Chapter 8
Marissa
The clubhouse is probably the last place on Earth I want to be right now. I don’t even bother hiding my grimace.
“Why are we going to the clubhouse?”
I’m exhausted, everything hurts, and I need time and space to calmly think about what the hell the last three days of my life have been. And I cannot do that if I have to see Rebel, her brother, or even Dylan.
“Someone took you, right in front of our noses. That’s serious. Not to mention dangerous; you shouldn’t be home alone with DJ while I’m out handling club business.”
I squeeze my boy tighter as a wave of terror hits me. Is DJ in danger? Is someone going to take him away from me?
Hawk chose the wrong person to trust with his life, I think bitterly. I can’t even help myself. His face is clear in my mind, lined in a way that reveals he loves to laugh and be outside.
I squeeze my eyes to dispel the memory of the beating he received for trying to save me. Although he was tied up throughout our acquaintance, he protected me. I can do this for him, even though I just want to close my eyes and sleep.
I want to sleep for days, then wake up on the morning of December 31 with Junior nestled between Dylan and me. I want to go back in time and never attend that awful party, never overhear what I overheard, never be taken, and never get this damn abscess.
I suddenly realize that I’ve already breastfed DJ for the last time ever without even knowing it. I start crying chest-wracking sobs, accompanied by unstoppable streams of hot tears. The pain makes it hard to breathe.
“Hey,” Dylan says as he comes closer and tries to stroke my face, but I move away before he can touch me.
He seems offended and hurt. The audacity astounds me.
I want to look to my right and see Hawk in his chair.
“How long do you think we’ll need to be at the clubhouse?” I ask, pretending that this is just another day, that there are no tears flowing down my cheeks.
He stares at me for a while before answering, “A day or two, until we determine whether there is any ongoing danger. Why are you crying, Riss? Did they…? Please talk to me.”
I shake my head no. “Then we need to stop at the house first. I need to pick up a few things.”
Rachel, who came in as I was talking, butts in, “The hell you do. I’ll run in and get everything while you stay in the car. Tell me what you need.”
Listing familiar items and their location in the house soothes me in a way I wouldn’t have thought possible.
“And a bra.”
“Nope,” Rachel shakes her head as she says it. “No bras for you, at least for a week.”
“Rachel, I can’t…”
“No, missy, not with what you have going on,” she says as she waves her hand at my chest area.
*
I check myself out that afternoon, against medical advice. The drive to our house (Dylan’s house, I correct myself mentally) is short and familiar, but I might as well be seeing everything for the first time.
Rachel and Dylan are talking in the front, but I’m not listening. My head feels like I’m underwater. Must be the infection. Or the meds, but that seems unlikely so soon.
Something heavy sits on my chest. I don’t know what the hell is happening to me.
How long could a human being survive the life Hawk and I led in that room?
Psychologically, I mean, because I’m sure the food and water we were being given were enough to sustain life.
But the lack of movement, not being outside, not being able to touch another human, missing my child…
That’s what would have killed me, and that’s how Hawk’s still living.
If he’s living.
I refuse to think like that. One day, I’m gonna see what he looks like when his eye isn’t swollen shut.
I glance down at Junior’s tiny hand in mine, then lift it up to my nose and smell it. I’m so happy he recognized me. I didn’t even realize I’d been worried about that. He’s apparently missed me a lot; Dylan has been grumbling about that.
Dylan is shooting me these little fake worried looks in the rearview mirror.
The time to worry about me would have been before sticking your dick into your ex! I want to shout at him, but it’s also such a bizarre situation that I kind of smile to myself.
I might be losing my mind.
Ever since I woke up at the hospital, the last two days have been hazy in my mind, and the kidnapping has felt like a distant dream. Now, the thought of Dylan’s affair brings a very important piece of information to the foreground of my mind.
The Preacher had wanted Rebel, and he was apparently willing to pay a lot of money to get her. What do I do with this information? Do I tell her brother?
For a moment, I wish the Preacher would find her. I wish she’d disappear and never come back to our lives again.
But as I glance at the back of Dylan’s head, my heart knows that the damage is already done. I can never love him again. I can never spread my legs and welcome him inside me now that I know.
Maybe I’ll tell the truth. Later. After they’ve helped Hawk. I don’t want Sly to focus on protecting his sister at the expense of everyone else, like I suspect he would.
“Alright,” I whisper to Junior. “Let’s make a plan. First, we help Mr. Hawk, then we get Mommy healthy, and then we worry about everything else. What do you say?”
When Dylan parks in front of the clubhouse, it takes me a moment to get out of the car. My body is rusty from disuse, and everything hurts and creaks.
Hawk is still sitting tied up in that chair. He is. He isn’t dead or anything.
Dylan has already unbuckled DJ from his car seat and is carrying him across the gravel lot, and the image of our son in his arms threatens to sway me. My heart hurts for my boy.
“Are you okay?” Rachel whispers at my side, and I gratefully take the arm she’s offering.
“Not really,” I tell her.
I didn’t have the time or energy to go into my personal drama when we talked at the hospital.
That falls under the “worry about everything else” part of the list, together with “find decent place to live with very little money” and “how not to lose custody when Dylan can afford a much better lawyer than I can”.
“If you’re not up to being interrogated, Truck can convince Prez to give you more time.”
“Thanks, Rach, but I want to get it over with and go home as soon as possible.”
“I don’t think Slim will let you go home until they know that the danger is truly over.”
I try to focus on her face as we walk, only half-listening, because I’m afraid to look at where I was when they grabbed me.
My neck itches unbearably, and I want to be inside already. I need to hold my baby.
*
“Marissa, I’m glad you’re alright,” Sly, the lying asshole, tells me, and I stare at the point right between his eyebrows as I nod.
I can’t believe I spent the last two years chasing this guy’s approval. I knew he was important to Dylan, so I always tried extra hard around him and Angie. Fat lot of good that did me.
Almost as if conjured by my mind, Angie appears behind him and tries giving me a hug, but I step back and apologetically gesture to my chest.
“Bandages,” I say, and she gasps.
Let her think I have some horrific wound. Maybe that’s what it takes to jolt her conscience awake.
I look around, and Rebel’s not here. I relax slightly. I don’t know how I would have reacted if I’d seen her.
“Should we go into my office?” Prez asks Dylan, not me, and off we go.
Dylan hands DJ to Rachel and then takes my hand.
The gesture surprises me so much that I don’t even pull away.
What the hell is he doing? Why is he acting like he cares?
The three of us sit down, and no one says anything. In the past, I’d trip over myself to ask about Ryder or compliment an item on Sly’s desk, but now I just stare at my knees.
I remind myself I’m doing this for Hawk. I’m his only chance.
“So… what the fuck happened?”
“Prez,” Dylan and I start speaking at the same time, only I’m calm.
“At the New Year’s party, I… I wasn’t feeling well, and I was missing Junior, so I went out to call Susan and see how he was doing, maybe get some air.
That didn’t help, so I thought I’d ask for a ride home.
When I got to the guard booth, it was empty.
Then, someone pulled a shirt or something over my face, and I was led to a vehicle. ”
I clasp my hands together and press until my fingers are white. Talking about this is harder than I’d thought. I decide to focus on the facts as much as possible and to ignore how it felt.
I imagine I’m telling Hawk about it.
“There were two kidnappers, but they wore ski masks the whole time. We were held in a room that had a skylight but no windows. There was a man with me. His name was Hawk. He was your age, maybe,” I tell Sly. “He’s a member of a motorcycle club out in Phoenix.”
I don’t miss the way Prez glances at Dylan. “Did he tell you the name of the club?”
I shake my head. “But he asked me to call Blue Security in Phoenix and ask for Squid, and to tell them where he is.”
Prez stares at the wall as he keeps toying with a coaster on his desk. “Did the kidnappers tell you anything about who sent them?”
“They said the Preacher would come see me very soon.”
Prez drops the coaster, and Dylan stops breathing.
“Are you sure that’s what they said?”
I nod. “And I met him, I think.”
“The Preacher? You’ve met this man?” The Prez types on his laptop and then turns it toward me to show me a very grainy surveillance image of the good-looking man who spared my life.
I nod again.
“What the fuck, Marissa?” Dylan asks suspiciously, and it pisses me off.
“You should be asking Rebel that,” I retort, annoyed, “Since she was the one he actually wanted.”
Shit!
Both men look very pale and worried, which makes me feel a little better about my big mouth.
“Hold on. What do you mean he wanted my sister?”
I sigh. Damn it to hell. “When the Preacher saw me, he started yelling at the kidnappers that they had the wrong woman. Then he told me that Rebel had stolen from him and that he wanted to talk to her. And since I’m no thief, he let me go,” I finish with a shrug.
“Yeah, I guess he wouldn’t be worried about you identifying him to anyone. He’s untouchable,” Dylan says, and Prez looks unbelievably angry.
“I’m going to kill Bell,” he snarls.
“Let’s hear her out first, Prez. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for all this,” Dylan says, and I almost vomit a little in my mouth.
“Can you please make the call first?” I ask, ready to be done with them. “Or give me my phone, and I’ll do it myself,” I turn to Dylan.
“What call?” Prez asks absentmindedly.
“Blue Security. Phoenix. Squid.”
My impatience is showing, but I don’t care. A good man’s life is on the line.
“Oh, right. Sure thing. Don’t worry,” Prez tells me like I’m a child who doesn't know any better.
What a fucking asshole.
“Thanks for your help. Slim, escort Marissa to your room and get Rebel down here, right now.”