Chapter 6
Onyx
The moment the door closes behind me, everything I held back inside that cabin finally surges to the surface.
I hesitate before I step off her porch, torn between leaving and running back to her.
Inside, I’d been too focused on holding my shit together and saying what she needed to hear, to allow myself to feel my fucking feelings.
Now I’m alone, the rage comes flooding back.
I can’t believe that asshole forced his way into her home and terrorized her.
In his panic to hide from the cops, he intruded into her life, crossed boundaries, broke the law, and stole away a piece of her innocence and trust in the world.
That’s an unforgivable transgression. And no matter how long I have to wait or what I have to do, I’m gonna make sure he fuckin’ regrets it.
I drag a hand over my face and take a deep breath as I step off the porch and start walking back towards the clubhouse.
Images rise in my mind of her pressed into that corner. The way she kept her arms around her cat even when she was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself together.
It hits me again how easily he could have ended up harming or even killing her. The guy was batshit crazy. I could tell that much by looking into his eyes. His gaze was cold and calculating. Something about him creeped me the fuck out. He had that serial killer vibe about him.
I glance over my shoulder at her cabin. Its windows now have that familiar soft glow around the edges, and Frisky is back in his rightful position keeping watch on his territory. He’s looking right at me, like I maybe shouldn’t have left.
I left because she didn’t ask me to stay. She is safe now and doesn’t need me smothering her.
I stuff my hands into my pockets and keep moving to stay warm. If Emily only knew how often I ride by to check on her, she’d probably call me her stalker. It started as simple passes on patrol nights, but somewhere along the way I began slowing down just to see if her porch light was on.
Salting her driveway on snowy days became routine because the thought of her slipping on ice when I could do something to prevent it seemed wrong. It fell in the category of doing good deeds. I restock her firewood when the stack dips too low because I need to know she’s always warm.
I know everything about her property because I visited there so often as a kid.
Since her grandfather passed away, she has no one.
I fill the void, quietly, while she’s not looking.
My caretaking has slowly turned into a minor obsession.
I pay attention to everything that has to do with Emily.
I know she works from home, but she goes to town on the first and third Mondays of every month, when everyone else is at work.
She does her shopping and such on Mondays because she’s convinced it helps her avoid not only crowds but traffic too.
I know what kind of soda she drinks, where she gets her hair cut and which friends she likes to have lunch with.
I know all about the daily rhythm of her life.
That means that I can tell immediately when something isn’t right.
I know somewhere along the line friendship turned into love. At least for me. But I’m not an asshole. I know Emily has only ever seen me like a friend, or maybe a brother, so I’m not gonna ruin what we have.
By the time I reach the back gate of the clubhouse, clouds are gathering overhead. I open the latch and step through. Before I can make it to the clubhouse, Mica steps out from behind the corner of the tool shed. As I approach, he searches my face.
I jerk my chin at him, “Did you see to the dogs?”
“They’re kenneled.” He falls into step at my side. “How’s Emily?”
“Shaken up. But she’ll be okay.”
“Wanna tell me what got into you back there? You tore that man apart. By the time I broke it up, he was having a hard time breathing,” he says, voice even. “I think you broke his goddamn nose and cracked some ribs. Damn bro, you whaled on him long after he stopped fighting back.”
I try to brush it off. “That bastard deserved what he got and then some.”
Mica’s eyebrows fly up. He steps closer, his expression too damn perceptive to suit me. “If I hadn’t pulled you off him, would you have stopped?”
I feel the denial rise in my throat out of instinct, but lying when we both know better feels pointless.
Whatever expression crosses my face must give me away, because Mica says, “Fuckin’ hell, brother. You would have beat that stupid asshole to death.”
I stop short in front of him. “You seem to be forgetting the part about him deserving it.”
“I didn’t forget shit. Emily was scared but he didn’t physically harm her. He was totally in the wrong, but do you really think he deserved to die?”
I look away, my jaw tightening. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes. That fucker is serial killer crazy.”
“Says you,” my brother shoots back hotly. “Dad didn’t raise stone cold killers, Onyx.” He lets the words settle a beat before adding, “Maybe think about what you’re doing before you end up crossing the line.”
Discomfort twists in my chest, because he ain’t wrong. I did lose my shit on that fancy-ass intruder. “He’s on the run from the fucking law. He might have killed his girlfriend. You want an asshole like that terrorizing Em? Does that shit sit right with you?”
Mica studies me one more moment, then responds grimly, “No, of course it doesn’t.
But we don’t do vigilante justice in this club.
You know that. If you want to kill someone, that’s a group decision and handled with care so there’s no blowback.
I know you have a thing for her, but don’t let that cloud your judgment. ”
I give him my best dead-eyed stare. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Mica just glares back. I thought I was being subtle with me watching over Emily, but it looks like my brother figured me out. I get defensive. “Are you trying’ to get me to beat your ass today? ‘Cause that’s what this is starting to sound like.”
“Just don’t want you making mistakes you can’t come back from,” he mutters.
“I don’t fuckin’ need remedial classes in being a club officer. Stop being an annoying little prick and get out of my face.”
I stomp off deciding I need to do something with my excess energy and irritation.
I remember climbing over Emily’s woodpile to get to the window when I rescued her. She had barely any wood left. Maybe four or five pieces. Not enough for a long night, especially after the day she just lived. She needs to be safe and warm until she can deal with what happened.
I grab my axe from its hook, the familiar weight reminding me that I’m about to have a good upper body workout. I give it a little swing, enjoying the way it feels in my hand. I take my truck and drive out to the clearing where we keep the logs we cut for winter.
I haul several rounds to the chopping block and set the first one upright.
The blade sinks cleanly into the oak with the first swing, splitting the log into two heavy halves.
The impact vibrates up my arms, helping to release some of the frustration.
I fall into a rhythm of swinging and splitting.
The sound of wood cracking open echoes through the clearing.
Sweat gathers at the back of my neck despite the cold.
When I finish splitting the last round, I load the pieces into the truck bed, stacking them in an even row. Resting my palms on the tailgate for a moment, I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with the cool winter air, then I drive off.
When I pull up at her cabin, the outside light is glowing softly. I always liked her grandfather’s small cabin. It’s rough and cozy.
I park beneath the pines and kill the engine, then step into the cold air.
I take an armful of firewood from the truck to her back porch.
The boards creak lightly under my boots, like they always did.
I stack the logs neatly where she keeps them, careful not to make more noise than necessary.
I don’t want to scare her, but I couldn’t call in advance seeing as that asshole broke her phone.
Neither do I want to knock on her door and freak her out.
Fuck.
Maybe I should have thought this through?
I straighten after laying down the last load and look towards the door.
I can see her moving around inside, so she’s still awake.
I could leave now. She would find the wood in the morning, know exactly who put it there, and probably shake her head at me like she always does on those rare occasions when she notices I did something nice for her.
But the thought of walking away without hearing her voice or seeing her face again bothers me.
Maybe it’s like my mom says, and I really am a decent man with empathy and all that shit.
I stand there for a long moment with the cold sinking into my jacket and the scent of fresh-cut oak lingering in the air. I try to convince myself that leaving is the respectful choice, that she needs rest. But the truth is simple. I want to make sure she’s okay. So, I lift my hand and knock.
“It’s me,” I call out.
I barely lower my hand again when the door opens.
Emily is standing there wrapped in a thick blanket that drapes around her shoulders and falls almost to her knees.
Her hair is gathered loosely like she ran her fingers through it instead of brushing it, and there is a worn edge to her expression that wasn’t there when I left earlier.
“Wow, two visits in one day. This must be what hitting the lottery feels like.”
I chuckle at her lackluster attempt at humor because maybe it is all she can muster on a day like this.
Her attention shifts to the stack of firewood on the porch. She takes in the neat row of freshly split pieces, and her expression softens into gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice steadier than I expected. “Thanks.”