Chapter Thirty-Two
MOLLIE
A ctions speak louder than words. With the ringing of my phone, I drag my eyes open, realising I haven’t moved from the sofa all day. Since he left, this is where I’ve been. He’s not here. I stare at the door, seeing it close in my mind’s eyes. Gone.
My phone rings again, and I’m forced to blink. I lift my head. See no phone close to me. Then rest my head back down.
The noise stops.
I breathe out.
It starts again.
With a push, I get to my feet, my legs prickling as the blood returns to my toes. I see my phone on the counter, watching as it begins to dance across the surface. It won’t be him. It will be Janette wanting to know whether I’m pregnant. Well, I am. And it cost me my relationship. I’m not happy. Not angry. Neither sad nor upset, just, numb. Emotionless. Completely out of fight, but not out of love.
I walk to the phone and pick it up, not bothering to say hello.
“Mollie, is he there?”
I retract my hand, looking at the screen. Dean. “No,” I say.
Numb.
“Well, where is he?”
Gone. “I don’t know.”
He takes an audible breath. “What happened?”
I stare into the darkness outside the window. “What do you want, Dean?”
He sighs. “He’s supposed to be meeting me. We have a drop off.”
“That’s not until,” I look at the clock. Shit. It’s today. It’s now. I’ve laid on the sofa ignoring everyone for two days, completely out of it. Caught in a reality where I lost the only man who saw me.
“Mols?”
Warmness coats my cheek. I’m crying again. “Yeah.” My throat scratches as I try to talk.
“You okay?”
No. “Fine.” I swallow the lump now caught, choking me.
“Can you try him? He can’t blow this for us.”
I take a steadying breath. We broke up. He hasn’t been home. He hasn’t answered my calls or any of my messages. “Sure,” I say, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve.
“He has it, the gear I mean.”
My head naturally swivels, looking around the house. “Where?”
“I don’t know. He said he was going by the house to grab it when I last spoke to him, but I don’t know if he did because for whatever reason, he isn’t answering anyone’s calls.”
Right. He hasn’t been by because he doesn’t want to see me. “I’ll look for it.”
“Thanks. Let me know if you hear from him, yeah?”
I won’t hear from him. “Okay.” I hang up and give up my spot on the sofa. Why haven’t I heard from him? Why hasn’t Dean? I want to panic and fear the worst, but there’s no point. He’s made up his mind. He doesn’t want this baby. He doesn’t want me.
I move slowly, making my way around each room until I come up short, not finding anything. I ring Travis, but it rings off, so I send him a text.
Me: Where are you?
I wait for what feels like an age for him to not reply. Is he alive?
Walking around the house, I look through drawers and boxes, not finding anything. He never keeps any gear here long-term. Whatever’s here should have left when he… I search the bedroom, lifting his clothes that are still on the floor and placing them on the bed.
When I dip to pick up his jumper, I see the corner of a box hidden under the bed. Curious, I pull it out and check inside, finding what I’m looking for.
Along with a small, black box .
Sadness emanates from deep within. A cold chill travels down my spine. He bought a ring? I know that’s what’s inside without even having to open it. Our engagement. I no longer know if it still stands. It’s screaming at me from the box I can’t look away from. Will things go back to normal? In such a relatively short amount of time, everything I thought I knew has been flipped on its head. One thing’s for sure, Travis isn’t a man who changes his mind easily. He isn’t a man who goes back on his word. He left. Said he’d make it easy for me.
He’s proving that he isn’t coming back.
Touching the box with the tip of my finger, I retract, leaving it where it is. I push it back under the bed and grab my phone. Typing out a message to Dean, I quickly delete it, my subconscious leading my actions.
I owe him nothing, but I’m running on autopilot.
I already know Travis won’t show at their deal tonight. The drugs are here where I am. He won’t come by and get them. He would have done that already. He won’t care for seeing Matthew, either. A part of me wishes it was enough of an incentive to go—one last chance to let out his frustrations. If he has any? He might not be feeling the same way I am. But, knowing him, and considering Dean hasn’t heard from him either, my money’s on him being drunk since he left, wallowing somewhere, knee deep in Vodka, trying to forget everything.
Trying to forget me?
If he doesn’t show at that deal, everything they worked hard for—everything I did to help secure it, it could all be jeopardised. For everyone. It’s not my fault he walked away. But it is because of me. I can’t imagine anyone getting hurt or things getting violent again because of one wrong decision.
I should call Dean. Instead, wiping my eye one last time, I grab my jacket and my shoes, and head out.
When I pull up at Matthew’s house, the place is immediately busier than I was anticipating. Although, knowing Matthew the way that I do, the huge crowd shouldn’t surprise me. There’s no way he’d deal anywhere he didn’t know. Plus, they embarrassed him last time. It makes sense as to why he’d make sure there were people here. Witnesses. It’s even more of a reason why coming by myself is the right thing to do. After the way things have gone between us, this would only end in disaster if Travis were here.
I only knew this was the location after overhearing Travis and Dean the other night. Things are all square between me and Matthew, but he will never be a man anyone should trust. If I get this done, nothing can fall back on Travis or the club. No one will get hurt. Everything will be fine.
Taking a deep breath, there’s no sign of Dean’s bike anywhere. He hasn’t called me since I spoke to him, either. Perhaps he’s looking for Travis. I step out my car and take the bag, my steps precise and steady as I make my way to the front door. It’s open as always when there’s a party, allowing for guests to let themselves in.
Moving through the house, I follow the beat of the music out to the garden. I don’t miss this shit at all. How they can do this every weekend and never get bored, ceases to amaze me. I step around two people fucking in the hall, ignoring the grunts and groans as my eyes search for the man I came to see.
My life and where it’s now headed has moved on from this one in such a dramatic way, I can’t imagine ever going back. I know whatever happens going forward, I’m going to have new responsibilities. New challenges. A completely different life.
Checking my phone, there’s still no word from the man I want in that life.
Hearing a door open, I slip my phone in my back pocket and turn, crashing straight into a hard wall. When I stagger back, the face looking back at me isn’t a sight for the faint-hearted. An angry line shimmers in the light coming from outside, and his eyes burn with a bitterness so bright, I can almost taste it. “Mollie.”
“Matthew.” Where did he get that scar?
His eyes drop to the bag. “Your boyfriend’s got you dealing now?”
Boyfriend? Fiancé? Gritting my teeth, I will myself not to be smart mouthed or make this more difficult. “I’m only here to help the club,” I say matter-of-factly.
There’s nothing. No emotion. Just a blackness in his eyes staring back at me. “Follow me,” he says, turning his back and trudging away from the crowd enjoying the music and the drink.
I double take, not wanting to go anywhere with him. “Why can’t you take it here?”
Pausing by the door, he looks over his shoulder, casting his eyes to outside. “Too many people.”
Nervousness skates through my bones, but I’m not given a second more to contemplate my position, as Matthew leaves me, standing on my own. He seems off. Distant. He’s no longer challenging or trying to belittle me for the sake of it. It makes me fear him as I reluctantly follow him out of sight from everyone else.
Our deal to let the past be the past still stands as far as I’m concerned. He knows one word from me, and all this ends. He won’t blow this. I just wish I knew what was going on inside his head. Wish I could see his next move.
I catch sight of his back entering a room on our right. Taking one last look behind me, I follow him in, keeping myself close to the door should I need to get out fast.
“Put the bag on the table.”
I swing it off my shoulder, wanting this done. I take a meek step forward, placing the bag down and immediately step back. I watch Matthew’s face break into a small smile. “You don’t know how these deals usually work, do you?”
“I don’t need to. You want your drugs. I’ve brought them to you. Now you pay and you can get back to your friends.”
He looks at me. Still blank. “They used to be your friends, too.”
“Used to be. I’m no longer interested in partying.”
His smile is terrifying. “That’s right, you’re into bikers now.”
I shouldn’t have come here. This was a mistake. But the club? Travis could have missed this deal and ruined it for everyone. Because of our argument. I try to keep my face straight. Try to ignore the balling of my fists. “That’s right.”
“So where are they?”
I don’t know. “They’re coming.”
“But you had the gear?”
He knows something’s up. I need to get out of here. What have I done? The way he rubs the scar branded down his cheek unearths a telling realisation. The last time we were here at his house, Travis was the last to leave. He went back for reasons unbeknownst to any of us. The very reason now staring me in the face.
“What happened to you?”
I know. Of course I know. I told Travis that Matthew had hurt me, so he hurt him back. He couldn’t kill him like he probably wanted to, so he messed up his face. The face now contorting with a subtle hint of rage. “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”
Because he left. “Matt—”
“Come here,” he barks, cutting me off.
My eyes hollow. “Why?”
“Because I said so, Mollie.”
He’s taking advantage of Dean and Travis not being here. I could handle the cocky, arrogant arsehole he used to be on my own. But not this guy. This guy I don’t know. Dealing with outlaws has changed him.
It’s not surprising. “No. Take your drugs. Pay up, then I can go.”
He smiles again, making my skin crawl. “I deal with The King. The King works with the bikers. You,” he raises a hand, stepping to the bag of coke, not looking at me, “are not a fucking biker.” He opens the bag, tipping out two blocks of white power onto the table. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a flick knife, again pointing at me. It flips open with a snap, the blade catching the dim light in the room.
I look at the blade then to Matthew.
This time, blackened pits bore into my soul. “Now come here.”
My throat burns. I try to swallow. Can’t. “No.”
Matthew slices open a bag and bangs the table, making me jump. He makes his way to me, taking a handful of my hair and dragging me to the drugs. I cry out, knowing exactly what he’s going to do.
Afterall, he’s done it before.
This is punishment for being embarrassed. This is years of hating me and hating himself for what happened that night. For having to look over his shoulder every day, wondering whether I was going to oust him and make everyone turn their backs on him. I didn’t. Still wouldn’t. But he doesn’t trust me.
In some sick kind of way, given my stupidity to come here without telling anyone, perhaps I deserve some sort of punishment for thinking I could do this. For thinking I had any right to get involved in Travis’ business? Club business. They’re outlaws. Men who have suffered a social death for their refusal to be victims. If this goes wrong, I’ll be at their mercy. If this goes wrong I’ll deserve whatever they give me.
But my baby doesn’t .
Fighting his hold in my hair, I try to pull myself free.
It only serves to make him tighten his grip, forcing my head down to the table.
I brace my hands on the wood. “Please, don’t do this.”
“Shut up. Let’s see how much he really loves you.” Matthew reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, tapping the buttons and putting it on speaker.
“Hello?”
He’s called Henry. “I have Mollie at my place. She’s a little… worse for wear. You might want to come get her.”
“What?—”
Matthew hangs up.
“Why did you call him?” I mutter, my head being angled back to look at him.
“Because all he talks about is you. I’m fucking sick of it—of hearing your fucking name! I want him to see what a waste your whole fucking life has become, Mollie!”
Pulling my focus from the man possessed, my phone vibrates in my back pocket. It has to be Dean wondering whether I’ve found the drugs. I should have called him. Should have messaged. Anything. Eventually, he may come here, but I fear it will be too late for me. Matthew will make sure he wins whatever point he’s trying to prove here.
He puts his phone away then dips his head to the powder and sniffs, vacuuming up snorts of cocaine. When he straightens his spine, wiping the end of his nose, I try to push him back, but he immediately slams me back down, widening his stance behind me, holding me in place.
I can feel him where I don’t want to. The unwanted push of his groin into my arse making me flinch. “Please.” I try to grab for air, but my face is pressed down just like last time.
It’s hard not to panic when you can’t breathe. Every sense tells you to open your lungs. To suck in the air you crave. I begin to spiral. My hands begins to grab and slap at the wood as the back of my head is held still. I can’t stop it. Can’t stop the burning in my lungs.
Spluttering, I gasp and I choke as I take a breath full of the drugs, swallowing powdery mouthfuls. I feel the tickle and the scratch as it coaxes its way to the back of my throat, making me cough. He won’t let me up. He won’t let me breathe normally until I go limp.
Slapping with frenzied hands, I try my hardest to move and get free. But it’s no use. His hold is too hard. His hand too heavy. There’s a buzzing in my veins already. The effects of the drugs already kicking in. All I can see is the two blue lines on the test. The dream I had of the little boy and his toy duck. Will he be safe if I’m high? I’ve never intentionally been high, not on cocaine. I’m scared. Crazed. Then I feel a pull as the lack of oxygen saps my consciousness away from me.
I go limp. My muscles relax. And I see black. Black, dotted with tiny stars.
Matthew lets me go, and I crash to the floor, my body slumped against one of the table legs. I can’t see straight. Can’t hear the words being said to me. I don’t even register the hand that slaps the side of my face, knocking me flat to the floor.
It stings, but I don’t feel it like I should. It burns, but not nearly as much as I expected it to. My drowsy eyes roll back and forth, trying to cling onto reality, seeing a faint image of Matthewbefore I see black. He snorts more coke, then comes back to me, kneeling on the floor and slamming his face to mine.
Eyes closed; my body doesn’t move. Doesn’t even react when I realise he’s trying to kiss me, his wet lips sloppily sliding over my mouth. I’d recoil if I could. The smell of weed and the taste of stale beer on his lips invades my senses, making me want to throw up. I’m slapped again, the shock of the jarring of my head, making me roll my eyes open.
He’s watching me. Studying me. Again, I don’t hear him when he speaks, I only see the tightening of his face before he tries to kiss me again, his lips hitting mine.
Black.
Then he’s gone. The smell is gone.
I see light when I draw my eyes open, followed by the sound of a thud and the shrill wail of a man’s cry. Matthew’s cry?
Black.
I listen, hearing him beg. Then silence.
Heavy hands grab me and drag me to sit up. I try with all my might to get my eyes open, but I can’t. My head hangs low, my chin dropped to my chest. Breathing becomes difficult. Air doesn’t want to go in. Then I’m convulsing, my body shaking, tears filling my eyes. I cough, choking as something slides in my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I’m swung forward, trying to breathe, trying not to swallow as bile rises and the contents of my stomach projects from my mouth. Relief.
“One more.”
My mouth is prised open again, and I heave, retching and spluttering as my jaw’s held tight. I vomit with a shake, grabbling at the arms holding me, my body weak, unable to take anymore.
“Mollie!”
Sagging into a man’s arms, I’m held as I catch my breath, my saliva streaming from my mouth, my nose running.
“Mollie can you hear me? Fuck, I don’t know what he’s given her.”
My hearing’s dulled, but I manage to turn my head and look up at the man who’s holding me steady. “De,” I try to swallow, my throat on fire.
“Get her up.”
There’s someone else here.
“You take her. I’ve got this,” Dean says.
I feel arms scoop me up, and I sag into the man’s body, wincing as my cheek presses to his chest. I allow my eyes to close as he begins moving, his pace fast, his heavy steps pounding against the ground.
“Need you to hold onto me,” he says, swinging around looking behind him but still moving.
Dragging my head up, I see Rocco. “Where’s Travis?” I croak, wrapping my arms around his neck as best I can, trying to do as he says, one of my wrists in blazing agony. Broken?
Rocco doesn’t answer, instead he carries me outside to where I left my car as people begin flooding from Matthew’s property.
The music steadily fades, and when I look back at the house that was thriving only minutes ago, there’s now a glowing hue of orange and amber streaks coming from one corner of the property. My heavy eyes widen a fraction. “What happened?” My voice is too quiet for him to hear me.
The passenger door of my car is opened, and I’m lifted inside with a grunt before it’s slammed shut behind me. “I’ll take her,” Rocco tells Dean, who’s running towards us having caught up.
Rocco steps around the car.
“I need to make sure she’s okay. Go. Find Travis,” Dean bellows frantically.
I hear keys get thrown, and Dean opens the driver’s door, quickly climbing in next to me.
“Your bike?” I murmur. He can’t leave it here at the scene.
He hears me. “It’ll be taken care of. Need to get you to a hospital.”
We pull away as fast as he can, and I hear the sound of Rocco’s bike tear up the road next to us. He zips past us once we’re both at the end of the drive, and I close my eyes.
Find Travis.
They still don’t know where he is.