Chapter 11
BELL
A roar lurches from Kit as he throws his phone across the room, and I don’t even get a chance to hear it hit anything or clatter to the ground before he has his laptop in hand, throwing it too.
Scurrying from my chair, a flashback slams into me of my father throwing his dinner plate across the room, sending food everywhere when he didn’t like the taste of what my mother and I had prepared for him.
Air gets trapped in my lungs as he charges for me, and I brace myself knowing how badly his fists hurt, but the blow never lands. Not on me, because my mum leaps in front of me, taking each hit so I don’t have to.
“Grab him!”
The bellow of a male voice shatters my memory, bringing me back to the present, and I find myself flush up against the wall, just like when I was little.
“Stop, Kit!” Wes yells, trying to leap on Kit’s back, but the next thing to go is the dining table, the whole thing flipping to its side as he completely trashes the place.
My hands wrap around my throat as more air gets trapped in my lungs, and I know I’m not back there in that house with my parents, but I can’t seem to shake the familiar feeling of terror.
The Red Belly Team works together to try to stop Kit from hurting himself, or anyone else, but I can’t focus on him or the room we are in. Not when flashes of that shitty little kitchen with doors hanging off the hinges and the constant smell of stale cigarette smoke keep flashing before me.
Fuck, Bell. Calm down. Don’t let him win.
All the self-talk in the world can’t stop this from happening though. It’s been years since I’ve been hurtled into a flashback panic attack, and I already know I’m too far gone.
Tears blur my vision making it hard to see, and my hearing is a combination of my pulse, and the numerous men yelling, but I manage to stagger to the door, feeling my stomach roll as I dart towards the powder room in the hall.
A loud gagging sob lurches from me as my hand wraps around the handle, and I only just manage to get the fucking thing open before the first waterfall spews from me, right into the toilet.
I’m sobbing as I purge, choking, not able to breathe, and I’m so sure that this time, I really am going to die.
It’s different during sex. I get the high that comes with it. The pain and pleasure blend, but there’s nothing about this that feels good.
It’s pure torture.
A warm hand comes to my back, rubbing it, before a deep gravelly voice murmurs next to my ear.
“You’re alright. You’re safe.”
I don’t recognise the voice, but his touch, and his words, somehow help the panic to recede, and I stop choking on my own damn vomit.
“That’s it,” he says with the same rough but certain tone. “Focus on my voice. There’s nothing here that will hurt you.”
I do focus on his voice, his words having enough weight to start to calm me. Even my purging eases as the room stops spinning and my body becomes my own again.
My hearing returns slowly as I expel one last time, my fingers white knuckling the toilet seat, and I pant, taking a moment to rest my head on my arm as I fully slump to the tiled floor.
There’s no more shouting, but a little yelling, which is when I hear Kit’s voice.
“Snake has her! He killed Carlos and said he’s fucking keeping my little girl!”
Curses ring out, and I realise they are all coming from the hallway. Right outside the door. The fucking open door.
A handful of toilet paper appears in my vision, and I take it, wiping my mouth, before tossing it in and reaching up to flush all that vileness away.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Wes snaps. “Snake? As in the leader of the Serpents?”
“Who the hell else?” Kit roars, the fury in his voice echoing up the hallway. “You know any other cunts that go by that name?!”
I hear Kade growl something under his breath before Doc’s voice cuts in with a sharp yell.
“Everyone shut the fuck up! Arguing won’t help the kid!”
“Doc is right,” Cipher’s clipped tone follows. “I’ll see if I can trace Snake’s last known location. Give me some time.”
As heavy feet stomp on the floor in the other direction, I shift back against the wall, my gaze falling on the big guy they call Ghost. Colt, I think his real name is.
He’s on the floor too, knees up with his forearms resting on them, his hands dangling lazily as he watches out the door at his team.
Of all the people to come and comfort me, the quiet guy that looked like he wanted to behead me wasn’t the one I thought it would be.
A set of feet move into the doorway, and my eyes travel up past the dirty shit kickers, and jeans with streaks of grease on them, to find a set of hands holding a glass of water, so soft looking I momentarily think they must belong to someone else.
Then my eyes meet the green stare of the one they call Doc. Their medic.
Well, now the soft hands make sense.
“Here, try to drink this.”
He holds out the glass for me, and I take it, reading the concern in his gaze. He’s studying me, something I don’t particularly like, and when my eyes flick to Ghost, he nods towards the glass. So, I drink it. All of it.
“Do you have panic attacks often?” Doc asks, lowering to his haunches, and Ghost has to flatten his back against the wall where he sits next to me to allow Doc better access in the small space.
“I used to. As a teen. Haven’t had one in a while,” I mutter, my voice scratchy from purging.
“Yeah, I guess Kit’s outburst triggered it,” he says like it’s no big deal, his big hands cupping my face as he tips my head back to assess my eyes. “You’ll be okay, but I can give you some Xanax to take the edge off.”
Shit. Xanax. I’m so tempted to say yes. To just let him give me something that will settle this fear still lurking in the back of my mind.
But no, I’m stronger than that. I have to be. I can’t just throw away nine hundred and twenty days of sobriety because of one stupid panic attack.
So, I shake my head. “Thanks anyway, but I’m sober. I have to… feel everything.”
Doc’s brows shoot up as he gently releases my face, nodding before his eyes drift out the door, and I realise Kit is talking to him.
“Is she alright?”
“She’ll be fine,” Doc says, shifting to stand. “She’s a tough one.”
“Fuck… I know.”
Something about the concern lacing Kit’s voice has me relaxing, like a part of me thought he’d switched into a monster and would never switch back.
My dad never switched back. He was a monster with every breath he took.
Ghost stands, offering me a hand, and I take it, letting him pull me up on shaky legs.
“Trauma has a way of sneaking up on us,” Ghost mutters past his dark facial hair. “We think we have a handle on it, and then it tests us.”
“You’re speaking from experience?” I ask, and he shrugs, but nods as his eyes shift out into the hall.
“Everyone here carries trauma. Some just hide it better than others.” And with that, Ghost steps out of the room.
As I follow, I feel multiple sets of eyes on me, and all of a sudden it feels like the ink has melted off my skin, and all of my scars are visible.
I haven’t felt this vulnerable in years, and it has tears burning the backs of my eyes, making me want to shrink back inside the powder room to hide away.
“Bellicent.”
Kit’s voice is laced with pain, and my eyes lift to meet his, rimmed red and filled with agony.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jesus… he shouldn’t be worrying about me right now.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t scare me,” I scoff, rolling my shoulders back and holding my head high. “I just didn’t like you having all the attention.”
The guys snicker, and slowly, Kit’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.
“Get the fuck over here.” He points to the floor in front of him, and the brat in me wants to say no, or make me, but shit, this guy has made me weak, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Well, other than slowly walk over to him like his good little bitch.
“What do you want, Santa?” I practically purr, mentally latching onto my inner brat to try and normalise this very not normal situation.
I peer up at him through my lashes as I stand before him, ignoring the snickers of his mates, instead focusing on the deep growl that rumbles in his chest.
And then he kisses me. Right there in front of everyone.
I normally like a bit of exhibitionism, but that usually involves me naked and a dick or two, but this… kissing… it feels so intimate.
There are some hoots and hollers as Kit’s lips brush mine. It’s not a sexy kiss with tongue, but it’s a kiss with care, reminding me how insistent he was this morning about telling Tillie about us.
Us.
Bloody hell. There is no us. It was one night. An epic night. But after Christmas, I’ll be flying back to Melbourne, and he’ll keep doing his mercenary stuff while raising his daughter.
Shit. Libi.
Kit pulls back suddenly like he’s just thought the same thing, and the next second he’s barking orders to his men as they follow him back into the kitchen and trashed dining room.
Whiplash. That’s what this feels like.
I hover around the fringes of their heated debates, cleaning up here and there, listening to them argue about what to do.
They don’t have a location on Snake, but they know he frequents the Cronulla clubs, and every scenario they come up with ends up being too risky, because Snake is always surrounded by his Serpent crew.
It’s clear to me that there’s only one thing to do, and it doesn’t involve the Red Belly Team at all.
I need to find this gang leader myself.
They don’t call me The Seduction Slayer for nothing.