CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
I hit him so hard his head whips sideways and cracks off the wall. He drops to the ground, too slow to scramble away as I lean over him. My fists land again, and again, and again. Each punch is a blow I’ve needed to land since the day she came home broken.
He tries to cover his face, but I slam his hand away and punch harder. Blood sprays. His breath wheezes from his body, rattling in his chest.
Diesel stands there, fists clenched, his jaw ticking, itching to take over.
But this fight is mine. His blood is everything I need to heal.
From my kutte, I pull my knife and press the cold steel against Jimmy’s lips.
“You wanted to bring this side out in me, Jimmy. Don’t back out on me now,” I say, smirking. “Let’s play.”
Jimmy thrashes. I pin his head with my knee. “Open up,” I order.
He shakes his head violently. “You were so vocal just a second ago,” I spit, struggling with his jaw.
“Telling me all the sordid details, like they fucking turned you on,” I hiss, landing another punch, and shoving my fingers into his mouth before he can clamp it closed again.
“Did you wank over my ol’ lady getting raped? ”
I shove the blade inside. He screams. The sound tears through the room, it’s ugly, desperate.
His tongue writhes against the steel. I slice. Blood floods his mouth, choking him. He tries to scream again but it’s just a gargle. He kicks out, spasming on the ground.
“You’ll never say her name again.” I stand, satisfied as I drop the lump of flesh beside him.
Jimmy rolls away, blood pouring from his mouth, his eyes wild with agony.
I wipe the blade on his shirt. “Get him out of here,” I say, voice flat. “He’s not dying today.”
Diesel stares at me, stunned. “Kade, the plan?”
The plan. I want to laugh. I made it clear we wouldn’t deviate from the plan, and now here I am, deviating. “That was before,” I mutter, “When I assumed he didn’t know. He’s dying slow. I want him to feel every fucking second of it.” And I head out.
By the time I reach the clubhouse, my knuckles have stopped bleeding, but the skin is cracked and swollen. Diesel told me to wrap them, but I needed to feel the ache. I needed to feel something that wasn’t rage. Our bedroom door is cracked open. I push inside.
Eden’s curled on my side of the bed, hugging my pillow like she’s trying to hold onto me even while asleep. The sight hits so hard I have to stand still just to breathe.
I head straight for the en-suite, closing the door softly behind me. The tap hisses to life. Water hits my hands and blooms red in the sink.
Jimmy’s blood.
I scrub hard. It doesn’t fucking come off.
The door creaks and I freeze. “Why are you up?” I ask, trying to sound normal, staring at the water instead of her reflection behind me.
She doesn’t answer at first. Then her voice cracks. “Kade why is there blood on your shirt?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Eden, please. Just go back to bed.”
“No,” she says, and suddenly she’s right beside me, grabbing my wrist before I can hide my hands. Her breath stutters. “This is fresh. This is today. What did you do?”
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps, stepping in front of me. “Don’t you dare shut me out again.”
“This isn’t about shutting you out—”
“Yes, it is!” she yells, tears already forming. “Two weeks, Kade. Two fucking weeks of you barely looking at me. Barely speaking. Barely breathing in the same room as me. And now you walk in covered in blood and expect me to pretend everything’s fine?”
I grit my teeth, trying to hold it together. “You don’t understand.”
“So explain it!” she cries, hitting her chest with her fist. “I’m right here, begging you to just tell me something, anything, so I don’t feel like I’m losing you!”
“You’re not losing me,” I force out.
“Aren’t I?” she whispers. “You won’t come to bed. You won’t talk. You won’t touch me. You won’t even look at me for longer than two seconds.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” I mutter.
Her laugh breaks mid-sound. “Your best? Is your best staying out all night doing God knows what?”
I slam the tap off. “I told you, I’m handling club business.”
“You’d rather be out there fighting than be with me, here?”
“It’s not that simple,” I whisper.
“It is,” she insists. “You choose to talk to me, or you don’t. You choose to come home, or you don’t. You choose to love me, or you don’t.”
“I do love you,” I snap.
“Then act like it!” she screams. “Because right now, Kade, it feels like you’re punishing me for what happened. Like you’re disgusted by me. Like you can’t stand to be near me.”
My breath catches. “I’m punishing myself,” I say, voice raw. “Every second I look at you, all I see is what I didn’t stop. What I should’ve stopped. I can’t breathe when I’m near you because I feel like I failed you.”
She shakes her head fiercely. “You’re failing me now by not being here when I need you.”
I swallow hard. “I just need time.”
“Time for what? To hate yourself? To hate me?”
“I don’t hate you,” I roar.
“Then show me,” she whispers.
She tentatively lifts her shirt, pulling it over her head and dropping it to the floor. I stare at her thin body, her bones way more visible than ever before.
Silence swallows the room.
And then I step past her, grabbing my kutte off the hook.
“Oh,” she says quietly, voice breaking. “So that’s it. You’re going to your office.”
“I need space,” I mutter. “Just for tonight.”
Her heartbreak is so loud it feels like a physical sound. She nods slowly, blinking rapidly.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, rushing out.
EDEN
I often wonder, in moments like this, if my pain could possibly break me any more. And then something else happens, Kade ignores me, I get a flashback, and there I am again, crying into my pillow whilst my heart shatters.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I feel like I’m watching Kade’s pain break him from behind a thick glass screen. I can see everything, but do nothing. I can’t reach him. Touch him. Hold him.
Being in my presence disgusts him. He wouldn’t even raise his eyes to look at my body earlier, choosing to look past me before running out of here like I was a diseased rat offering him scraps.
I fall into a restless sleep. Tossing and turning. Images of my attacker sometimes waking me, but mainly it’s nightmares of Kade that bring me from my slumber. Him walking away. Him with someone else.
And when my alarm screams at eight o’ clock, I’m still exhausted, and grumpier than ever.
I shower and dress, then trudge down for breakfast. Which is pointless, I can’t eat a damn thing without feeling sick.
But everyone expects me at the table. Maggie has made it perfectly clear each morning, by dragging me downstairs and insisting I at least try some dried toast. And that wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the eyes filled with pity that pretend they’re not watching, when really, they are.
It’s not just the women; it’s the bikers, too.
I get a kiss from each one of the men, right on the top of my head, like it’s a new tradition.
I’ve silently named it pity kisses. They didn’t exist before my attack.
It’s just another thing that’s changed since then.
I even tried to arrive after the bikers just to avoid it, but they pity kissed me as they left instead.
Today, however, I’m shocked to see Kade at the head of the table. He’s not taken his place for weeks, not since the truth came out. He doesn’t look up when my step falters, but I know he senses me there in the way he grips his cutlery a little tighter, and the way his jaw tenses.
Maggie smiles, nodding to my chair at his side, like him being here is a special treat for everyone. I don’t argue. I lower into it like a dutiful wife, too afraid to break the new truce.
Everyone else seems to slip into an uneasy hum of conversation.
Maggie places a fresh croissant in front of me, and I smile gratefully.
She’s trying everything possible to get me to eat, including making her own pastries from scratch.
His eyes flick to the pastry, then to me.
For a second, I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me, God how I wish he’d kiss me.
“You going vegan on me, Queenie?” The nickname sounds wrong now, sharp instead of sweet.
I don’t answer. He lifts a brow, unimpressed.
“No wonder you’re losing so much weight. ”
I sigh, disappointment crushing me yet again, and begin to pick pieces of pastry off the croissant, popping the occasional bit in my mouth to appease Maggie.
Diesel joins us, pressing his obligatory kiss to the top of my head, before taking his seat on the other side of Kade, who frowns at the kiss, but chooses not to comment. “What time we heading out today, Pres?” Diesel asks, scooping sausages onto his plate.
“Soon as,” Kade mutters.
“Another run?” I ask lightly, though my voice barely makes the jump across the table.
Diesel hesitates. It’s tiny, but I see it—see the way his eyes flick to Kade before he reaches for bread. That’s when I notice his knuckles. Split. Swollen. Fresh. Just like Kade’s. He moves them out of sight, but it’s too late.
“Or something else?” I add, my tone neutral, bordering on cold curiosity.
“Not sure what you mean, Edes.” Kade drinks his coffee like it’s an answer. “What are your plans today?”
“I have a busy day,” I say, brushing crumbs from my fingers. “Therapy, then the bank. And some other things to sort.” The pause doesn’t go unnoticed, not by him anyway.
I feel his eyes land on me again. Heavy. Searching. “I’ll get Rabbit to drive you,” he says.
I smile, polite but distant. “No need. I’ve been getting around fine without help.”
His cutlery hits the plate, loud enough to jolt several men into looking our way. “You’ve been going out alone?” His voice is quiet and dangerously calm.
I finally look him in the eye. “Do you care?”
I stand, but his hand wraps around my wrist, gentle enough not to bruise, but firm enough to stop me. “Of course I care,” he mutters.
The words should mean something, but right now, they feel hollow. Like everything else between us lately.
I look down at his knuckles, battered, angry, stained by things he will never confess to me. “Have a good day, Kade,” I whisper, pulling free. “Taking care of business.”
And then I march out of there without looking back.
I don’t get far before his voice halts me mid-step. “I haven’t finished.”
I turn slowly, keeping my expression blank. “I have therapy at nine.”
His brow twitches, surprise leaking through the hard exterior. “Therapy for what happened?”
“It’s my last session.” I force my voice not to shake. “But you’d know that if you were around.”
His expression sharpens, cold and defensive. “Jesus, Eden, stop complaining. You’re starting to sound like a fucking broken record.”
I give a hollow, sad smile, that doesn’t reach my eyes. “And we wouldn’t want that would we?”
The clinic waiting room smells faintly of peppermint and old radiators. Normally, I’d pick at my cuticles or scroll on my phone, but today I just sit. Still. Calm on the outside, even though my insides feel bruised and tight.
When my therapist, Helen, opens the door and smiles, I rise automatically.
“Eden,” she says gently, “last session. Come on in.”
Last session. Last of many things.
I sit on the sofa, smoothing the hem of my t-shirt while she settles opposite me with her notebook balanced on her knee.
“How’ve you felt since last week?” she asks.
I shift. “Okay.”
“That doesn’t sound convincing.”
I let out a tiny breath. “It’s been busy at the club. Everyone’s rushing. Lots of rides out.” I shrug like it’s nothing, even though the words scrape at my throat. “It’s normal club stuff. They never tell us what’s going on.”
She nods. “And how does that make you feel?”
“Like I’m standing outside my own life.” I force a small smile. “But that’s nothing new, is it?”
She studies me, the way she always does when she senses something I haven’t said.
“You sound very certain today,” she says softly.
“I needed certainty.” I pause, picking at a thread on my sleeve. “I think I’ve closed some doors in my mind. I know what I need now.”
Her brow dips just slightly. “And what’s that?”
I meet her eyes. Calm. Too calm. “To move on. One way or another.”
She exhales slowly, understanding something, but not all of it. “Eden, healing doesn’t always require a change of circumstance.”
“Sometimes it does,” I reply quietly.
She doesn’t push. She rarely does.
We use the hour to go over strategies. How to deal with my triggers, and what helps to ground me. For once we don’t talk about Kade or our relationship.
At the end, Helen hands me a leaflet, support resources she calls it, and wishes me luck. She never says goodbye. I think she’s trained not to.
Outside, the cool air hits my face. I walk to the bank with new steadiness in my steps.
Banks always feel too bright. Too clean and clinical. A little like a library, but with more noise.
I approach the desk, forcing a polite smile. “Hi. I need to make a change to my account.”
The woman taps away at her keyboard. “Your name?”
“Eden Mae Calloway.” I slide my bank card towards her and she begins to enter the details onto the computer.
“And what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to remove myself from the joint account.”
The woman’s fingers still. “Of course. You understand that once removed, you will no longer have access or visibility to this account?”
“Yes.”
“You sure you wouldn’t like to transfer any funds first?”
“No.” The answer comes too easily.
She frowns. “It’s a substantial balance.”
“I know.”
She looks at me a moment longer than necessary, as though trying to work me out, then nods and proceeds. “Alright. Removing you now.” Another tap and then she smiles. “Done. Anything else?”
“Yes.” I reach into my bag and pull out a thick envelope. The same one Kade shoved across his office desk the night he told me to leave. Six thousand pounds. All cash. “I’d like to open a new account in my name only.” My voice doesn’t shake. “I want to deposit this.”
“All of it today?”
“Yes.”
She counts it silently, and the tapping of her nails on the notes is the loudest sound in the world. “Six thousand,” she confirms.
I nod.
She hands me forms and I sign.
The woman prints everything and I tuck the paperwork into my bag, smoothing the edges carefully.
As I leave the bank, my reflection flashes in the glass door, I look tired and sad. I hate that.