21. Lily
21
LILY
M y pulse spikes when someone bangs on the workshop door. Zeke’s fingers tighten around my shoulders, warning me that he wasn’t expecting anyone to interrupt us. His body stiffens and his gaze darts from the main entrance, where the person knocks a second time, to the secondary exit hidden behind a set of toolboxes.
“Where’s your gun?”
“In my bag.” I use my chin to gesture to the bench where my handbag sits.
“Grab it while I check who’s at the door.”
When he lets me go, I rush over to my weapon. Zeke unholsters one of the handguns tucked under his arm and carefully advances on the main doors. We both breathe with relief when the intruder announces himself.
“It’s just me,” Hunter yells. “I’m comin’ in on the count of five, so I’d appreciate if you’d button up your pants and lower your weapons before then.”
“Little shit,” Zeke curses. “You can come in now.”
I allow my body to relax and slide my gun back into my bag as Slash’s little brother ambles inside the workshop that’s hosted mine and Zeke’s relationship counselling for the past hour.
“Wyatt’s lookin’ for you,” Hunter tells Zeke. “Said somethin’ about continuin’ your conversation from the hospital. Sounded urgent, so I said I’d come get you.”
My fiancé’s gaze darts to me, then to the door. He seems anxious to get to my brother. I tamp down on the myriad of questions flitting around my head to verbalise the most relevant one, “All I need to know is when this breakup —” I make finger quotes around the word. “—is happening. Need to prepare some good insults to really sell it.”
Hunter hits me with an impressed look and a proud nod. “Glad you’re on board with this… it’s the smartest way to handle it. Covers all eventualities and keeps everyone as safe as they can be.”
“Well, if you think it’s smart,” I quip with a sharp laugh. “Who am I to question the plan?”
“We have tonight,” Zeke tells me. He scans my face as he continues. “By tomorrow evenin’, I want you gone from the compound.”
Even though I know he doesn’t mean to be harsh, hearing his succinct description of my impending absence from his life makes me flinch. A frown mars the smooth skin between Hunter’s eyebrows as he watches us. I do my best to keep my feelings to myself, unwilling to put any further pressure on Zeke after forcing him to make a promise we’re both aware he mightn’t be able to keep.
Asking him to kill Alex for me is one thing.
Making him swear that he’ll stay safe is acceptable.
But his vow that I’ll be able to sleep easy is a step too far.
No one knows better than me how unpredictable the Maddison’s can be.
Until Alex is dead, and I’ve verified that fact with my own eyes, my nightmares will continue.
“If you two still need some time,” Hunter ventures slowly. “I can delay our meeting with Toker and Slash. Rushin’ into this will only increase the probability of a screw up.”
“I’m ready,” I tell him at the same time Zeke declares, “We can nut out the finer details after I come to bed tonight.”
The reminder of his lack of sleep has me scanning his face for signs of fatigue. The anxiety and fury that were weighing him down when he brought me coffee an hour ago have lifted a little. No doubt clearing the air between us helped with that. Even so, it doesn’t disguise how tired he is.
It’s been a day and a half since he last slept.
“Make it early,” I entreat. My tone is sultry, full of promise. Not because I plan on screwing his brains out… which I do, but because my unspoken offer is the easiest way to get him to bed before he falls over. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
“ Ugh ,” Hunter scoffs as Zeke winks at me. “I did not need that visual.”
“Not our fault you’re still a virgin,” Zeke tells him before he swings around and jogs toward the exit so he can go and find Wyatt. “There’s plenty of pussy around to fix your situation if it’s becomin’ a problem.”
“Virgin, hey?” I ask. Although I’ve always suspected that Hunter hasn’t had sex yet, it’s still a shock to hear it confirmed. Like Slash, he is a very good-looking man. Not quite as tall as his big brother, his build not as athletic, he rocks a man-bun and a set of piercing blue eyes that are identical to his father and brother.
Hunter rolls his eyes. “Nineteen isn’t late… plus the mechanics of it all just seems wrong. Like I understand it on a logical level, but on a physical level, it grosses me out. Prong A slidin’ in and out of socket B until it throws up isn’t exactly hygienic.”
“La la la.” I press my palms to my ears to block out his clinical description of sex. “Stop talking before you ruin it for me, too.”
When Hunter’s face turns crimson, I feel bad. Dropping my hands, I link my arm with his, leaning into him as I say, “One day you’ll find a person who lines their shoes up just right, hates Criminal Minds as much as you do, and understands the importance of flossing six times a day, and you’ll realise that meaningful sex is one of the best reasons for being alive. It’s what makes us human.”
Hunter ducks his head. “You think so?”
“Kiddo, I found someone to give me that… why wouldn’t you?”
“When you put it like that,” he pretends to mock me, but I can hear the worry he’s struggling to hide. “My quirks don’t seem so bad. You are pretty unbearable when you’re caffeine deficient.”
“Speaking of caffeine,” I exclaim, dragging him out of the shed and across the gravel yard toward the main clubhouse. “It’s been at least an hour since my last coffee. Do you reckon Crystal has a pot on?”
“She’s on lockdown with a bunch of sleep-deprived bikers and a Cherub with an espresso addiction… I think it’s fair to say Mumma has more than one pot prepared.”
We part ways at the kitchen doors. Hunter heads off to the den, and I step into the industrial-sized kitchen my mother designed a decade ago to accommodate the growing club. The floors are tiled, and the walls are waterproof. There are five long stainless-steel benches, three gigantic fridges, and the biggest chest freezer known to man squeezed inside the heart of the club to feed the bikers and their families during lockdown.
“There she is.” Crystal greets me with a smile. Juggling two platters full of sandwiches, she jerks her shoulder toward the tea and coffee station. “Just brewed a fresh pot... once you’re firing on all cylinders, I’ve got six roast chooks that need chopping up for the Caesar salad and the subs.”
“On it.”
After refuelling myself with two mugs of black coffee, I venture over to the aforementioned pile of chickens. Making quick work of shredding the meat from the bones, I’m lost in my head, thinking through the implications of Zeke and Hunter’s plan and my part in it when I’m interrupted by the nasally, high-pitched voice of the only old lady I can’t stand.
Coming hot on the heels of her niggling two nights ago, my patience is in short order.
“So I hear Venom finally kicked your snobby ass to the curb? Apparently, he’s on the hunt for a real woman now—says he’s sick of playing house with a little girl.” Honey’s fake baby voice grates on my nerves. “Maybe I’ll show him what a real woman can do…”
When our gazes lock, I roll my eyes so hard that black spots invade my sight momentarily.
I can’t deal with this woman today.
“Keep dreaming,” I reply with a shrug. The nonchalance in my voice is fake. Designed to hide my confusion, since I’m not sure if this is part of the plan or if she’s just trying to stir me up like usual. “I’m not sure why you’d care about the status of my relationship. My man values his dick too much to stick it in your diseased snatch—Zeke wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last woman on earth and the two of you had to repopulate the planet.”
I usually prefer to fight my battles without a side order of slut shaming, however, in this case, fighting fire with fire is the only way.
Honey understands one language.
Pick me.
“I don’t have any diseases!”
Honey’s eyes glisten with malice, and she looks a little put out that her snide comments didn’t upset me. Her overly made-up face makes her look like she fell into a box of crayons, and they attacked. With her bouffant, bleach-blonde hair, painted face, and fake boobs that are always hanging out of clothes two sizes too small, she gives the actual cut sluts a bad name.
I can’t stand her.
The Shamrocks are a typical MC when it comes to having a plethora of cut sluts hanging around. I’ve grown up around it, but with the worst of the debauchery being kept to the nights when old ladies aren’t welcome at the compound, it’s hasn’t bothered me. In truth, I’ve never understood how a woman could have so little respect for herself that she offers her body like a commodity to anyone who asks, but I try my best to avoid judging them.
With my history, I’d be a hypocrite to criticise their choices.
Life isn’t always black and white, and most of the things we judge others for doing don’t matter in the long run. God knows I’ve been on the receiving end of enough shade simply by being the daughter of a biker.
It does irk me that a few the cut sluts are here to see if they can become an old lady—whether that man is already taken or not.
Of course, Honey’s a special case.
She’s Joker’s old lady, so I can’t avoid her as much as I’d like to.
The instant liking she took to Zeke doesn’t help.
Honey regularly comes on to him.
He’s handled it so far, dismissing her efforts, so I haven’t needed to kick her arse… yet .
“Sure, you don’t,” I drawl, my voice thick with sarcasm. “Disease-free since ’03, huh? I’m sure that burning, itching sensation is perfectly normal.”
The kitchen fills with laughter when the other women assisting with the preparation of lunch for the masses laugh at my comeback.
“Don’t know what you bitches are laughing for. I’ve had most of your men.” Honey stares at Nadia until my best friend’s face turns white. “Not my fault you uptight bitches can’t keep them happy.”
Knowing that Bear is a frequent partner of Honey’s since he’s close with Joker, I move to do some damage control. “Why don’t you fuck off into the bar before I hand your skinny arse to you on one of these platters.”
I raise the serving tray in front of me in the air to drive home my threat. Honey blanches at the rage on my face. It’s unusual for me to buy into her drama. She turns on her spiky heels to leave, but not without a parting shot.
“Don’t worry, little Cherub . Now everyone knows how damaged you really are, you’re bound to topple off that pedestal soon enough. When that happens, I’ll be ready to show Venom what a good fuck feels like. We both know a big, strong man like him has needs a broken, little girl like you can’t meet.”
Stupid cow is just asking for me to work out some of my stress on her face.
I move to go after her, but Charlie places a gentle hand on my arm to halt me. “Don’t give her the satisfaction. You’re not broken, she is. Plus, we all know Ezekiel would never go there.”
Logically, I know she’s right.
Tell that to the band of worry that’s squeezing my chest.
“Charlie’s right.” Crystal gathers me in a bear hug. I tower over the short woman, yet her softness envelops me. “Honey wants what you have, but she doesn’t know how to get it. Her behaviour is just a way of compensating for the emptiness inside her, mo ulaidh bheag .”
I smile when Crystal calls me her little treasure in Gaelic, but I refuse to back down. “She threw rape in my face… I’m not going to feel sympathy for her.”
Crystal laughs. “I’m not asking you to be sympathetic. I’m telling you to ignore her pettiness because reacting to her is beneath you.”
“Fine,” I huff.
Despite the urge to hunt Honey down and pound on her face until her Botox runs free, I heed the older woman’s advice and settle for giving Nadia a hug.
“Bear’s a prick,” I whisper. “You deserve better.”
Extricating herself from my embrace, Nadia quips, “Do I really?”
“Yes.” Although I know she’s alluding to the whole giving-Sander-drugs-in-secret fiasco, I do my best to reassure her. “He’s got a beautiful diamond at home, yet he chooses to slum it with Botox Barbie… that’s a deficiency in him, not you.”
All my best friend gives me is an insincere quirk of her lips as she rushes out of the kitchen like demons are snapping at her heels.
“What did I say wrong?”
Charlie hands me the knife I discarded when Honey interrupted me and silently urges me to continue chopping the chicken into bite-size pieces. When I get back to work, she takes up a workspace next to mine to help me construct the salad and subs.
“Nadia has her own shame and regret to work through,” Charlie murmurs. From the opposite side of the bench, Crystal makes a sound that tells me she agrees. “Just be gentle with her. Make sure she knows you’re a soft place for her to fall when the time comes. That’s about all you can do in situations like this.”
Slanting a sideways look at her, I ask, “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Of course, she is,” Crystal interjects. “We’ve had plenty of practice at it too. You’re not an easy girl to comfort, Cherub.”
Charlie lets out an inelegant snort. “Loving a bear with a sore head would’ve been easier.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” my stepmother declares. “Everyone puts shields up when they’ve been hurt. Just took us more time than we expected to knock yours down.”
The other women squashed into the kitchen murmur their agreement, and Crystal sidles around the end of the bench to give me another hug.
“I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”
“One step forward at a time, Lilianna… that’s all we expect from you.” Charlie punctuates her statement with a light pat on the back of my hand. “It’s all we can expect from anyone.”
Our conversation halts when a couple of the younger kids enter the kitchen looking for a snack. Shooing them off because preparation is finished and they’ll ruin their appetite with a treat now, we all grab a dish or two and head for the rec room. The prospects have set up long trellis tables to hold all the food needed to feed more than eighty people. With other chapters and our allies arriving every few hours since they received our S.O.S. call, the compound is close to bursting.
With vocal enthusiasm, everyone eagerly tucks into the proffered food.
When the other old ladies see their men, they light up and easy conversation fills the room.
I keep to myself.
I can’t shake the anxiety that’s been rising in me since my run-in with Honey.
What if something happens to make mine and Zeke’s fake separation permanent?
I’m sitting by myself, a plate balanced on my knee, having found a scarce quiet corner, when my man slides into the chair next to mine.
He nudges my arm with his elbow.
“Holdin’ up okay?” he asks in a quiet voice.
“Not really.”
“Tell me what’s botherin’ you most, sweet thing.”
“Everything.” I pull in a lungful of air and slowly let it out through my nose. “Mainly us. I’m scared that Hunter’s plan mightn’t work. You could get hurt. What if Alex?—”
Zeke cuts me off with an angry hiss. “I don’t wanna hear his fuckin’ name fall from your lips one more time. He’s my problem now, not yours.”
My gaze cuts from my plate to Zeke’s face. We’re separated from the main group, but it must be clear things are tense between us since the people sitting closest are shooting worried glances our way.
“Please,” I whisper. “I don’t want to argue here… not in front of everyone. Not yet.”
“Sweet thing, I don’t plan on arguin’ with you ever again. We’ve cleared the air. We’re on the same page. We have trust and love on our side. Tonight is ours, then the countdown to the end begins… as long as you look at the next few weeks like a game, we can get through anythin’ they throw at us.”
As much as I try to play it cool, I can’t keep the squeak of desperation out of my voice when I ask, “Weeks?”
“No.” Zeke presses his fingers to my lips to shush me. “Hold that thought until tomorrow. I’ve got better use for these lips than frettin’ over things we can’t control.”
“How can a girl resist when you put it so nicely?”
He laughs at my sarcasm. It sounds rusty, as if he hasn’t found anything funny for too long. I know the feeling. It’s been little more than forty-eight hours since Alex reappeared in my life, yet it feels as if he’s been stalking me for years.
In some ways, he has.
Winking at me, Zeke starts on his meal. As we eat, we share some easy conversation about Fret being brought out of his sedation tomorrow. My request to be there when it happens is ignored, so I take the hint and start to do more than move my food around my plate.
I eat, not tasting the food, unable to stop my head from spinning with worry.
Once my man has cleared his plate, he rises to leave. “I’ll see you later on.”
“Don’t be too late,” I murmur. He brushes the backs of his fingers over my jaw. Capturing his hand, I peer up at him. “I love you.”
“I know you do, metukà shelì … almost as much as I love you.”