Chapter Twelve
Matlock
I followed Freddie to the door, my hands aching with the desire to wrap them around the motherfucker’s neck and squeeze the life out of him.
As soon as he left, I locked the door behind him and turned around, leaning back against the door.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared at Simon as he cleaned up around his chair.
“You just can’t control that fucking mouth, can you?” I snarked, pushing off the door and stalking across the room.
“Tony,” Simon said with a sigh.
“Shut your fucking mouth, Simon.”
As I walked past, I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the back room once again. I couldn’t punish him in the salon. Not with the huge front windows that couldn’t be covered.
“Tony, I’m sorry.”
I spun him around until he faced me. “Do I need to keep my cock lodged in your fucking throat to keep you from talking?”
Simon’s eyes flared and the pulse at the base of his throat thumped. He swallowed hard as my hand collared his neck. “Get on your knees.”
Simon swallowed again, and I felt his Adam’s apple roll under my palm. I watched as my fingers flexed around his throat. Listened as he released a puff of air from a gasp. Felt his warm breath across my face.
My cock hardened, pressing against the back of my zipper. Aching to reach out to Simon. To meet his hand, his mouth, his ass. It didn’t care where, as long as it made contact with the one person who knew how to take care of the pain.
“No.”
My eyes snapped to his. “What did you say?”
“I said no, Tony. I’m done.”
Simon took a step back, my arm stretching, my hand refusing to let go. Simon never told me no. It didn’t matter what I wanted, or when I wanted it. Simon delivered.
No was not a word in our vocabulary.
“I said get on your fucking knees, Simon.”
Simon reached up and pulled my hand from his throat, shaking his head as he let my arm fall. “And I said no. I want more, Tony. I want a family. I want children.”
“You think fucking Freddie will give you a family? You think he makes enough as a prison guard to support you?”
“I make enough to support me, Tony. I’ve been doing it for years before you came along.
You don’t support me now. You won’t even talk to me in public, let alone take me on a date.
Hold my hand. Kiss me. I don’t want to be your mo leannán rúnda, Tony.
I deserve more than to be your dirty little secret. ”
Simon pushed past me and walked back out into the salon. I stood there for a minute, shocked by what he said. But the truth was, I knew this day would come. I knew one day he would have enough of my bullshit and walk away.
“Simon,” I called, walking out to the salon, only to be met with the silence of an empty room. The front door was open, and Simon was gone.
“Fuck!”
I stood there staring at the open door, refusing to chase after him. If this was how he wanted it, fine. I still had a job to do; one I was damn good at. I still had orders from Judge Markham. Orders I wouldn’t walk away from.
I’d try Simon’s case.
I’d get him off.
I scoffed at the pun, then grabbed the supplies he’d placed in a bag for the clubhouse tomorrow and walked out the door, locking it behind me. I looked up and down the street, but Simon was gone.
I knew he wouldn’t run. He’d come back to the house when he got over his tantrum. I tossed the bag into the passenger seat and backed out of the lot next to Simon’s shop. I drove back to his house and let myself in.
And I waited.
And waited.
Three hours later, Simon finally walked in the door.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“I went to the diner,” he said, avoiding my eyes. I looked him over; his shirt was untucked and his jeans were dirty. My feet crossed the room before I realized I had moved. I grabbed his chin without thinking, and he yanked his head away from me.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
There was a bruise forming on the left side of his chin. His left eye was swollen, and the skin across his cheekbone was broken and bleeding.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
He tried to pull away again, but I collared his neck.
Only, I didn’t squeeze; this was a different kind of dominance.
It wasn’t about sex; it was about caring.
It was about love, because despite never telling him, despite not being willing to out myself so we could live our lives together in the open, I loved this man.
And someone had laid their fucking hands on him.
“Who am I killing?”
“Tony, stop.”
Once again, Simon pried my hand from his throat. Tears welled in his eyes, but I saw the war he was fighting not to let them fall.
“Simon.” I cupped his cheek. “Who hurt you?”
He looked up at me, losing the battle, and my heart ached as a tear slipped from its prison. “You did, Tony. You hurt me.”
Simon walked away from me then. He left me standing in his kitchen after piercing me through the heart.
I turned and watched as he walked down the hall without looking back.
This time, it wasn’t his ass I was focused on.
It was his back as he walked away. He closed his bedroom door without a glance over his shoulder at me to see the damage he had caused.
The door clicked shut, and the lock engaged.
My instinct was to wait until he fell asleep before I picked the lock and crawled into bed with him. But doubts swirled in my head.
Should I let him go?
Should I give him what he wants and let him build a life with someone who would be proud to call him his?
I was fucking proud to call him mine. I knew I didn’t deserve him. He was too fucking young. Almost twenty years younger than me, but what the fuck did age matter?
Simon was clearly more mature than I was. I might have eighteen years on him, but I hadn’t learned a damn thing, other than how to fucking hide who I was.
I didn’t know what to do.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I couldn’t give Simon what he wanted. But I couldn’t let him go either.
He was mine.
He belonged to me.
I stepped out onto the back patio and lit a cigarette. Then I sat in the chair and smoked for fifteen minutes, trying to calm the rage inside me, before I picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?” I said when Nav answered.
“Hello to you too.”
“Stop whatever the fuck you’re doing and dig through the cameras in town.”
The growl in my voice must have alerted him because the sarcasm left his tone and he asked, “What am I looking for?”
“Simon.”
“He isn’t with you?”
“He is now. He had a few appointments at the salon, and when he was done, he left without me.”
“Why?” Nav asked over the clicking of his keyboard.
“We argued, and he stormed off.”
Silence met my words as I leaned back in my chair, brought the cigarette up to my mouth, and inhaled. I held the nicotine in my lungs, waiting for it to calm me. I would have died waiting, so I blew out the smoke and tried again.
“What did you argue about?”
“What the fuck does it matter? He was gone for three hours and came home busted up.”
“WHAT?” Nav shouted. The noise of his keyboard grew louder as his fingers slammed against the keys. The whole time he muttered about assholes and their fucked-up ideals and intolerance.
I couldn’t help but smile. The club might not know anything about Simon and me, but they all loved him. His flirting had taken a little getting used to, and I still fucking hated the way he put his hands on Gunner any chance he had, but I trusted my brothers.
I trusted Simon.
“Got him.”
“What the fuck happened?”
I sat forward and crushed out the cigarette on the patio floor.
I need a fucking ashtray.
“Cletus Boone,” Nav said.
“He alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Where? Never mind, send me the video,” I said, standing up.
“No.”
I froze halfway to the front of the house. I didn’t bother going back inside. I didn’t need anything but my fucking hands.
“What do you mean, no?” I asked, my voice dropping to a deadly tremor. “What did he fucking do?”
“He hit him a couple times,” Nav said, and I knew he was lying.
“What else?”
“Matlock, listen.”
“What the fuck did he do, Nav?”
My anger boiled over as I waited for Nav to tell me the truth. “You’re only making this worse for Cletus the longer you take to tell me the truth.”
Nav sighed heavily on the other end of the line and said, “Brother, you can’t fucking kill him.”
“What. Did. He. Do?”
“He pushed Simon’s chest against the wall and thrust into him a few times. His clothes never came off, Matlock. He never even attempted to undress Simon.”
I couldn’t speak. My fingers clenched the phone in my hand. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow down the rage.
“Let me send someone else.”
“No.”
“I’ll send Mimic. He’ll put the fear of God into Cletus.”
“No,” I repeated, then hung up. I slowly walked to my bike. The prospects followed me over with it this morning when I went to get my clothes.
I swung my leg over the bike and then started her up. I backed out of Simon’s driveway and rode through town. My eyes scanned the street for Cletus’ truck. When I couldn’t find it, I turned back toward the west side of town.
The thing about small towns and everyone knowing everybody else was that you also knew where everyone lived. And Cletus lived in a run-down trailer on the outskirts of Diamond Creek.
I pulled up in front of his place and found Mimic and Indie waiting for me.
“What are you doing here?”
“Making sure you don’t do something stupid.”
“If you think you’re gonna stop me from kicking his hillbilly ass, you’re out of your mind.”
“We’re just here to make sure you don’t kill him,” Indie said. When I glared at her, she smiled. “Prez’s orders.”
I walked past them both and stomped up the rickety stairs, kicking the door in. Cletus jumped up from his recliner and reached for the shotgun next to him.
“Don’t fucking try it,” Mimic said right behind me.
Cletus’ face paled when he saw Mimic, and he gulped before looking at me.
“He isn’t the one you should be fucking scared of. He’s here to make sure I don’t end your worthless life.”
Twenty minutes later, I walked out of Cletus’ trailer, blood on my hands, feeling worse than when I went in. Cletus would be eating out of a straw for a while, but it didn’t make the ache I felt for Simon lessen.
And I knew it wouldn’t make Simon feel better. Beating the shit out of some redneck wouldn’t take away the fear he must have felt. The shame of having been sexually assaulted. Because that was what it fucking was.
He may not have put his hands in Simon’s pants; he didn’t even touch his ass or cup his dick, but what Nav described was fucking assault, and Cletus didn’t deserve to fucking live.
But Nav was right. I couldn’t kill him. I couldn’t defend Simon if I were in jail myself. Mimic assured me King would talk to Declan if Cletus tried to press charges. Indie was inside right now making sure that never fucking happened.
I climbed on my bike and rode back to Simon’s. I’d considered giving him space. Letting him have time alone to get over how pissed off he was at me. But now... fucking forget it.
I needed to hold him. I needed to feel him under me; make sure he was okay.