24. Candy
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CANDY
“ G o easy on him,” Red pleads with me. “He seems to be in that love-struck phase. You know, the one where dudes do stupid things with only the best intentions in mind but still somehow fuck it up?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused, as I let Red lead me into our room, with Ebony following close behind us.
Once in our shared space, I pause. The room looks like a tornado spun through it.
Errant clothes hangers litter the floor. A few articles of clothing are scattered around the room and over the furnishings. One of the accent chairs is tipped over. And—I do a double-take, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms before looking again—my dresser is missing?
“What the?” I spin, noticing not only my dresser is missing, but all of my things are gone.
I hurry to the closet. My half is cleaned out.
“What in the actual fuck?”
“Candy?” Red pleads as I exit the closet, bee-lining for the bathroom.
Again, all my things are gone .
Reality isn’t clicking. “Where’s all my stuff?”
My friends have differing reactions. Worry etches Red’s fine brow, while Ebony is trying hard not to laugh, her face growing dark from holding it together.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, miffed she’s chuckling at a time like this. “I’ve been robbed, and you’re laughing?”
Something I’ve said has Ebony doubling over, belly laughing.
Appalled, I gawk at my friend. “Stop laughing. This is serious. Someone broke into headquarters. We have to warn the guys.”
Ebony straightens, running her fingers underneath her eyelids to stop her makeup from smearing. Laughing, she says, “ Chica ! You weren’t robbed.”
Is she mental? My shit is gone.
“Eb, look around. My stuff is missing.”
Still trying to rein in her hysteria, Ebony collects herself enough to inform me, “Candy, your stuff isn’t gone. It’s moved.”
“Moved?” I parrot, not following. “Where?”
“To the man who claimed you across the hall,” Ebony surmises. “Duh.”
It takes a hot second for Ebony’s observation to sink in.
My mouth drops, anger replacing worry. “ Him?! He did this?”
Red hums nervously, twirling a lock of her hair in her shaky hands again.
In denial, I shake my head. “Butch wouldn’t dare, not while I’m pissed at him.”
“Maybe Butch thought, since you’re already mad, what would it matter to make you a little madder?” Red suggests innocently, shrugging her shoulders.
I balk at my friend, my temperature rising. “A little madder?!”
Protective as always, Ebony steps in front of Red, shielding her from my wrath. It’s sort of comical, since Ebony is a half-foot shorter than our leggy friend, as well as shorter than me.
“Cool your tits, babe. Red is the messenger, not the culprit.”
My nostrils flare, recalling Butch is behind this. “ You’re right.”
Fists clenched at my sides, I stomp off to Butch’s suite, with Ebony and Red trailing behind me. I vaguely hear them telling me to “calm down,” “take a deep breath,” and “hear him out.” The blood pulsing in my ears grows louder as I near his room, drowning out my friends’ pleas.
All good advice wasted on deaf ears. I’m in no position to think rationally. A dude upped and moved me without asking me.
Fuck being the bigger person—I’m fuming.
Once at his door, I swing the damn thing open. It hits the wall with a loud bang.
Inside Butch’s suite, I find him surrounded by Punk, Tank, and Ziggy. Judging by the guilty looks on their faces, it appears Butch recruited some biker minions to help him commit the crime.
Squatting in front of my dresser, Butch shoves the last of my drawers closed. He quickly rises to his full height to face me as I enter the room, his expression hard and determined. The other guys gawk at me with a mixture of fear and suppressed humor.
“TA-DAAA!” Punk opens his arms wide, giving me jazz hands. “Welcome home.”
“Looks good, right?” Tank asks, taking in his handy work with a pleased nod. “Your stuff is already tucked away where it belongs.”
“‘Where it belongs?’” I seethe. My body overheats—I’m certain my face is beet-red with rage.
Ziggy folds his arms across his chest with a little harrumph, giving Butch the side-eye before addressing me. “I tried to reason with him, Candy. But he pulled his trump card. None of us could refuse him.”
“Why the hell not?” I ask through clenched teeth, stalking further into the room.
The guys take a collective step back as I come closer, their faces growing more worried about my mounting disapproval. A bunch of bikers clustered together in fear would be funny if I wasn’t ready to draw blood.
The only brave one in the group is my biker, standing apart from his brothers. Brave or stupid, I’m not sure. Butch meets my gaze with a heated look of his own. He’s pissed, too, but I swear he looks horny as hell, eyeing me up and down like he can’t wait to get me naked.
And then he throws a curveball, catching me off guard.
“I told them you’re my old lady.” He points a finger between the two of us. “You belong with me, in this space—not across the hall.”
My anger falters, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth. As much as I’ve longed to hear them, they sound foreign, impossible.
“You what?” I croak out in disbelief, my anger simmering on the back-burner.
My biker must see something in my response he likes. His shoulders relax.
“I claimed you, Goddess.” He smiles wickedly, knowing he has the winning hand in this argument.
A thrill of excitement runs along my spine at hearing his words.
Oh, I’m going to wipe that smug smirk off his face—by sitting on it.
“Claimed you say?” I fold my arms across my ample chest. “Since when?”
Raising an eyebrow, Butch gives me one last challenging look before he slips away from the group, retreating into his walk-in closet. He returns a few seconds later with a small leather jacket in his grip. He shakes out the coat, holding it up in front of me with both hands.
On the back of the leather biker jacket is the red Mercy Ravens MC conspiracy of ravens logo, with Goddess embroidered across the top and Property of Butch embroidered at the bottom of the logo.
“Since last year, when you invited me into your secret hiding space,” he confirms in his rough and tumble voice.
“Last year?!” I practically shriek.
Why the hell didn’t he claim me publicly back then? Why wait?
Reading my mind, Butch answers my unasked questions. “Had to wait for you to claim what was rightfully yours.”
Oh, sweet heavens .
This man waited for me to come to my senses and see what was standing patiently in front of me all this time.
My heart is in my throat. “Butch…”
Before I can finish my thoughts, telling him how badly I’ve wanted him for so long, he sucker punches me back into bitch mode.
“Yeah, well, today you pushed me too damn far. I may be the fucking saint of patience, but even I have limitations. This…” he waves his hand around the room and all our belongings mixed, “…this is me taking ownership of what I’ve denied myself for far too long. I’m done waiting for your fine ass to move in. This is happening, ready or not. You’re my…” he gives me a cocky, triumphed smile, “…property.”
My anger rejuvenated, I explode. “Property?! I’m your property now? You’ve had ample opportunities to claim me as your old lady, and you did it by recruiting your brothers to move my shit in here without my consent? Without a discussion between the two of us?”
Ziggy backhands Butch in the chest. “See? What did I say earlier?”
Ignoring his brother, Butch rubs where Ziggy smacked him. He arches an eyebrow at me. “Oh, so you would like to have a discussion before making big decisions?”
There’s a challenge in his voice, and I stupidly disregard it.
“Who wouldn’t? You moved me in without asking. A massive oversight on your part, even if you were tired of waiting for me to make the move myself.”
My biker pushes forward, meeting me in the middle of the room. His eyes flash with something acute to fury.
“No more of an oversight than volunteering to go undercover in a sting operation where you’ll confront one of your abusers without filling me in first,” Butch counters, his voice rougher than normal and heavy with emotion. “Double standard, if you ask me.”
Well, crap. I stepped right in it.
“Told you so,” Ebony whispers behind me, amusement in her voice .
“Shut up,” I angrily hiss back at her.
Punk nudges Red with his elbow, a goofy grin plastered on his face. “This is getting intense.”
She shushes him, almost like she’s engrossed in a soap opera featuring me and Butch. All she needs is some popcorn and a box of tissues.
This is not how I envisioned having this crucial confrontation with my biker—in a bedroom with a good chunk-size of the crew as witnesses. Being the center of attention has never bothered me. However, having mine and Butch’s relationship be the center of attention is a whole other level of uncomfortable. I don’t like all the eyes on us as we put each other on blast.
I also don’t see how we can avoid it—the crew is already in the room.
Fine. I’ll deal with it like a woman.
This past year has taught me to get used to stepping out of my comfort zone. And if this move is in retaliation for not confiding in Butch of my plans first, I can swallow my pride and apologize first.
Ignoring all the eyes on me, I square my shoulders and give Butch my full attention.
“You’re right. I made a massive decision without talking with you first, especially after our discussion regarding our relationship last night. I’m sorry.”
Butch rocks back on his heels, caught off guard. Clearly, he didn’t think I had it in me to admit my faults, this openly or bluntly.
“Whoa,” Ziggy murmurs, verbalizing the shock everyone else seems to share.
It’s rare if I apologize for anything, and it may never happen again, given my record.
“Y—You,” Butch stutters, pointing a finger at me. “You said sorry.”
“Don’t get too used to it,” I warn, fidgeting in place. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice.”
This public display of remorse is awkward. When my therapist instructed me to get comfortable being uncomfortable when expressing myself, I’m sure he didn’t mean to do it with an audience present.
As embarrassed as I am, I press on.
“I understand I blindsided you and hurt your feelings,” I continue, cringing internally with each apologetic word passing my lips. “However, your reaction to me volunteering was excessive and insulting.”
“She’s not wrong. You were a straight-up dick,” Ziggy says to Butch, coming to my defense.
Butch gives Ziggy a look that screams, Stay out of it .
Using my fingers, I count all the ways Butch did me dirty in Atlas’s office.
“One, you tried to bully me into retracting my offer. Two, you said there were other people in the crew better for the job, when I’m the only one who’s experienced what we’re facing. Three, you suggested I’d wilt under the pressure. Four, I wasn’t emotionally competent enough to face my abuser.”
Red gasps, appalled. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah, it was ugly,” Punk informs her.
“And five, you’re overlooking why I volunteered for this case.”
With the very minimal public display of affection we’ve shared, I’m not expecting it when Butch crosses the remaining space between us and yanks me into his arms for a crushing hug. My arms hang at my sides as my mind races to catch up with what’s happening. When my head gets in the game, I hug him back as tightly as he does me.
My eyes sting, and my nose runs, but I refuse to cry—not yet. Blubbering will make it difficult to hear Butch’s explanation.
Without letting me go, Butch murmurs, “There’s no excuse for my actions other than I was desperate to get you off the case.”
“But why?” I sniff. “Don’t you think I’m good enough for this job?”
“Of course you’re good enough to be on the team,” he reassures. “ There isn’t anyone on the crew who has your insight. You’re perfect for it, and that’s what terrifies me.”
Butch pulls his head back to look at me, his hazel eyes intense and pleading. He clears his throat like he’s gearing up for a long explanation.
“I said what I said to protect you from Duffy and all the other foul fuckers we’ll encounter in this investigation. You plowed into this case like you were ready to take on anyone by yourself. And it angered me. All your life, you’ve been dealing with the shit cards you were dealt without help from others. It seemed like you were looking at this as another shit circumstance you had to deal with when I’m here for you now.”
“Butch…” I pause, hating myself for causing him hurt. I’m at a loss for words.
With bikers, you can guarantee they’ll be overly protective of their women. Some might call it possessive. But outsiders don’t understand the lifestyle. They don’t understand the dangers tied to this culture.
Ebony explained it best—Butch is my old man. And as my old man, he’s responsible for my welfare. It’s Biker Code Of Ethics 101.
“It’s my job to take care of you—you’re my woman,” Butch grates, reiterating my thoughts. “My responsibility. Maybe my ego factored into some of the reason why I flew off the handle, seeing my woman step up to the plate to take on a dangerous person from her past without asking me to handle it. Fuck, Candy. It’s like you don’t need me. And that hurts. Cuts me right up. Why didn’t you ask me? Why not include me in your plan?”
My amazingly stubborn biker’s voice nearly goes mute at the end of his explanation. What I assumed was his voice being strained was actually his emotions surfacing. His eyes grow watery. The muscles in his neck are strained taut as he tries to rein in his tears from falling.
Having explained why he reacted the way he had, it’s only fair I share as well. Butch deserves an explanation for my actions.
“For as long as I’ve lived, I’ve only had to worry about myself. This…” I wave a hand between us, “…this is new to me. For both of us. You’re right. I should have mentioned my plans to you first. And if I’m being honest, a small part of me realized I should have told you my plan prior to going into that meeting. I was afraid you’d react poorly—which you did, more so under the circumstances I created. Still, I should’ve included you in my plans. I should’ve put us first, and I’m sorry I didn’t trust you enough to have faith in my ability to help this team.”
“I’m not against you seeking vengeance. I’d burn this world, and all who wronged you. If you need to be the one to burn it down, at least let me stand by your side and give you the matches to light the fucker up.”
Look at the two of us—two emotionally awkward lovers spilling their hearts out in front of others who have no right to be here. Brandon would probably call this growth, expressing our feelings freely around others. Summarizing it as emotional growing pains would be more on point.
The conversation has become too heavy for others to hear. It’s one thing to admit our wrongs freely in front of the other. But expressing our emotions remains between the two of us.
I snap my fingers at the others in the room to get their attention. Pointing at the door, I order, “Everyone out.”
“Aww,” Punk whines, his face crestfallen. “But things were getting interesting.”
Red and Ziggy each grab one of his arms, guiding him from the room.
Ebony winks at us, giving a small wave goodbye. She sighs contentedly, looking at Tank. “Things hit differently when a biker lover’s quarrel works itself out.”
Tank smiles at Ebony, one that’s borderline freaky with how possessive he looks. It’s easy to see where his mind is at.
“Want to start our own biker lover’s quarrel?” Tanks taunts Ebony, his eyebrows bouncing up and down for added effect. “Let me move you into my space, and I’ll let you pound the shit out of me.”
Ebony balks. “What?!”
Tank grins wider. “You’re envisioning it, aren’t you? We’re going to be so happy together.”
My raven-haired friend gapes at him. “Are you insane?”
His smile looks demonic. “Definitely.”
She shakes her head, wagging a finger at him. “Do not get any harebrained ideas from Butch if you want to keep your balls.”
Tank gives Butch an amused smirk. “Hey, did you hear that? I was wrong. I get to keep my cock.”
Butch shakes his head but says nothing until the room is cleared and the door has softly closed us off from the rest of the world.