does happen?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He interlinks his hands and rests them over his stomach.
“I used to dissociate after I was discharged from the Marines. It’s a defense mechanism, part of a trauma response, that disconnects you from something that feels too painful or threatening.
For me, I’d have blank spots, no memory.
There are many different ways people experience it. ”
“Why are you telling me this? So I’ll reciprocate and share back?”
He smiles. “Maybe.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I am about most things.” He stands from the chair.
“Good talk,” I deadpan.
He chuckles. “Come on, wiseass. I want to take you somewhere.”
“Off the compound?”
“Nope. We’re not defying Prez’s orders.” He opens the door and quietly speaks to Jez outside.
Sighing, I rise off the bed and put on my boots, then follow Army out into the hallway. Jez nods at me but doesn’t look like he’s judging me about last night. In fact, it’s almost like he hasn't even heard about it.
“See you in a bit, Slade,” Jez says before he quickly leaves.
“You coming, wiseass?” Army asks.
“Lead the way, Sarge.”
Army was a Lance Corporal in the Marines, but he’s the Sergeant at Arms for the MC, and he smirks, then leads the way down the hallway to the stairs.
It’s mid-afternoon, so the clubhouse is quiet as most of the MC members are at their jobs or out doing business for the MC. Cherry is at the bottom of the stairs, and she looks up as we come down. I haven’t seen her since I returned.
Her red hair is still shiny and wavy, and she’s still a looker, even though she is no longer an active Bunny, and instead oversees all the Club Pussy and keeps them in line.
“Well, well, well, the bottomless pit, indeed, has returned home,” she jokes with a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, Slade.”
“Is it?”
Her smile wanes slightly, but the warmth in her eyes remains even with the concern that’s bloomed due to my placid tone. “Yeah, it is, my girl. Your brothers and Ash nearly lost their minds when you dropped off the radar.”
This is the time that guilt should make an appearance, yet, me being me, it remains dormant.
I’m not the cold, heartless robot that I appear to be; I knew my family was worried.
Even before Antwane took me, I was aware of that, but my anger and feeling betrayed that my brothers had left me to deal with Mom’s addictions alone kept me from reaching out.
And then, after Antwane…well, everything changed.
She glances at Army, then back to me. “Help yourself to whatever you need in my kitchen, Slade.”
“You know I always do.”
She smiles broadly again. “Still a sucker for candy?”
“You know me well.” I catch movement out of the corner of my eye at the doorway that leads into the bar area and see that it’s Beatrice. “Bane said he’s bringing me more.”
I’m a bitch. Maybe even a jealous bitch, but I felt growing satisfaction at taking a poke at Beatrice.
Beatrice starts to say a snide remark, but Army cuts her off harshly, “Remember the warning.”
She huffs and looks at me with pure hatred, then crosses her arms over her chest and stomps her foot, like she’s a spoiled-rotten brat—one with fake tits nearly falling out of her low-cut crop top, her ass cheeks poking out of her shorty shorts, and those ridiculous cumbrella-lashes.
Honestly, it’s like some genetically mutated moth lives on her eyes and waves in the wind whenever she blinks.
“I can’t say anything to her, yet she can bait me?” she whines, looking between Army and Cherry.
Cherry waves her away, annoyed, and Army takes my elbow to lead me away.
I rip free of his grip before he registers the feel of my thick scar under his hand.
His lips press together, and he looks remorseful. “Shit, sorry, Slade.”
I walk away, not knowing where Army was planning on taking me, but needing to get outside, regardless. He falls into step beside me and apologizes again.
“I just don’t like being touched.”
“I can appreciate that.” He lets me have my silence as we walk.
The sun is warm even though it’s October. The wind has a distinct saltwater smell that I always loved as a kid, and I turn my face into it.
“What did Beatrice mean that she can’t say anything to me?”
“Bane told Sunshine last night to spread the word that if any of the Club Pussy disrespects you, then they’re out on their asses.”
My heart thumps a bit harder, and I turn to him. “Why would Bane do that?”
Army shrugs, and I swear he’s suppressing a smirk.
“I don’t need Bane, or anyone else, to fight my battles.”
“No. I don’t suspect you do, Slade.” Army pauses, then adds, “But it’s nice to have someone have your back.”
I don’t respond to that. Instead, I walk away, along the side of the clubhouse, and go around the front and stop in my tracks. “My car is gone.”
“Poor practice to have a stolen ride sitting around, wouldn’t you say?”
Okay, I knew they’d figure that out, but still, it’s another nail in my coffin. And possibly not just my coffin.
It’s just a jarring reminder of the huge reason why I spiraled last night—the Council-sanctioned decision that I stay.
I turn to Army. “Why won’t you let me leave?”
His hair catches in the wind as he studies me. “Because you’re family.”
“Not anymore. Army—”
“The decision has been made, Slade.” His tone brooks no argument. Then he starts walking away. When I don’t follow, he stops and looks over his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go work on some bikes.”
He walks away again, not waiting for me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing that Badger is going to be in the shop.
But I really don’t want to go back into the clubhouse or sit in my room.
I could go to my old favorite spot and just sit there, but being alone with my spiraling thoughts right now isn’t a good idea.
At least working on bikes—or maybe a car or two, like in the past—will keep me busy and my mind occupied.
I sigh heavily, then follow Army.