Chapter 45 Bane
Bane
The sound of Slade’s whimper wakes me instantly. I reach over to turn on the lamp and see her delicate, beautiful features twisted in pain, and my chest aches.
“Shh, my fierce, strong warrior.” I pull her into me, wrapping around her. “The demons aren’t real. Not anymore.”
Her tension eases, and she curls in closer to me. Cupping her head to my chest, I rest my chin on the top of her head.
It’s been a few days since Ash’s office, when she said she needed some space.
I had given it to her that day but afterward I kept her as close as possible.
We spent the nights together in my bed, and during the days, when I was at the clubhouse, I worked with her on the little Subaru Badger had gotten for her to fix up.
I hadn’t relented on her protection detail, though, which continued to be a sore spot between us.
But given the Mambo Posse’s sudden interest in the Havoc Guardians and the ‘little bird returning home,’ if someone in the MC other than Cutt was a threat, I wasn’t taking any chances.
To make it up to Slade, I’ve plied her with as many orgasms as I could.
“Bane.” Her whisper is pained and raw, and I feel her tears coat my chest. “No… Antwane, don’t make me…”
This is an entirely new sort of nightmare she’s dealing with.
“Slade. Wake up.”
She doesn’t stir; she just shakes. “Number Thirteen… Bane.”
I sit up, pulling her into my lap. She doesn’t wake, still trapped in her nightmare.
“I… I don’t want to.” More agonizing pain covers her face. “Bane…”
“I’m here, baby.” I grip her tight and shake her slightly. “Slade, wake up.”
“Bane, run!” she screams.
“Slade! Wake up!” I grip her face, kissing every inch of it. Kissing away every teardrop.
She chokes on a sob. “Bane.”
I cradle her head, tilting her face up to mine. She's awake but the horror of whatever haunted her nightmare still lingers.
“I…I killed you,” she whispers. “Bane, I killed you.”
The mind-games her guilt-laden psyche plays on her break my fucking heart. “It was just a nightmare.”
She lifts shaky fingers to trace my jaw, my lips, my cheekbones. “But I will. If I don’t leave here, then you, Ash, my brothers… You’ll be hurt or killed because of me.”
I take her hands in mine, interlacing our fingers. “I go where you go. If you leave, I go with you.”
Her eyes dart between mine. “This is your family. This is where you belong.”
I belong with you.
I kiss her forehead. “Wherever you are, I will be there; that’s the only way I can protect you.”
She closes her eyes in resignation and curls into my chest again.
“Can you tell me about it?” I ask about her nightmare.
It takes a moment before she answers, and her voice is shaky when she speaks. “The nightmare was of Number Thirteen’s torture. Not her death, though; I can never remember her death.”
I can hear how that weighs so heavily on Slade’s soul. And I can’t even begin to imagine the horror of being forced to relive the agonizing psychological torture she endured. Yet I’m so fucking awed by her, for her resilient strength and the progress and healing she’s made.
“But then she turned into you,” she whispers. “Antwane made me… I killed you. He—” she chokes.
“He’s dead because you beat him. You won. And he’s in hell.”
Her thick, ragged scars are under my palms, and like always, I’m torn between the need to worship her for her strength and beauty with my violent need to kill someone for the pain that’s been inflicted on her.
“I stopped him. I killed him and stopped him,” she says as if to reassure herself.
“You did, baby.” The pride shines through in my words.
“Then why do I feel like he’s coming for you, Bane?” Her words are fractured.
I hold her tight to me as she trembles, not having any words to explain away her fears.
Soon, she falls back asleep. In my arms. Where she belongs.
But I, too, feel like a dead man might be a threat. It’s not me I’m concerned about, though. It’s the small, fiercely strong woman in my arms that I feel is going to be snatched from me and dragged back into the dark pits of hell once again.
It’s late, and I’m in a sour mood. I’ve been away from Slade all day, tied up investigating another series of break-ins targeting our tenants. Plus, the Triads are on Ash, complaining that Cutt is overstepping Chamber agreements and infringing on their monopoly of pushing drugs in the city.
On top of that, we had Tommaso Santoro’s funeral. I willingly paid my respects to a man I deeply admired; however, I hated anything that took me away from Slade.
And what’s really soured my mood is that Ash and I are sitting in a windowless van in the cold. We followed Cutt and one of his friends, and now we’re watching the building they just broke into.
“Are you sure?” Ash asks Digits after he had him run the building’s address.
“Yes. One thousand percent sure, Ash. That address is where Eden Fallen—AKA Ed, the owner-operator of Gilly’s—lives. It was Aiken’s before he was murdered, and now Ed’s personal residence.”
Gilly’s is a bar, but it’s so much more than that.
It’s the only truly neutral place in San Francisco—a conflict-free zone, the Switzerland of the criminal world.
No fighting, no blood, and no killing allowed on the premises.
The establishment has existed for forty years, and its purpose is to provide a safe, neutral place for discussion and conflict resolution between criminal factions.
Its owner-operator, Ed, and all the staff, are off-limits and can’t have any sort of relationship with us because that would taint the unbiased position they hold.
So what the hell is Cutt and his friend doing breaking in?
“Thanks, Digits.” Ash disconnects the call, and I stare at him as he clutches the phone.
“This is what we need to bury Cutt.”
Ash turns to me. “Ed could be home. If we really want to put the nail in his coffin, we have to let him and his fuckbuddy hurt Ed. You want that?”
We're dancing a fine, dangerous line here. I like Ed, and I don’t want her to get hurt just so we could finally end Cutt.
But my weighing the pros and cons of the situation is cut short when Vito Santoro’s black 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 comes roaring up the street and to a screeching halt outside of the bodega.
Vito and his right-hand man, Raf, jump out and race for the building. Vito wields both a knife and a gun before they disappear from sight.
Ash’s eyes narrow on the bodega and the dark apartment above it. “What the hell are they doing at Ed’s personal residence?”
I look between the building and Ash. “Do we fucking care? They’re going to be the ones to find Cutt where he’s not supposed to be, and hopefully, kill the bastard.”
Ash grunts, and we wait in silence. Nothing happens for a while until the lights flick on upstairs and the blinds are pulled shut.
About thirty minutes later, Ed herself, alive and well, walks out, gets into her car, and leaves.
Not long after, another van pulls up. A group of men enters the building carrying bags.
My eyes widen as I suspect who and what those men are, given the Havoc Guardians’ often send similar teams.
“Holy shit. I think that’s a clean team.” I twist to look at Ash. “I think Ed, Vito, and Raf ended our Cutt problem.”
He stares at the building for a beat longer. Then, he starts our van, pulls out of the alley, and drives us away from Ed’s building and the suspected clean team.
“You going to ask why Vito and Raf were at Ed’s since she’s supposed to be neutral, off-limits territory?”
“Nope.” He flashes a smirk at me. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
I chuckle and push my hand through my hair. “Did we really just get rid of our Cutt problem while not having to lift a finger?”
“One can fucking hope.”
We’re silent as we drive back to Havoc Iron Customs and grab our bikes.
I lead the way back to the compound, racing as fast as possible to Slade.
As we approach, the Prospects working the gate see it’s Ash and me, and open them quickly.
I head straight for the clubhouse, then I back into place alongside the row of other bikes, kill the engine, kick out my stand, and swing my leg over the seat just as Ash pulls up beside me.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” But he smirks, knowing damn well why I wanted to get back.
He hasn’t said as much, but as far as it goes for him being a father figure to Slade, he’s given his blessing for Slade being mine, as long as that’s what she chooses.
I take off my helmet and attach it to my ride, not bothering to answer, and check my phone for any updates from Liam, who was on Slade duty tonight. There are multiple messages from him, as well as her brothers.
I frown as I read them and change direction of where I was going. Instead of the side door, I go to the front and into the bar.
Slade being in the bar isn’t that much of a surprise since she has been going there every night lately, sitting and talking with her brothers while nursing a watered-down drink.
“What’s going on?” Ash immediately picks up that something is off.
“Slade,” is all I say as we hurry to the bar.
I walk in first, scanning the room and zeroing in on her sitting at the bar between Tyr and Sten. They look like they’re trying to get something through to her while she ignores them. I stride over there, but Liam intercepts me.
“What’s going on?” I ask him over the music and noise in the bar.
According to the messages, something had happened, but they were all vague as shit.
“I’m not sure.” He glances at Slade's back with a worried look. “She was like this when I took over for Jez tonight.”
“Describe ‘like this,’” I say through gritted teeth.
“She’s shutting down again, Bane.”
Fuck.
I’ve worried about this happening. She’s been making so much progress, feeling emotions without any of the mind-fuck spiraling chaos that happened. The light and life were back, and she was laughing and smiling.
“What set it off?” Ash asks.