Chapter 13 Keeley
THIRTEEN
KEELEY
My sleep is shit. It’s been shit since I got here, but last night was the worst. I got maybe three hours of restless tossing and turning, so my head is foggy when I wake up.
It wasn’t Daniel’s death that kept me awake. It was how I reacted to it. It was… bizarre.
Cold even.
I keep waiting to feel something. Anger. Grief. A hint of devastation, but all I have is this hollow quiet sitting in my chest where I used to care for him.
That’s the part that bothers me. I don’t know what that means or what it makes me.
It feels… wrong, as if a part of my humanity got chipped away.
Why don’t I feel anything?
I should probably stay in my room today, do the whole grief thing like a normal person.
You know, sit on the bed, stare at the wall, cry.
Hide, so no one sees how fucking evil I am because the truth is I don’t care he’s dead.
Not even a little. Maybe there’s some part of me that regrets what could have been, but that’s it.
And it’s not normal to feel nothing.
Normal brothers don’t put their sisters up as collateral.
They don’t and I don’t know how to forgive him for that. I don’t think I can. Part of me is grateful he can’t hurt me or use me anymore.
Who the fuck is grateful someone’s dead?
How is this my life?
I can’t stay in this room. It already feels like the walls are closing in and if I don’t get up now, I’ll curl up in the bed and spiral. That’ll lead to another panic attack, and I can’t go through that again.
So I force myself to move. I go through my morning routine. Shower first. Dress in the clothes that appear at the end of the bed like magic. I skip the mystery pills today, since my hip pain is manageable.
Then I gravitate toward the bar on autopilot, like something is pulling me forward.
It is.
Him.
The only thing that seems to keep my brain from running off a cliff lately is Nic.
And that’s… a problem.
Not one I’m planning on addressing either. There are not enough hours in the day to dissect this… whatever it is.
As soon as I step through the door, my gaze sweeps the room automatically. It’s stupidly hopeful, embarrassing really how obvious I’m being, but I look for him anyway. I don’t even pretend I’m not. I’m too fucking exhausted to hide it.
I find Nic almost immediately. He’s impossible to miss, especially the way he’s leaning against the bar.
His back is to me, but it doesn’t matter that I can’t see his face.
My body relaxes at the sight of him standing there, huge and inked.
Steady and calm. Swallowing every particle of space around him.
Annoyingly him.
How is he built like an advert for sin while simultaneously calming every frantic thought in my head?
The way my pulse slows, my mind too—it’s tapped. But I unclench my jaw and loosen my grip on my cuffs.
Because he’s here.
Good. That’s really fucking good.
Yesterday, he told me Daniel was dead, like he expected me to break in half.
I didn’t.
I should’ve, but I didn’t. I thought he’d call me names, tell me I was rotten, but he just stayed with me, talking like he didn’t think my humanity had been scraped out of me.
If I close my eyes, I can feel Nic’s hand on my nape. How rough and warm his touch was, the way his thumb swept back and forth over my skin like a balm.
He pressed a kiss into my hair. It was a small, sweet thing. The kind of automatic gesture people make without thought or rationale. It was probably meaningless to him.
It should have been the same for me.
Except every time I think about it, traitorous flutters beat against my sternum.
Fantastic. My brother is dead, I’m emotionally a corpse, and I’m over here obsessing about a man kissing the top of my head.
I’m cooked.
So fucking cooked.
Something light sweeps through me when Nic laughs deep and gruff at something Riot says.
Oh. Yeah. I’m so aware of him, it’s embarrassing. Of all the things that have happened in the last few weeks, getting giddy over a biker was not on my bingo card.
Brilliant. This is fucking fabulous. What the hell is this stage of Stockholm Syndrome? Is it even still considered Stockholm Syndrome when I’m not really being held captive anymore?
The problem is he makes me feel safe, and that scares me more than whatever shit is coming for me.
Before he can turn around, something catches my eye. Dayna is on her feet, waving me over like she’s flagging down a taxi. I force myself to move toward the table where the women are gathered, rather than doing something stupid like drifting toward him.
That feels like progress. Maybe self-punishment.
I hover at the edge of the table, awkward and unsure if they actually want me here or if this is just polite tolerance.
Dayna answers that question by pushing out a chair for me and beaming.
Actually beaming.
In fact, the way they’re looking at me makes my shoulders bunch.
Is this a trap? It feels like a trap.
I sit anyway, tugging at the sleeve of my oversized hoodie. I flick a glance at Chloe without meaning to. She’s usually the one who looks ready to bite, but today she looks awkward. I don’t know what that means.
“So,” Dayna says far too casually. “You and prez. Spill.”
That’s—That’s not what I was expecting her to say. “Me and—No.” I blink, but the heat is already creeping up my neck. “What? There is no me and prez.”
Top of the head kiss…
I flush harder, even though it meant nothing. Not a thing. Just a reflex. He was comforting me. Nic’s been kind because he blames himself for me being in that cage.
That’s all.
There’s nothing going on between us. He’s just a bossy, annoying weirdo who monitors my food intake, my sleep schedule and—
Oh.
No.
Nah-ah. This is not that. I’m not the girl who gets chosen. Not by a man like him. He’s not picking me.
He brought you Chinese food, Keeley.
Yeah, but he probably does that for all his prisoners. I mean, guests. I’m not that special. It’s just food.
That he also plated for you and watched you eat.
I slam the door violently on that thought. I’m not going there.
“Come on,” Dayna draws out the words. “The second you walked in and saw him, you froze like someone unplugged you.” She leans in, eyes laser-focused on me and far too bright. “Don’t you dare sit there and act all innocent.”
Yeah, I did do that. I stood there like a doe-eyed idiot. I was just relieved to see him. That doesn’t mean anything.
I glance around at the other women, looking for backup, support, but I get none.
Yeah, because they all have eyes too, Keeley.
This is embarrassing. Note to self—no more gawking at the man like a love-struck teenager. You are a grown woman and do not have a captive-kink.
“You owe us this information,” Ivy agrees. “We’re bored. Give us something. I beg of you.”
“There’s nothing to give.”
“He watches you.”
I snap my gaze to Makenna. “He does not.” Yeah, he does and everyone around knows it. “He’s… just making sure I don’t leave—that’s all. He’s worried I might do a midnight flit.”
Maybe at first, but not now. Not since I promised I was staying. Not since the drinks and the late-night conversations. Not since I realised how bad this whole thing really is.
Maylie, who is officially now a traitor to the sisterhood, tosses me right into moving traffic without even looking up from Theo’s carrycot.
“He tracks you, honey, and not because he thinks you’re planning some great escape.” She shushes the baby when he fusses. “Every time you step into a room, his eyes go straight to you like he can’t breathe until he sees you. It’s adorable really.”
I nearly swallow my tongue. “He doesn’t track me.” I laugh, but it sounds thin and wrong. “That’s absurd.”
Is it though?
No matter where I am, his eyes always find mine. And he knows where I am. Always. I left the room yesterday, and he came looking for me right away, like I was a lost child that wandered off.
Then there’s the other stuff. The way he sat with me while I fell apart in the courtyard and calmed my breathing.
How he called the doctor for my hip.
It’s just care and misplaced responsibility—that’s all. There’s nothing else. Not on his side, anyway.
Which is what he said when I first got here. He felt responsible for me.
But it was before he called me sunshine. Before he said it soft, like he meant it. Before he promised nothing would happen to me like he was carving the vow into stone.
Why is my throat suddenly tight? The man pisses me off. Daily. And I’m pretty sure I drive him crazy.
They’re seeing things that just aren’t there.
Ivy grabs Seren’s hand before she can yank her hair. “He nearly snapped Nate’s wrist yesterday because he tried to get Nic’s attention while he was eyeballing you.” Ivy grins, as if this is evidence of some deep romantic entanglement between us.
I blink, but there’s a small flutter in my chest again. This time, it’s something dangerous.
Hope.
I can’t afford that. It’s too risky. It makes you believe things that aren’t possible and this? Yeah, not possible.
Nic and I are from completely different worlds. And when this is over? I’ll return to my nice, safe civilian life while he’ll go back to doing whatever his perfectly broad shoulders and ridiculously deep voice do on a day-to-day basis.
“He was probably just distracted,” I dismiss, even though my pulse is starting to stumble.
“He’s got a lot on his mind. A whole club to run.
” And then because I’ve had a lifetime of nothing good staying, I add, “I’m not even halfway up his list of priorities.
I make his life harder. I’m a… I’m a problem he’ll let go of as soon as he can. He should.”
The word lands heavier than I intend. I didn’t mean to sound so melodramatic.
The table goes silent and the air shifts. Maylie’s expression softens. Makenna looks annoyed on my behalf. Ivy looks sad. And Chloe—even she winces.
“You’re not a fucking problem,” Dayna says flatly. “And if you are, then all of us are.”
Maylie nods. “We’ve all been a problem at some point.” She says it proudly.