Chapter 17
Seventeen
Hella
Ifollow Melissa back into the clubhouse after Yana takes the girls back to her place.
“You gonna deal with that mess?” Ripper jerks his chin toward Melissa, who has likely consumed enough booze to stock her own distillery.
Beast raises his brows at me in question.
I exhale, pushing off the chair.
“Yeah, you better,” Beast yells from his spot. “It's your fucking fault to begin with,” he adds before returning to Ripper to talk about cleaning up the dead body Layla created.
I flip him off and walk toward the bar. Melissa shuffles off the stool, tapping Nyx's shoulder. I narrow my eyes at him. The fucker hasn't stuck to staying away from her, but I've eased up. He's good, and she needs someone while Yana's with Beast and Jada's working.
She spins around, her body colliding with mine. Her gaze drags from my boots to my face, and her shoulders drop as a breath escapes her lips.
“Well, this is a complete case of déjà vu,” she slurs, white blonde strands falling over her shoulder.
Her palms press against my chest before sliding away, fingers limp.
Her eyelids flutter, struggling against gravity.
“Get outta my way, Hella.” The words tumble out flat.
No spark, no venom. Just hollow exhaustion where her usual flame should burn.
She shuffles past me toward the door, each step unsteady.
Our fingers intertwine, rough against smooth. “Come on, I'll take you home.”
Her words slur into nonsense as her eyelids drop and her body goes limp. “Whoa!” I catch her, one arm around her waist, the other under her knees. She feels light against my chest.
My eyes squeeze shut, teeth grinding. “Fuck.”
Beast and Ripper's boots thud across the floorboards toward me. “I'll drive the van. We'll take her home.”
I nod, swallowing past whatever the fuck it is that’s making me hesitate. “Yeah, good idea.”
We push through the front door of Jada’s.
Yana's body jerks upright from the sofa, her shoulders squaring as her eyes lock onto Melissa's limp form in my arms. I brush past her without a glance, boots heavy on each step.
The first bedroom door swings open. Clothes scattered like breadcrumbs across the hardwood, and a single bed pushed against the far wall.
As soon as I hit the bedroom, I pull back the covers and place her down on the bed. Her blonde hair fans across the pillow, and my hands hover over her face, uncertain.
I should leave now.
I should stay.
Her peaceful face draws me in, softening something jagged inside me, but the thought of changing her out of those clothes makes my fingers curl into fists at my sides.
I've killed men without hesitation, yet this simple act of care feels dangerous, forbidden.
The fabric is wrinkled and twisted from the night's events, and she'd probably sleep more comfortably in something loose.
But then reality kicks in, and I figure she'd probably lose her absolute shit if she woke up and realized I had stripped her down while she was unconscious.
My jaw clenches as I remember the fire that blazes in her eyes when she's pissed off, the way her cheeks flush when she’s jealous. Then I think about how fucking hot she is when she's mad, all that passion and fury radiating from her petite frame. I second-guess myself for a beat.
She stirs, and my body locks in place. “No, no,” she mutters, her head thrashing against the pillow. “Fuck off.” The words spill from her lips.
Every single hair on my skin prickles. Her fingers claw at the sheets, twisting the fabric between white knuckles.
“Eddy!” she pleads, and my hands shake as I force them to stay at my sides instead of grabbing her shoulders. “Cheers, geek,” she murmurs, her body finally stilling as sleep reclaims her.
My fingers loosen from the grip I had on her blanket, and I bring my fist to my mouth, biting down.
What the hell kind of nightmare was that?
Pacing up and down the side of the bed, I think about what I should do.
Eddy. Who the fuck is Eddy? I pause. I know I can't wake her.
She looks so damn fragile lying there. I need answers, but not like this.
I'll get whatever I need out of her one way or another, if I decide to make her issues my own, that is.
I head down the stairs, my mind still replaying what just happened.
“She's asleep,” I say, reaching the living room.
Yana shifts on the sofa, brows pulled in. “Is she alright? I heard her moving around up there.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, trying to sound more confident than I feel, even though I’ll hear her voice for a lifetime. “Just a nightmare or something.”
“Sudden change of heart?” She baits me, brow arched as if she were watching my expression more than my words. There's a hint of judgment in her tone, like she's been waiting for me to reveal my true motives all along.
My eyes meet hers, a deliberate smile spreading across my face as I fall back into familiar territory.
“Heart was never in this equation, sweetheart. More like, sudden change of cock.” The crude words come easily, my default shield when things get too real.
But even as I say it, I know something's shifted inside me, and it's nothing I'm ready to face.
“Alright.” Layla pulls herself up from the couch, her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin.
“Come on, you. Time to take me home.” She saunters over to me with that familiar swagger, hips swaying in a practiced rhythm, and grips onto my arm.
Her fingers curl into my biceps the way they always do.
Possessive, suggestive. But my body tenses beneath her touch.
The fuck? My body has never tensed around Layla. Not once in all the times we've been together. Her hand on my skin has always been an automatic green light, a direct line to my cock. But tonight, it feels like an intrusion, like something foreign against my skin.
Layla catches it immediately. She's always been perceptive in that way. A flicker of confusion crosses her face before she masks it. She pulls away and walks back to Yana, her boots clicking against the hardwood floor.
She pulls Yana in for a hug, arms wrapping around her with genuine warmth. “Thank you so much for tonight,” she says, voice softer than the one she uses with me.
"No problem," Yana replies, squeezing back. Their easy friendship strikes me as something I've never understood. How adaptable women are. Men could never.
I lead both girls back outside, the night air hitting my face with a welcome chill.
They climb into the van, and Layla adjusts herself before looking toward me through the open passenger window, her eyes glinting in the darkness with an invitation I've never declined before.
“You need calming down tonight? I could go for a round,” she adds with a smile that knows precisely what it's offering, pushing in her seatbelt with a decisive click. Her fingers linger on the buckle, tracing it suggestively as she waits for my answer.
I chuckle before shaking my head, my eyes looking out toward the shadows of the night. “Nah, babe. I'm good.”
She stares, shocked. I've never turned Layla down. The girl can fuck with a capital F. But her hand on my arm so soon after I had Melissa in them feels off.
I need to pull myself together. There's no way I can bring Melissa into this fucked-up life. I've put her through enough.
The next day, we're cramming duffel bags with gear, weapons clicking against metal as we prep for a quick run further up north for a lead on Candle.
I throw the last of the bags into the back of the van and fish my ringing phone out of my pocket.
“Yo.”
“Be careful,” Jada's voice drops to a whisper through the phone, her breath catching. “I mean it, Hux. Garret needs you. I need you.”
I smile, shutting the door. “Put the kid on the phone.”
“He's busy.”
“What do you mean 'busy'? Put him on.”
“Him and Melissa are playing COD.”
My jaw clenches at how close this girl is getting to people I care about. “Just put him on, Jada.”
She sighs before yelling out to him.
He answers. “'Sup?”
“Little man,” I tell him. “Watch out for your mama when I'm gone.”
“Yes, sir!”
“You remember the plan if anything happens to me?”
“Cash is buried 5X, 2Y, take mum and go.”
He repeats the coordinates I set out for him. I've had this plan of action ready for him and Jada since he was a baby.
“You got that, kid. Can you do something extra for me?”
“Yeah...?” he answers suspiciously, his voice carrying a hint of caution that reminds me how quickly he's growing up, learning to read between the lines just like I taught him.
“If Melissa is there, make sure she gets home too, okay?” I keep my voice steady, casual, though my knuckles whiten around the phone. She doesn't need to get caught up in our mess if things go sideways.
“But you're coming back, right?” he asks, the slight waver in his voice betraying his practiced toughness. For all his bravado, he's still just a kid who's seen too much loss already.
I smile, leaning against the van's cold metal, with the weight of my gun pressed at my side. It’s a constant reminder of the life we live. “Of course. Can't get rid of me that easy. I've survived worse odds than this, little man. See you later, kid.”
“Later, Uncle Hux,” he replies, his voice brightening just enough to tell me he believes me, or at least wants to. That faith alone is enough to make me twice as careful with whatever's waiting for us tonight.
Shutting my phone, we walk into the clubhouse for a final round-up. A few prospects nod respectfully as we pass, their eyes quickly returning to the floor. Tonight's not just another night, and everyone can feel the tension hanging in the air.
When I walk into the boardroom, Beast is on the phone, his massive frame hunched over the old table that's seen decades of club business.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he mutters, watching me while I settle into my usual chair.
“Yeah, seems fair.” His thick fingers drum against the scarred tabletop, then stop abruptly when he notices me noticing.
He clears his throat. “Need me to sort that out with Asha?” he adds, tilting his head.
For just a second, I catch a glimpse of the boy he must have been once, worried about doing the right thing.
“She knows, and she wants to go instead of Layla, so I don't think you have much convincing to do.
She'll do anything for her sister, Tiny.”
He listens for a moment, expression darkening as he processes whatever's being said on the other end. "Alright, let me know if you need any help," he says before hanging up and tossing the phone onto the table with a clatter echoing through the nearly empty room.
I flick my fingers toward it, settling deeper into my chair. Beast's jaw tenses, the muscle jumping beneath stubbled skin. “He pissed?”
“Not really, but his dick is doing the thinking for him. He sees this as his in with Asha. Good luck to fucking him. The girl is a banshee.”
My laugh echoes off the empty walls as I pull out my seat.
The other brothers' voices drift from outside where they're organizing the van.
I fish out a joint, flame dancing as I light it, the familiar burn filling my lungs.
“Remember that time you made it rain blood at that underground poker ring for Vanguard?” The joint passes from my fingers to his.
His shoulders drop slightly, the same ritual we perform before every big hit.
He sighs. “Yeah, I remember. There's something I didn't tell you about that hit.” He hands me back the joint, exhaling out a thick cloud of smoke.
“Yeah?” I ask, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. My fingers dance along the edge of the table as I study his face for clues. “What's that? You've never held anything back about a job before.”
He rests his elbows on the table. “There was a little girl there. I let her live.”
A loud cough ripples through my chest, and it wasn't from the ganja. “What the fuck! Why?”
He shrugs. “I don't fucking know. She would have been no older than four, Hella. I couldn't fucking do it. She was clutching this little fucking brown and pink bear, I just couldn't.”
I sigh, leaning back into my seat. “You know, back then, I would have had no issue with ending her. But now that I have Garret? There's no way, man. It shows how much living in that fucked-up life messed with our heads.”
Beast agrees. “Exactly, and that's why we're going in deep today.”