Chapter 4 #2
The question slips out before I can think about the consequences of asking it. “Are you guys here because you want to be, or are you kidnap victims too?”
Dayna snorts so hard she has to hold her belly. “No. Though if you asked my mother, she’d say Rhys’s huge dick brainwashed me into joining a bike cult.”
Oh.
That wasn’t what I expected her to say. I snort the most indelicate sound I’ve ever made. I can’t help myself. That was funny and fuck, it feels good to laugh even for a second.
Maylie sighs. “I swear if my child’s first word is a curse, I’m going to murder you all.”
“Please,” Dayna waves her off like she’s being dramatic. “Theo’s barely five minutes old. He’s not learning F-bombs. He’s still trying to figure out how to shit without turning purple.”
Maylie shoots her a glare but smiles at me. “We’re here because we want to be, Keeley.”
“The guys take care of us,” Dayna agrees. “They protect us.”
“We’re loved,” Maylie finishes.
Hmm. That’s precisely what someone in a cult would say. If they start finishing each other’s sentences, I’m looking for a window.
“Becoming a mother has made you soppy.” Dayna nudges Maylie’s shoulder. She’s scowling, but I see the hint of a smile beneath it.
“Has not.”
I narrow my gaze at them. They’re laughing. They’re not asking for help. They’re not screaming in panic.
This is… weird. I don’t get it.
They’re really not being held here. Huh.
I glance between them. “So you’re dating the guys?” I ask over their bickering.
I almost ask if anyone’s dating Nic. You don’t need to know if your jailer is single, Keeley.
“Well, not all of them,” Dayna grins. “I’m with Rhys—Dash, as everyone else calls him.” She leans in and stage-whispers. “I got pregnant after a one-night stand and he’s so obsessed with me he just never let me leave.”
Definitely cult vibes.
“That one-night stand brings you snacks,” Maylie points out. “You don’t want to leave.”
Dayna smiles at Maylie. “He does. That’s my favourite thing about him. That and the sex.” I blink, but she surges on valiantly. “You’ll get used to the guys. They’re overbearing, but they’re good men.”
Now I know they’re deluded. No one would call my brother a good man. “Do you know Daniel?”
The women exchange a glance I recognise far too well. Everyone gets that look when it comes to Daniel.
“Blade? Yeah.” Maylie doesn’t say unfortunately, but I hear it anyway or maybe I think it myself.
“Whatever he did to you, I’m sorry,” I murmur, wiping the water trailing down the side of the bottle where it’s sweating. “He has form for being a dick.”
I don’t look at them when I say that, but I hear them shift a little.
“You’re not him,” Dayna says. “I mean, you’re prettier for a start.”
I huff a laugh. “No, but that’s never mattered before. That I’m not him, I mean. People assume we’re the same. Same parents, same upbringing. Wildly different lives.”
“If I was judged by my family, I’d be screwed.” Dayna’s perched against the edge of the table behind her, easy, like we’re talking about the weather. “My mother is… well… pretentious is the polite term, I guess. I prefer cunt.”
“Dayna!” Maylie hisses, covering one of Theo’s ears.
“Sorry.” She winces. “I forget we’re PG-rated around here these days. Is it true he locked you in a cage?”
Oh, fuck. Yeah, that last part was for me.
The cage. Right. Trauma digging before breakfast—my favourite.
“You don’t have to answer.” Maylie gives Dayna a pointed look.
“It’s fine,” I say. It’s not. The usual sarcasm I reach for like a shield is already bubbling up. I swallow it down. “Sadly, that cage wasn’t even my worst vacation.”
The other women are watching this interaction from across the room, ready to step in if I so much as twitch at Maylie or Dayna.
I’m the thing they fear. Not the men in denim and leather. Not the locked doors. But a ridiculous five-foot-four woman in oversized clothes.
Because I’m Daniel’s sister. Because whatever he did here was bad enough to make them fear him. I’m not responsible for my brother’s shitty decisions, but somehow I always end up apologising for him.
“We’ve all got shitty families, Keeley,” she says. “Or we came from bad situations. You’ll fit right in.”
Yeah… No. I don’t want to fit in. As soon as this mess is cleaned up, I’m going back to my life, and I’m finishing that fucking ice cream.
“I’m not planning on staying,” I say slowly.
“Neither was I,” Dayna says brightly. “But here we are. Pregnant, hoarding snacks and getting railed every night.”
She just says whatever is in her head.
It’s refreshing and definitely awkward.
Something warm spreads along my spine. I turn, sensing him before I see him.
Phoenix. Nic…
He bends the room around him like he owns it. I don’t know how he does it. There’s something in the way he carries himself, like he knows exactly who he is and how much space he needs.
It’s not fair. No one should be that confident.
Or charming.
Or attractive.
No, we are not dancing with that side order of crazy today. Or ever. Nic might talk about safety and care, but he’s still locking the door behind me. That’s not protection. That’s a cage with different bars.
I sit up straighter when his eyes lock on mine. I try to read the mood and gauge what’s coming next, but Nic’s shoulders are loose as he crosses the room.
Mine are not.
I’m tighter than a wire.
“He’s one of the good guys,” Dayna says, following my line of sight. “All bark and bite, but only at the right people.”
I don’t get a chance to ask who the right people are because he’s suddenly at my side, and the girls melt away as if they were never here.
Traitors.
I force stillness into my body, even though my pulse is stuttering.
Don’t let him see anything. Nothing that can be used against you.
I’m pretty sure I fail on all accounts because when he drags his gaze over me, I feel like he’s seeing all my emotions. Fear. Tension. Uncertainty. Awareness. A vague attraction that needs therapy.
His gaze isn’t lewd or creepy—fuck no—but it is an assessment. It’s also intense, like he’s logging every micro-expression, tight muscle, and looking for new scars.
No bruises there Nic, just a gross hangover and a lesson I didn’t know I needed to learn.
Whisky is not something you drink to get buzzed. It is not to be chugged. And it certainly is not what you drink when you’re meant to be plotting a way out.
Or after being drugged and potentially concussed.
At least it dulled my pain for a while. That ache in my hip is getting louder and my face is starting to throb.
I wonder if I can request another bottle for this afternoon. Maybe if I call it medicinal…
I realise he’s still staring at me, his stupid face trying to soften so he doesn’t look like a giant murder-biker.
He’s failing. Spectacularly.
I should feel unsettled by his attention. And I do. Obviously I do. I don’t need this terrifying, mountainous man’s attention landing anywhere near me. Not now, not ever.
The problem is, there’s something else tangled up in all of this, something confusing that I don’t want to think too deeply about.
Mostly because it’s ridiculous.
I’ve had the most traumatic week of my life and I am not latching onto the first person who shows me any form of decency.
I also have to remember these people aren’t my friends and Nic’s not keeping me here out of the goodness of his heart. I just… don’t know what his angle is yet.
I glare at Nic. Hard. But he keeps his expression non-threatening.
Look at him being the bigger person. I hate him for that too.
Finally, he stops scanning me like a barcode, and my shoulders start to inch down.
Until he speaks. “You sleep okay?”
I blink. That was not what I was expecting him to ask and I’m not sure why it throws me so much, but it does. “Uh… yeah,” I say cautiously. “Thanks for the clothes.”
I rub my arms as goosebumps rise along my skin. He notices. Of course he fucking does. The man sees everything. He’s like a denim-wearing clairvoyant.
Without a word, he shrugs out of his leather vest and drapes it over the back of the chair.
All thoughts evaporate.
Because for a brief moment I forgot this isn’t a story where the main character gets a happy ending.
This is real life.
I’m a prisoner in a biker clubhouse. I’m surrounded by men who could subdue me with their little finger and I don’t have the first clue what they’re planning to do to me.
Nic’s been good so far. The girls I’ve met have been funny and kind. But this isn’t my world or my rules. It’s theirs and I don’t have any power here.
So the moment he tears his hoodie over his head, my muscles lock tight and I take a ragged, panicked breath.
This is where the nice guy act drops. This is where everything changes.
But—
He just… offers it to me.
My brain short circuits. There’s nothing but static and a blue screen.
Nic frowns, and glances at the fabric he’s clutching, then back at me. His entire face drops as he realises where my head has gone. “Keeley, look at me.”
I do, but only because he has that stupid commanding tone in his voice and I’m terrified of disobeying him. His expression is hard, but not at me—at least, I don’t think so.
I grip the edge of the chair as he crouches down, purposefully making himself smaller.
“I need you to hear this.” He pauses, giving me a second to breathe, or maybe himself. “No one’s gonna fuckin’ touch you. Not under my roof. Not like that.”
I bite my lip mostly so I don’t say anything stupid. “Okay.”
“I mean it,” he says. “Won’t happen.”
I stare at him, waiting for him to blink first. He doesn’t. He’s just steady and controlled, which pisses me off.
It makes him harder to read, but not impossible. I’m pretty good at spotting lies and feeling out liars. I’ve had a lifetime of experience.
I don’t get that from him. I don’t feel like he’s spinning a yarn or telling tales.
Maybe he’s a fantastic actor, and I’m an idiot for believing a single word that comes out of his mouth, but I don’t think so.
I don’t get the sense he’s playing games.
That doesn’t mean I trust him. Not yet. He’ll need to earn that.
For now, he’s not my enemy and he didn’t take that hoodie off to hurt me.
I exhale slowly, heat creeping up my neck. “Sorry. My nerves are shot. I didn’t mean to imply… you know?”
He offers me the hoodie again. This time, I take it from him. It’s just fabric, not a death sentence.
“Don’t apologise for bein’ afraid. Not after what you’ve been through.” He pulls his leather vest on over his t-shirt and takes the chair opposite me. “You’re cold. Put it on.”
I stare down at it, the dark material pooled in my lap. It’s just a hoodie, so why does it feel like I’m accepting something bigger?
Nic’s eyes don’t leave my face as I fumble to pull it on.
It’s warm and soft. I nearly moan as it settles over my shoulders.
I don’t care that it drowns me. I sink into the material and try not to focus on how good it smells.
There’s the faint trace of soap powder hidden under whatever aftershave he uses.
It’s nice. More than nice. I have to stop myself from sniffing like a deranged bloodhound.
“Thanks.”
He watches me for a beat, then he says, “I’m not your brother, Keeley.”
I fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie. “Yeah, I’m seeing that,” I admit.
“Blade ain’t a part of this club. Not anymore.”
That surprises me. Not that my brother got kicked out—Daniel always burns bridges wherever he goes—but because he was wearing his club vest thing the last time I saw him.
What the hell changed?
“What did he do?”
Nic leans back in the chair, everything about his stance easy, apart from the tightness around his eyes. “You already assume he was at fault.”
“Because I know my brother.” My tone is dry. “So? What was it? Did he steal from you? Run up debts? Take your wife?”
Why did I ask that? I don’t fucking care if he’s married. Captor, remember?
My gaze flicks at him for a second, watching. Waiting. There’s no reaction.
Hmm. Interesting.
“He betrayed the patch.”
I don’t know shit about motorcycle clubs, but that sounds serious. “So he, what? Got kicked off the island?”
He doesn’t laugh. “Doesn’t matter what happened. He ain’t a problem.”
I frown at him. Nic keeps saying that, but what does it mean? How is he not a problem? Daniel existing makes him a problem by default.
“Oh, he’s absolutely a problem.”
“I don’t care about Blade,” Nic says.
That makes two of us.
I glance down at my hands, swamped by the fabric of his hoodie. “What am I doing here, Nic? Why are you helping me if my brother’s such a prick? And don’t say because you need me to figure out what he’s involved in. You could do that without me.”
His fingers glide back and forth over the table for a few seconds before he answers. “Blade was a problem that I didn’t move fast enough to stop. That’s why you were in that cage, Keeley. ‘Cause I was too slow to act. That’s on me.”
I frown at him. That’s a lot of weight for one man to carry, especially when it’s not even his load.
“So you feel responsible? Is that it?” I push my hair back from my face. “You couldn’t have known what he was going to do. I didn’t even know.”
“Knew he was doin’ shady shit behind the club’s back.” His eyes tighten just enough to let me know he’s affected by this more than he’s letting on. The part of me who naturally comforts people when they’re hurt, almost reaches for him. Almost.
“You’re not Blade,” he continues, “and you shouldn’t be payin’ for his shit. So until this is over, you’re under my protection.”
He says it like it’s nothing, but my heart is pounding in my chest for two reasons.
One: because he thinks I need protection from whatever my brother’s doing.
And two: because he’s made me his problem.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not, but being protected by Nic feels like stepping over a line I didn’t realise was there.
And I’m not sure which side I’m standing on.