20. Riley
I barely takenote of the ornate surroundings we pass through as one of The Six’s attendants leads us out of Saraven. Earlier in the day, a small part of me had almost looked forward to coming before The Six again, if only because I wanted another chance to see that the connection I’m sure is there between Ayla and a few of the men—the one that gave me hope for the relationship I’m in now with the Reapers—is as solid as it seemed the first time they called us down here.
The minute Austin walked in the room, though, I forgot all about that, overcome with a sick shakiness that it took everything in me to hide from him.
Now, on our way out, all three of my men close ranks around me, and it helps. The minute we get outside though, with Austin and his entourage hot on our heels, I’m on edge again.
The club is neutral territory, but that doesn’t apply to the street in front of it.
“Easy, princess,” Dante murmurs, taking my arm and crowding even closer to me. “McKenna’s not that stupid.”
I give him a shaky smile, comforted by how easily Dante reads me even if I’m not sure I agree with him about Austin.
It’s true that no violence flared up between the two gangs once we left Saraven last time, but Austin’s cockier now. He’s gained power along with the money he stole from me, and he knows it. Hell, he practically flung it in The Six’s faces back there, the wins he’s got under his belt now obviously going to his head.
So it’s really not a surprise when he stops and blocks our way as soon as Saraven’s doors close behind us.
He smirks, his eyes seeking me out even as my men use their bulk to try to block his view.
“I’ve missed you, wifey,” he calls out, the faux endearment making bile rise in my throat. “But I’m glad to see you’ve still got a few mementos of our time together. I should’ve hit you harder, but don’t worry—I’ll have to be sure to give you a few more signs of my affection before those bruises fade completely.”
I lift my chin, refusing to let his taunting words get to me. It’s true that he did some damage with that beating, but Logan doctored every single markthe bastard left on me. They’re healing well, and none of them will be permanent—unlike the marks Logan has given me, the ones I bear proudly.
“You ever lay another hand on her, and I’ll cut it off,” Maddoc promises Austin grimly as all three of my men bristle around me, their bodies going tense and their hands twitching toward the weapons that it would be suicide to draw here.
Austin laughs, then lunges toward Maddoc only to stop short, a hairsbreadth in front of his face. “She’s my lawfully wedded wife. And after I pick apart your territory, piece by piece, I’ll do the same to her. It’s my right.”
“It’s your fucking death sentence,” Dante says as Maddoc stares Austin down, his hulking body poised for violence.
On my other side, Logan’s utter stillness promises the same thing, and I honestly don’t know if we’re going to walk away from this without any bloodshed, no matter how suicidal starting something right in front of The Six’s base of operations would be.
I also don’t know if I care.
I want Austin’s blood to spill.
I want to see it spread across the concrete, adding some fucking color to this dark, dangerous world.
The tension is so thick it’s almost choking, and for a moment, I picture it so clearly, exactly the way Dante described it to me when we spoke of his art, that I almost think it’s actually happened.
A sound escapes me, not anything more than a faint puff of breath, but it breaks the stare-off between Austin and Maddoc, drawing Austin’s eyes to me like a vulture to rotten flesh. His gaze turns lecherous, and he draws in a deep breath, like he’s some kind of feral animal on the hunt.
“Wifey.”
The bastard draws out the word like he can taste it, a sick hunger in his gaze, and Maddoc snaps, surging forward and slamming his body into Austin’s. Somehow, Maddoc has the control and presence of mind not to draw his weapons, and his seconds follow his lead. It’s still violent enough to send Austin stumbling backward, a look of unfiltered rage on his features as his men scramble out of the way, leaving him sprawled on his ass.
“She’ll never be that to you, no matter what a piece of paper says,” Maddoc says in a strained, raspy voice. Then he turns his back as Austin pushes himself back to his feet, cursing almost loud enough to drown out the pounding of my heart as it surges up into my throat.
“That’s your death warrant,” Austin hisses as Maddoc grabs my arm.
“We’re leaving, butterfly,” Maddoc says to me, ignoring West Point completely as he stalks toward the SUV.
Dante and Logan close ranks behind us, protecting our backs, but I’m shaking with adrenaline, shocked to my core when we actually make it to the vehicle without anyone getting a bullet in the back.
Maddoc doesn’t let go of me, sliding into the back seat with me as Dante takes the wheel. He doesn’t speak until the engine starts up, and when he finally does, it guts me.
“I fucking hate that he married you.”
I swallow hard, tears springing to my eyes, but I hold his gaze anyway and lift my chin, because we’ve already had the conversation about me doing whatever I needed to while I was West Point’s captive—including marry their bastard of a leader.
I’m sure Maddoc knew that’s what Austin was planning for me the second I agreed to go with him. After all, it’s exactly what the Reapers planned to do before Maddoc and his seconds had a change of heart.
But a part of me is still disgusted that I allowed myself to be tied to Austin like that, even though I had no choice. To my shame, I feel tears sting my eyes before I can actually answer Maddoc.
His gaze instantly softens, and he pulls me into his arms. “It doesn’t fucking matter, butterfly. You’re not his.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ll never be his.”
I just nod, but he doesn’t let go and I don’t move away, and we pass the rest of the ride in silence. Once we’re back at the house, Maddoc is still obviously in his head, sorting out his feelings, and after giving his seconds some quiet orders about things that they need to take care of tonight, everyone splits up.
Maddoc heads to his office, and I give him his space, needing a little bit of my own.
I thought I’d already come to terms with the darkness I discovered inside me here. I’ve even found a way to twist it into something good, something deep and true that I share with all these men, something that binds us all closer in three unique ways.
Tonight, with Austin’s eyes moving over my skin like acid, I realized there’s something deeper inside me. Something even darker. Tonight is the first time I wanted blood on my own hands, and it wasn’t even about how sickened I am by Austin’s fixation on me. It was the threat to my men. He was goading them, and if it had worked, if Austin had made the Reapers retaliate in front of Saraven, I have no doubt at all that The Six would have taken Maddoc, Dante, and Logan out without blinking an eye.
I wanted—I still want—to kill him for that.
Instead, I decide being alone with my dark thoughts isn’t any better for me than it was for Logan last night, and I go to Maddoc.
He’s in his office, his back to the door and his eyes locked onto the map he keeps on the wall, each gang’s territory clearly marked out and a series of notations covering Halston’s familiar streets to indicate allies, enemies, and other designations I don’t understand.
He doesn’t turn around when I enter, so I circle his desk and stand in front of him, the bloodlust inside me calming, receding, just by being in his presence.
This is what I need. The reminder that it’s not our enemies that matter, it’s the fierce, burning love I feel for these men.
“Butterfly,” Maddoc says, his voice stiff and raspy from disuse. He reaches for my hair, twining the long strands of purple and blue around his fingers. Then he tugs me toward him.
I go willingly, settling on his lap. “He can do it,” he says, his eyes moving past me to the map again. “He can take apart everything I built. Break up our territory, piece by fucking piece.”
“You built it piece by fucking piece,” I remind him, cupping his jaw and bringing his eyes back to mine. “He can’t take anything apart that really matters.”
A flash of anger surges across his face. “You’re saying my territory doesn’t matter? The gang I fucking bled for? The Reapers don’t matter?”
“No. Never. I’m saying the opposite. The Reapers are the only thing that matters, but the Reapers aren’t your territory, Maddoc. The Reapers are your people. Buildings are replaceable. People aren’t. That’s what he doesn’t understand. He’ll blow that money and he’ll cause some damage, but you’ve got to play the long game. If you need to give up territory to keep the Reapers safe, you should do it, because he can’t break that. He can’t take it apart. They’re loyal to you, not to the streets you’ve claimed.”
He stares at me long and hard, his arms locked around my body like a vise. Then he lets out an explosive breath, some of the tension draining out of him.
He leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. “Where the fuck did you come from, butterfly?”
I twine my arms around his neck. “The real question is ‘where am I going,’ and you already know the answer to that.”
“No fucking where.”
I nod, repeating it like a promise. “No fucking where. You’re my territory. And I’m yours. The only thing that’s important is that we both, that all of us, live to fight another day.”
It’s always been my motto. It’s how I survived. How I built a life for Chloe. How I made it through my captivity and how I’m going to make sure that my men and I make it through this shit storm, whatever McKenna throws at us.
Maddoc’s eyes drift back to the map, and I can see that he’s still feeling tortured by what’s about to come at us. He’s a powerful man, and it must be hell for him to realize that, in one area at least, McKenna truly does have more power than he does right now.
Still, my words seem to have bolstered him a little bit, and it helps ease the ache in my heart from all the weight he carries.
“Promise me you’ll do that,” I whisper, drawing his attention again. “Promise me that no matter what, you’ll live to fight another day. That you’ll be here for me, and for your brothers, and the Reapers. We need you. You’re an amazing leader to your people, and I—”
My voice cracks, but he already knows.
“I promise,” he rasps, burying his face in my hair and breathing me in. He squeezes me tight enough to make my ribs ache, and he doesn’t let up, not for a long, long time.
And I don’t want him to.
I’ll always be willing to hurt for this man, and nothing on this earth will ever make me want him to let go.