25. Lily
25
LILY
“ M aybe Zeke will come with you?” I ask Weston after we’ve exchanged farewells for the evening.
It’s been two weeks since I was hidden away in the safe house my father owns in the Perth Hills. Two weeks since I’ve seen anyone other than Fret at the hospital or my dad and the constant rotation of Shamrocks charged with keeping me safe from Alex and his father. Two weeks since I’ve spoken to Zeke. Two weeks of telling myself that I’m doing okay.
Two weeks of doing nothing but think.
Dark thoughts.
Guilty thoughts.
Poisonous thoughts.
My fingers flex as the phantom feeling of holding a razor makes my hand burn.
Four times I’ve picked up the straight razor I found in the main ensuite bathroom.
Four times I’ve talked myself into putting it down.
Will tonight be the fifth?
The sympathy that flits across the older biker’s face is a gut punch as he says, “Maybe.”
We both know he’s trying to spare my feelings. Zeke isn’t coming for me tomorrow or any day soon. Toker might’ve let a few trusted brothers in on the plan Hunter concocted to flush out the Shamrocks rats, but my intuition is screaming that they’re not making any progress.
Every time I see my cousin, his teasing seems a little more forced.
Even Gabriel appears to know about the lack of success, since he’s sent me enough research to keep me busy for months.
It’s clear I’m going to be on my own for a little while longer.
After waiting to make sure I’ve locked the front door, Weston thunders down the front steps. His eagerness to get home to his wife and sons only compounds my loneliness. I press my back to the wooden panel and close my eyes to combat the urge to head for the bathroom.
Deep, conscious breathing, in through my nose and out through my mouth, helps me regain control.
For now.
“Right,” I murmur to myself. “Camomile tea, ebook, and bed.”
Toker will be another hour or so checking in with the perimeter guards stationed around the hillside property Dad kept secret from everyone. As the kettle boils, I pull the oven door open and check that the meal I’ve left in there to keep warm isn’t getting too crisp. Satisfied that it’s going to survive my very basic cooking skills, I knock the oven door shut with my hip, then make my cup of camomile tea.
Normally, I’d switch to decaf coffee at this time of the night, except for the past week or so I’ve been feeling queasy. When I mentioned to Crystal in a text that I’ve been battling an upset stomach, she added a box of camomile tea bags to my food supplies. Out of sheer desperation to end the nausea stalking me, I gave in last night and tried some.
It worked, so I made the switch from caffeine to camomile this morning.
The urge to vomit hasn’t completely gone, but it has improved.
With my e-reader tucked under my arm and a mug of tea in my hand, I double-check that the doors are locked and switch all the lights off, apart from the one over the stove. It’ll guide Toker to his meal when he finally ventures inside and will reduce the likelihood of him tripping over the coffee table in the dark like he did last night.
The bone-deep weariness that’s accompanying the queasiness means I’ve been more tired than usual. It probably doesn’t help that my sleep has been infested with nightmares. Plagued by bad memories and a recurring dream where I’m running after Zeke, yet never catching up with him, a good night’s sleep is well overdue.
After placing my tea on the bedside table with my e-reader, I strip down to my tank top and panties. When I go to pull the comforter back, I find portrait-sized photos propped against my pillow.
The images are of Zeke and Slash.
“No. No. No.”
In one, my man has his face in Honey’s cleavage. There’s photo of Slash staring at her with his mouth open while she dances on the pool table. In the others, the two men are in bed with her. I scan them with disbelieving eyes as reality sets in. Not only has my man fucked around on me, with the last woman I thought possible, but our best friend is involved in his betrayal, too.
As the shock subsides, I grasp the bigger implication.
The safe house has been breached.
Heart racing.
Stomach churning.
I try to breathe through the nausea that threatens to incapacitate me in the wake of my realisation. After I tug open the top drawer of the bedside table, I pull the burner phone free. When I touch the screen, I discover that there’s no signal. Calling for help is off the cards. I’m stuck in a house, alone, unable to contact Toker or Cub.
I need to get the hell out of here.
My mind is racing, my thoughts imprecise, as I scoop my clothes from the floor and rush toward the front door. I’m hopping on one leg, attempting to pull my jeans on without slowing my exit too much, when someone steps out of the shadows and knocks me on my backside.
I shriek.
A man’s shadow looms over me.
The cologne that fills my nose when I inhale ready to scream again makes me vomit in my mouth.
Alex.
“Going somewhere, angel?” he enquires in a pleasant tone.
Heart in my throat, I scramble backward as I yell for help, “Weston! Toker! Help me! Weston, help me! Toker! Come now!”
Unperturbed by the noise I’m making, Alex advances on me. There is a wicked smirk on his face as he tells me, “ Oh , hush, angel… Do you know a man by the name of Marcus? He wears a Shamrocks patch, goes by the road name Bear, but actually works for me.” He holds his hand near his ear to demonstrate his next point. “He’s about yay high. Dark hair. Has an old lady named Nadia… your best friend if I recall correctly?”
My voice cracks as I ask, “What about him?”
I already know the answer, but I need to buy myself some time. If playing dumb will do that, then I’m willing to pretend to be the dumbest woman on earth.
Because I just might be.
Every man I’ve ever trusted has let me down.
Every man I’ve ever loved has betrayed me.
“It’s simple, really. Marcus is busy getting rid of your dead babysitters, so it’s just you and me, angel, all alone once again.”
My mouth drops open as I realise that Weston and Toker, maybe even the perimeter guards are likely dead. As my head spins and my pulse whooshes in my ears, I try to talk myself into believing that Alex is wrong.
“No way.”
“Yes way,” Alex mocks me. “How do you think I got in here? How do you think I left that present on your bed for you?”
As he confirms that he’s behind the photos, every ounce of hope I’ve been trying to hold on to evaporates.
I’m on my own.
Zeke is busy double-teaming Honey with Slash.
The guards put in place to protect me are dead.
My father has failed to keep his “safe” house secure.
With the promise Zeke made to kill Alex for me null and void, it becomes clear that I need to rescue myself.
The only way out of this is death.
Mine or Alex’s.
At this point, I’m not sure I care which one of us perishes.
Submitting to his depravity again, playing another game in order to stay alive, searching for an escape that may never come is a fate worse than death to me.
As I battle my dread, Alex seizes hold of my upper arms and drags me to my feet. I swing wildly with punches and slaps. I scratch at him. Kick out at him. He absorbs every strike without making a sound. When I jam my fingertips into the spot on his shoulder where I shot him, he doesn’t even flinch.
He’s healed.
Any advantage I had over him is gone.
When that knowledge makes me pause, Alex scoops me into a bridal hold. “Up you come, Jezebel.”
He carries me through the house without doubling back or entering the wrong room. Alex has done his homework. He has the layout memorised, bringing me straight to the master bedroom and placing me gently on the bed. I curl into a ball as far away from him as possible while he leafs through the photos he left for me.
“I was very surprised by how easily they threw you away when their precious club was threatened.” Insanity gleams in Alex’s eyes as he tosses the photos onto the floor and directs his full attention to me. “Cherishing you as I do, I expected a bit more of a fight from Zeke, but he simply sent you away and walked straight into my trap… Truthfully, he doesn’t love you as much as you think he does, angel—not half as much as I do. And don’t get me started on Slash… that behemoth has proven verifiably unworthy of you.”
Knowing that any argument I mount will only set him off, I stay quiet in the face of his harsh assessment of my relationship with Zeke and my friendship with Slash.
I mean, I’m not exactly in the position to deny anything he says.
He’s holding the proof in his hands.
“I’m here to take you away from your worthless existence, away from the trash you associate with. But before we leave this all behind, we have a few minor issues to sort out.”
At Alex’s mention of taking me away, Zeke’s warning about keeping a weapon on me bursts into the forefront of my mind. I carefully slide closer to my nightstand. Of course, Alex notices, so to avoid drawing too much attention to my movements before I can reach the handgun I keep in the top drawer, I pick up my steaming cup of tea and take a sip.
“What trap did you set?” I ask as minutes tick by without Alex speaking.
“ Oh , just the one where I forced him to fuck my informant’s trashy sidepiece to prove his loyalty to the faction trying to take down his brotherhood .” He smirks when I gasp at his confirmation that Zeke has indeed slept with Honey, probably more than once. I swallow some of the hot tea. It goes down wrong. While I’m coughing, he continues. “I knew what he was doing. Trying to find his so-called rat , so I threw down challenges to see where his loyalties lie. You or his club? And Lily, angel, I hate to tell you, but you came second by a long way… for both of them. Because, let me assure you now, Slash didn’t bat an eyelid when Zeke dragged him into it with him.”
I grip my mug tight when Alex crawls up the bed to straddle my legs. When he tries to remove the tea from my hands, I allow him to take the cup. I even offer him a smile after he places it on the bedside table, and his distraction allows me to lean a little closer to the weapon that I need to get my hands on.
It’s a miscalculation.
For some reason, my movements makes rage invade Alex’s eyes. He shifts, leaning back from me, and backhands me across the face. My cheek bursts with red-hot agony. My scalp screams when he grabs a handful of my hair and forces me to look at him.
“That’s for playing with my feelings for you so you could trick me.”
There’s no time to figure out my next move because Alex uses his grip on my hair to pull me to my feet. I’m struggling for balance when he punches me in the stomach. My abdomen blooms with pain. Bile rises in my throat when he hits me two more times. The third strike steals my breath, and I choke on vomit.
Alex’s voice is mechanical as he says, “One for each time you shot me, and an extra one for daring to make me bleed in the first place.”
Faced with the monstrous side of Alex, I try to scream. No sound comes out because I can’t breathe. My stomach hurts too much to drag in enough oxygen to fill my lungs. My face throbs. A bitter tang coats my tongue. It takes every ounce of strength I possess to remain on my feet.
If I fall, he’s going to kick me.
Stomp me.
I don’t think I’ll survive if he does that.
As the knowledge that I’m likely to die tonight settles over me, I dry heave. The stupid nausea is worse than ever. It’s matched only by the absolute agony that’s spreading through my midsection—pulsing waves of pain that make me shake and turn my vision dark at the edges.
Swaying, I drop to my knees.
Gagging hard, I wrap my arm around my stomach and attempt to push back to my feet with the other. Instead of standing, I end up face-planting on the floor. The carpet that absorbs some of the impact tickles my nose. I brace for Alex’s boot to strike my head or for him to stomp me. When he doesn’t, I make myself roll to my side, then I push myself onto my butt. My bedside drawer is at my back. I try to turn to pull open the drawer, only for another tsunami of sharp stabbing pains to pulse in waves through my stomach. Alex drops to his haunches in front of me and slaps my face.
“Stay with me, angel. I’m not finished yet.”
With the promise of more brutality colouring his tone, I lean against the drawers and do my best to prepare for his next attack. My eyes won’t stay open. I allow them to flutter shut, just for a few heartbeats. Alex pinches my chin with cruel fingers, and I force my eyelids upward, even though my eyesight has tunnelled into pinpricks.
“It’s time for your punishment for letting him take your purity. You let him steal the innocence that was meant for me… I waited for you to be ready. I treated you like a queen. I was willing to take you away from your pathetic family, yet you gave him my reward.”
When my vision clears, I cop an eyeful of Alex’s naked body. Turns out he didn’t kick me while I was face down because he was busy undressing. The bile rises again. I swallow it, reaching above my head. My movements are frantic as my pulse pounds in my ears. I need my gun. I need to kill him.
I won’t live through another rape.
I don’t want to.
He swats my arm out of the way and knocks the cup of tea over me. It’s cooled down enough that it doesn’t burn, although it still stings my eyes when it runs down my face. After Alex yanks me to my feet by my damp hair, I swing at him. My fists connect every now and then, never hard enough to hurt him though.
Dizziness gets the best of me.
Alex rips my tank top down the middle.
Before I can react, he picks me up and throws me on the bed.
Landing on my back, I kick out at him. He beats on me with both fists until I curl into a ball to escape him. While I’m fighting through the darkness that wants to steal my consciousness, Alex strips my unbuttoned jeans down my legs. Naked before him, I try to hug my knees to my chest to hide my body from his evil gaze.
It doesn’t work.
My monster digs his fingers into the flesh on either side of my windpipe. My eyes bulge when I can’t breathe. The moment the darkness wins, he lets go of my throat. I gasp, painfully surfacing from the cusp of death with one thought in my head.
Get the gun.
I launch my broken body at the nightstand. Hands flailing, heart pounding, throat burning, I wrench the drawer open. My fingers close around the butt, then they slip free as Alex pulls me away to wrestle me beneath him. I hit my head on something hard, the headboard perhaps, and stars dance in my vision.
Then Alex steals what’s left of my sanity.
The moment his cock pushes inside my body, I lose it.
Mind empty of anything but the need to kill him, I fight with every ounce of determination I can muster. His grip is bruising as I use my nails to rip his skin. I try to close my legs. Alex forces them open and thrusts inside of me with a higher level of savagery than he ’s previously unleashed on me.
“Not again. Please, God, not again,” I plead as memories of the night he almost killed me surge into my head.
He’s too heavy.
I’m too weak.
This is it.
Death.
My ears ring when my head bounces off the bedside table. When Alex’s body moves over mine, destroying me from the inside out, the world dims, and every foul word he mutters into the crook of my neck starts to sound like it’s being uttered underwater.
Garbled.
Too far away to understand.
He slaps me, hard, and the ringing stops.
I scream.
He bites my breast.
Blood runs down my side.
A shudder runs through his body. He’s close to orgasm. I buck my hips, determined to stop him compounding his violation by finishing inside me. When Alex pulls me back under him, my hand hits the open drawer. As he tries to subdue me beneath his weight, I manage to grab the gun and hit him in the head with it.
He shouts in alarm and pushes the weapon away.
He bites me a second time.
He licks the wounds his teeth create.
I hit him with the butt of my gun again.
When he tries to take the weapon from me, I sink my teeth into his arm until he jerks away from the pain.
I can’t see.
I can barely hear.
It doesn’t matter because I still have the strength to pull the trigger.
The bullet hits his shoulder.
With one arm, Alex desperately fights me for my gun.
I squeeze the trigger a second time.
This time, I miss him completely.
Powder from the hole in the ceiling showers us.
Howling with pain as I dig my fingers into his shoulder wound, Alex rolls away from me, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that his cock has slipped free of my body. When he knocks me off the bed, I somehow land on my feet. Aiming the muzzle at his head, I’m about to take the kill shot when he kicks me in the stomach. My knees hit the floor. My belly cramps with pain. I ignore it all and clamber back to my feet at the same time Alex kicks me in the chin.
This time, I don’t go down.
I sway on my feet.
Stagger a step backward.
But I remain standing.
A look passes between us as I point my gun at his chest instead of his head. In Alex’s wide eyes, I swear I see regret. His shoulders stiffen, and he keeps his gaze locked on mine as I finally do what should’ve been done five and a half years ago.
I squeeze the trigger.
And I don’t stop until I’ve emptied the magazine into his chest and the clunk of the hammer registers in my ringing ears.
The deathly silence, broken only by the mechanical click, breaks me out of my stupor. I take one look at the bloody crater in Alex’s torso and his slack face, then I wobble to the doorway on jelly legs. Dropping the gun at my feet, I brace a hand against the wall and vomit on the carpet. My throat burns as I purge the meagre contents of my stomach. I sway as my knees give out, clawing at the wall to keep myself upright while I feel my way back toward the front door.
As I go, the smell of burnt gunpowder invades my nose.
It tickles.
I sneeze.
Wood breaks somewhere at the front of the house.
A light turns on.
Footsteps, fast and frantic, pound in my spinning head.
The world tilts, and the floor looms upward to meet my face.
As the darkness I’ve fought to stay away from seizes its hard-won victory with savage vengeance, my eyes roll back in my head, and my mind whirls with one final, solitary thought.
Despite their betrayal, I need Zeke or Slash.
Zeke and Slash.
Now.