38. Candy
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CANDY
W hen Captain Travis Warren and his retired SEAL team companions arrive to watch over the rest of our MC family, we say our goodbyes and hit the road. The four-hour drive to Aspen from Fort Collins is quiet for me as I accept coming face-to-face with Duffy tomorrow evening.
Confronting your abuser is a lot for any sexual assault survivor. For me, it’ll be the performance of my lifetime, smiling in the face of evil for the greater good of the mission.
Good thing I’m one hell of an actress. Life as a sex worker was hard, but it taught me well—fake it until you make it.
Mentally exhausted, I rest my head against Butch’s shoulder where we sit in the back seat of one of the Mercy Ravens armored Tahoe SUVs. Tank drives with Ziggy sitting shotgun, filling the void with small talk and playing indie rock low on the radio. From my view, looking out the tinted windows, the world races by outside in endless gray streaks, with a cloud-covered sky to fit the somber mood.
Though my nerves are high, I’ll never admit it, not with the mission on the horizon. Still, I yearn to confide in someone what I’m feeling, preferably to the man who’s claimed me. Butch is the only one I trust wholeheartedly never to judge me. Though I worry my thoughts would concern him, and I don’t wish to add any more anxiety to his plate.
Unable to suppress my fears from surfacing, an involuntary shiver runs through my body, causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. Possibly sensing my unease, Butch’s arm slightly constricts around me, like he’s trying to squeeze my apprehension out of my pores. It may not be words of comfort, but it’s a sign of comfort, one I appreciate from my quiet biker.
It’s funny how I’ve grown accustomed to Butch’s silent ways, incorporating his method of communication for my use, too. There are many ways to convey a message. Gentle touches, a deep gaze, a quirk of the lips are a few of the many ways I like to speak to Butch. I kind of enjoy showing him rather than telling him what it is I’m feeling. Actions tend to speak louder than words.
However, at this moment I need to speak my feelings out. I blame therapy for my newfound desire to express my emotions. I’m not sure if Butch and I will get a free moment alone for me to share my thoughts. Instead, I sink deeper into his embrace, absorbing all the comfort I can.
The closer we get to our destination, the more I want to jump out of my skin, almost like my flight-or-fight response was given an adrenaline shot. I deal with my apprehension the way I know best—I bury it. Before therapy, I buried shit deep. Now, it’s surface level at best, like I subconsciously realize I can’t deal with this problem like I did before. I’ll need to talk or write my thoughts out before the mission, because tomorrow I need to be on my game.
It’s close to dusk when the crew arrives in Aspen. We’re staying at one of Piero’s properties he uses for entertaining business clients—a chalet in the mountains close to our destination tomorrow. The opulence of the property has me rolling my eyes. Chalet, my ass. The place could be an upscale timber mountain lodge resort. It’s too big to be considered anything less, especially when it houses our entire crew and all of Piero’s men comfortably.
Perks of being a mafia don, I guess.
Inside, we’re greeted by the caretakers of the estate, directing us to the dining hall, where a catered meal awaits us. The spread is vast and smells amazing. The guys waste no time diving in. All of it is lovely, but with my stomach acids rolling with nerves, eating is the furthest thing from my mind.
“Let’s grab our room for the night,” Butch suggests in a rough murmur.
The last thing I want is for my exterior to crack in front of others. As uneasy as I am, it could happen. If I’m going to have a mental breakdown, I’d prefer to do it in private. I’m all too keen to step away from everyone else, allowing Butch to guide me with his hand at the small of my back out of the dining hall.
We find a room on the second floor at the far end of the east wing. Butch hauls our bags into the room as I follow behind him, my steps heavy like my feelings.
The sleeping quarters are as ridiculously lavish as the rest of the estate, decorated in ivory and gold tones. The bed alone looks like something made for royalty, layered in rich fabrics and a mountain of goose down pillows. It’s inviting as hell, and I can’t enjoy it when my anxiety has my stomach rising in my throat.
Soundlessly, Butch steps behind me, slipping his arms around my waist. His soft lips press into the crook of my neck, staying there as he whispers, “I feel what you feel. Your pain is mine. Let it out, sweetness.”
Afraid of how he’ll react if I’m honest about my worries, I bite my lip, shaking my head. “I’m scared I’ll scare you.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I whisper, tears in my eyes.
He holds me tighter, my back flushed to his chest. “Then trust I can handle this. You’re not alone. You have me—always. Share your burden with me.”
A choked sobs rattles my lungs as I succumb to my turbulent thoughts, the pain of the past and my current fears colliding at once. My legs are suddenly too weak to hold me upright, buckling under my weight. But I don’t fall. Butch holds me up around my waist as I lean over his arms, hugging myself. He slowly lowers me to the floor, where he holds me as I let my demons out.
I scream, curse, and wail, spewing out the toxic memories and my worries.
I don’t know how long I cry for. But when my shudders subside and eyes go dry, I lay exhausted on the plush cream carpet, with Butch holding me and tenderly petting my hair.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice hoarse and low.
I feel Butch’s head nod behind me. “It’s okay. We’re all scared.”
My eyebrow lifts. I roll to face him. “Why are you scared? You’ve done these types of missions before. You won’t be confronting…a man who…” I pause, bracing myself. “A man who hurt you.”
My biker carefully brushes my hair out of my face, tucking it behind my ear. “Yes, I have done missions like this before. Many of them. And no, I am not coming face-to-face with someone who hurt me. But I worry about you, Candy. I know you’ll be confronting evil incarnate. I know it’ll hurt you, and I don’t want you hurting— ever . No partner wants their significant other to feel pain—emotional or physical. I can’t fight off your emotions, but I sure as fuck will fight off anyone there who would wish to harm you. And I will, with no hesitation.”
A heavy sigh leaves me. “I know you have my back. That was never a worry of mine. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m feeling vulnerable. This whole time we’ve been training for this mission, I’ve been holding it together.”
“Listen to what you’re saying, Candy,” Butch husks. “You’ve been ‘holding it together’ for the sake of the mission. Yeah, you’ve been working with Brandon to sort your feelings as they arise. But at some point, you were bound to get slammed with it all. Suppressing your past trauma, learning new critical skills in a week, worrying about the victims, while knowing tomorrow you were going to confront a ghost from your past—your feelings were going to make an appearance. They just decided on showing up today. ”
“But why now, when I’ve been good at managing it?”
Butch gives me a small smile, showing me a hint of his dimples. “You can’t be strong all the time, sweetness. You think I don’t get scared when I go out on a search and recovery operation? I’m worried with every mission. I worry because I know that not every assignment turns out okay, that we could lose someone, that we may never find who we’re looking for, and even when we find them, it’s not always a fortunate situation. That shit builds up, like plaque in the arteries. It can slowly kill us if we don’t let out our frustrations. Some of us work it out in the gym. Others go talk with Brandon. And a few have even coped in unhealthy ways before setting themselves right again.
“The point is, we all have our moments when our fears seem to get the best of us. I don’t want to call them weak moments when there’s nothing weak about confronting your demons. That shit hurts, sometimes worse than taking a hit or a bullet. Unfortunately, it happens when we’re at our weakest, making it a hundred times more complicated to deal with. But look at you. You’re addressing it. And you’re pushing through, making you all the stronger after the clouds pass. That’s what a hero does, and that’s what you are.”
What? “A hero?”
“Yeah, Candy. You’re doing a hero’s job, helping us recover these women. That makes you a hero.”
My head flounders. I never considered I was a hero in any of this. Yes, I’m helping the team, giving them insider information, and offering suggestions on how to handle the case. I’m doing my role, as they are doing theirs. But me? A hero?
“Do you realize I’m fucking proud of you? You probably don’t, since I never said it. Well, I’m saying it now. I’m damn proud of you and the help you’ve given our team. I may have been a massive prick at the beginning of this operation, only because I wanted to protect you and went about it the wrong way. But every day since, I’ve watched you tackle this investigation head on, throwing everything you have into it. What you’ve been doing, and what you’ll do tomorrow… ”
Butch pauses, shaking his head. “I know men in this MC who couldn’t confront their abuser if the shoe was on the other foot. Hell, I couldn’t. But you, Candy, you’re brave beyond measure.”
I sniffle. “Brave? I don’t feel brave at the moment.”
“And that’s okay,” he reassures, wiping away the rogue tears that continue to slip out of the corner of my eyes with his thumbs. “Heroes aren’t brave all the time. They’re brave when they need to be. That’s what makes them heroes. They do the job, knowing it will hurt.”
They do the job, knowing it’ll hurt. Those words ripple inside of me like the soundwaves of a clanging cymbal, grounding me.
Tomorrow will hurt. Facing Duffy will hurt. Seeing those women paraded onto the stage, drugged up and half-naked, will hurt.
Some things are worth the hurt. And rescuing these victims from the life I lived is worth all of it.
Rejuvenated again, I sit up from my fetal position, wiping away the remains of my tears with the back of my hand. I don’t know where my inner strength is coming from, probably influenced by Butch and his inspiring words. All I’m certain of is, I want to be the hero Butch claims I am.
My biker sits across from me, our knees kissing each other. He takes my hands in his, staring deep into my eyes. “There’s my warrior goddess.”
Despite the somber mood, I laugh. “I’m a warrior now? All these new attributes.”
Deadpan, Butch says, “Only a warrior can survive and thrive after what you’ve gone through.”
This man. I’m only teasing Butch when I call him my biker boy , but there’s nothing boy about him. Only a man can see what I’ve been through—what I’ve overcome—and praise me like a queen, like I’m his queen.
“If you can be heroic with this mission, then I can be brave with my feelings.” He gulps, his eyes never leaving mine. “I love you, Candy. ”
My heart stalls a moment before kicking into overdrive, jack-hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to break free and spring onto Butch.
“I’ve loved you so fucking much for so long,” he confesses. “My actions may have been screaming I loved you, but you deserve to hear it, too.”
My voice hitches in my throat, rendering me speechless. Touched, my eyes fill with new tears.
Butch takes my face in his hands. “I love you, you brave, beautiful, bold goddess. And I believe in you.”
He kisses my lips, my wet cheeks, my eyelids, everywhere he can reach on my face, chanting his words of affirmation again and again until I believe them.
Sobbing again, only this time with happy tears, I throw my arms around his neck and climb into his lap.
“Butch, I?—”
My biker pulls back, pressing his pointer finger against my lips. “Don’t say it. Not unless you mean it. And I’d prefer to hear those words when you’re not crying and stressed.”
I frown, wanting to say the words back to Butch, scream it to the entire house. However, I understand his point. He doesn’t want me to say it after emotionally dumping. Butch may question if I’m being genuine or saying it in a moment of emotional weakness.
“If not now, when do you want to hear me speak my truth?”
“Tell me when it feels right. When you’re so fucking happy, you can’t hold it in without bursting.”
I release a shuddering sigh, nuzzling my cheek into his hand. “Okay.”
My biker smiles, his hazel eyes twinkling in the muted light of the room. “Good. How are you feeling? Better?”
“Yeah.” I nod, smiling. “Much better.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Good enough to eat something?”
My stomach chooses this moment to rumble. We laugh at my digestive system’s timing .
Butch rises to his feet, stretching out his back before looking down at me. “Would you like me to make you a plate and bring it back?”
“Nah.” I hold out my hand for him to pull me up. “Let’s go eat with the family.”
He takes my hand, helping me to my feet in one swift move like I weigh nothing. “As you wish, Goddess.”