Chapter 50
Slade
I lay on the hood of the Subaru WRX, wondering if I could use it as a battering ram to get through the front gates. Maybe if I welded a push bar to it, that might work.
But then the little car would be totally fucked unless I reinforced the full frame.
It would just be easier to convince one of the Prospects to let me leave, but I know that’s an impossible option, too.
The only one who really is a likely candidate to assist me in escaping here is Beatrice, because she hates me and wants Bane.
And she can have him. Fuck if I care.
Liar.
“Not helpful, brain.”
“You’ve taken to talking to yourself, peanut?”
I push up onto my elbows and see Ash standing there. Honestly, how does that big bastard move like a wraith in the night?
He eyes the bottle of tequila sitting on the hood beside me. “Do I need to be concerned?”
I lay back down. “Because I talk to myself or the booze? Wait, scratch that. Yes, Ash, you should be concerned. I’m a ticking time bomb, now let me leave.”
He sighs heavily, likely tired of my persistence on the issue, but no one is more tired of having to keep persisting than me.
“Can you fuck off and leave me alone?”
I haven’t been left alone, even though people are giving me more physical space since shit went down with Bane. And I know Ash is here to try and get me to talk about why I turned on Bane, just like my brothers and Badger have been doing.
Ash nudges my foot propped up on the front bumper. “Move over.”
“You’re going to dent the hood.”
“So? This is a piece of shit.”
I sit up and glare at him. “This car has potential.”
“For what?”
“Rally driving,” I say, and he hikes a brow at me, clearly unconvinced. “A little getaway car, fleeing from a scene of a crime. Bikes are too noticeable.”
He motions for me to move over so he can sit. “We’re corrupting you.”
“If I say you are, will you—”
“Stop asking.” His voice has that parental tone.
“I’m not asking. I’m informing you that it’s in your best interest.” I reach for the bottle to take a drink, but he takes it from my hands.
“Why are you drowning yourself in this pity drink?”
“Pity?” I ask, outraged. That’s one thing I listened to Bane about before he left me alone—to continue to let myself feel and not lose all the progress I’ve made. And I’ve been feeling without spiraling, even without Bane’s help.
Don’t need you any longer, VP, fuck you very much.
But you still want him.
Fuck you, brain.
“Why don’t you just talk, or yell, or even punch if you need to, but at least let Bane know what he did wrong,” Ash insists.
Unwanted images of that picture on Beatrice’s phone push forth, and I grit my teeth, trying to push them back into the pits of hell where they belong. I’ll be honest, the tequila helps with that, but unfortunately, I’ve sobered up tonight.
“He knows exactly what he did wrong,” I grit.
Ash’s jaw shifts and his look darkens. “Did he push the idea of you being his Old Lady on you?”
My jaw goes slack, and my heart hammers against my ribcage. “What?”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath before he frowns. “If it’s not that, then what, Slade?” When I don’t answer, because I'm incapable of words at the moment, he sighs. “Just talk to him. He’s pulling his hair out trying to understand.”
Pulling his hair out…
Something about that statement gives me pause. Then my heart hammers even harder, threatening to burst through my chest this time.
The picture of Bane and Beatrice… His hair… In the picture, his hair was shorter than it is now.
“That fucking bitch,” I whisper.
I don’t doubt that the picture is real, because I know how it works with the Club Pussy and the bikers. I know that Bane has been with Beatrice, and probably all the other Bunnies. But that was never my hangup.
As long as Bane kept his promise of not being with any of them while we…
Well, while we were whatever we were, then I didn’t dwell on it.
I was raised in this world, probably desensitized to the kind of shit that would drive other women mad.
He couldn’t change his sexual past, and the Club Pussy wasn’t going anywhere.
However, when Beatrice flashed me that picture, stating that Bane wasn’t as monogamous as I thought, I didn’t think twice.
“That conniving”—I hop off the hood of the car—“cunt.”
“Slade?” Ash gets up off the hood, too, but I don’t focus on him.
Instead, I’m sprinting toward the clubhouse with rage fueling my strides.
I head straight for the front door that leads directly into the bar area, where I know Beatrice will be, unless she’s fucking or sucking dick off in private. And if she is, I’ll rip the clubhouse apart to find her because that bitch is mine.
Ash’s boots crunch on the gravel as he races behind me, and when I reach the front steps, I take them two at a time. My left foot hits the landing, and then I’m barging through the door, slamming it against the wall.
Every head spins toward me. Dangerous men whip out their guns and aim at me.
“Weapons down,” Ash bellows. “Lower your fucking weapons!”
Okay, maybe not my best plan to fly into the den of dangerous criminals like that, but right now I’m invincible with injustice-fueled rage.
“Beatrice Merkley, you fucking cunt,” I shout over the music. Which someone turns down.
I see her perched on the edge of the pool table while Tats and another biker play pool. Her tits are nearly falling out of the bottom of her cut-off shirt. Does she ever wear anything else? God, I hate her.
I hate her fabricated attempts for beauty with heavy makeup, fake bolt-on tits, and those ridiculous eyelashes. Her sneered, thinly veiled hate. She’s a backstabbing bitch, always has been and always will be.
She smirks at me.
Smirks at me. Knowing that her attempt to drive a wedge between Bane and me worked. Marvellously, in fact.
The crowd parts as I stride toward her. The governor holding back my emotions is wide open, and she sees every ounce of my rage. Her smirk falters as she stands.
I fist her sorry excuse of a shirt, and headbutt the bitch.
Her shocked scream and wail of pain, and the blood gushing from her nose, makes me grin. I’m unleashed, a fucking wild card who will rip her to shreds if no one intervenes.
No one does, and I punch her in the face.
She screeches, holding her cheek, but seeing no one coming to her aid, she comes at me, claws barred and top lip pulled back like a rabid dog.
She rakes her nails and slaps me. I kick her in the box.
She cries out but comes at me again, unsteady on her stilettos, and I fist her hair, feeling her hair extensions.
“Why are you doing this?” she screams.
“Oh?” I jerk her head, so she looks at me. “You don’t know?”
In my periphery, I’m aware of the entire bar watching us. I feel Bane rather than see him and know he’s now here.
Twisting my head to look over my shoulder, I see him standing in the doorway, filling it with his big powerful body. His rugged handsomeness is apparent, even though it looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And all I can think is, mine.
Without looking away from him, I answer Beatrice’s question, “Let me refresh your memory: the picture that you and your bitch-posse showed me… You know, the one with you sucking Bane off.”
He visibly jerks, and his jaw ticks.
I turn back to Beatrice. “The one that was from a while ago, based on the length of his hair.”
Her eyes dart between me and Bane. “She’s lying, Bane. She’s lying, daddy.”
“Don’t call me that!” His roar fills the bar, and his hazel eyes are dark and lethal.
“She’s lying!” Beatrice insists. “Ask Caymon, Tawny, and the others—we just told Slade about the food you had ordered for her, da…Bane,” she finishes with a gulp as he levels her with a malicious glare.
“You’re such a cunt, Beatrice.” I step into her line of view, because her looking at Bane—at my man—and thinking she has any claim over him, is making me unhinged. “Look at my man again, and I will break your goddamn face.”
Her eyes narrow on me. “He’ll tire of you, you fucking prude,” she sneers, eyeing my long-sleeve shirt and jeans, the only skin showing is my hands, neck, and face.
“Not likely.” And because maybe I am a jealous bitch, I taunt, “Not with the way he kisses me like he’s trying to possess me. Not when he loves when I call him daddy.” I back away, suddenly done with her, and only wanting one person. Bane. “Go fall on someone else’s cock, you cunt.”
I turn my back on her.
Which is a mistake.
She attacks me, but it’s not a physical assault with punching or even slaps and hair pulling. Instead, she grips the neck of my shirt and rips.
“You’re just a temporary hole,” she screams. I turn, and she yanks and rips at the front of my shirt, intent on getting it off as I stand there in shock. “You’re just a fucking whore like the rest of us!”
The tattered shirt is ripped in half, and each side slides down my arms to pool at my feet. I’m wearing a sports bra, so it’s full coverage as far as my breasts are concerned. However, the scars on my torso and arms are completely visible.
A hush falls over the barroom as I stand there, shaking.
“Slade.” Sten’s voice from somewhere is full of anguish.
It’s that…that snaps me out of it. Fury explodes within me, momentarily swallowing the shame rising within me of everyone seeing the marks of my penance and punishment; for surviving while others died painful, horrendous deaths.
I fist Beatrice’s hair as she looks at me with disgust, but I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. I yank her off balance and then fling her so she slams into a pillar and crumples to the floor. But I’m not finished.
I take three steps, jump like I’m a parkour pro, and launch myself off the pool table, angled at her. As I come down, my fist follows and explodes into her face, and I feel bones shatter. Though I’m not sure if the breaking bones are hers or mine.
But as the lights go out in her eyes, and she slumps unconscious, I don’t give a shit.
Then I straighten and hold my head high. And march out of the bar.