5. Rae
5
RAE
Arms wrapped around Digger, I ride back to the Reapers’ compound with a thousand questions burning through my mind. Each one raises more of its own, branching off into little fingers of dread that tickle in my chest.
Is Maddie okay?
Why did he take her?
Is it because of me?
The last question leaves bile burning the back of my throat, a tight fist of guilt wrapped around my heart. I wince through the discomfort, leaning away from Digger as we cross through the gates. My gaze falls on a gleaming black vehicle parked near the clubhouse doors. I'm no expert on cars, but the stocky sedan is a newer, expensive model.
“Who does that belong to?” I ask as soon as Digger shuts the engine off.
He removes his helmet, a scowl etched firmly across his brow as he stares at the ride. “Trouble.”
I seek Tyke amongst the bikes in the garage and find him working his jaw side to side, focusing on the car while he removes his gloves.
“Don’t fret,” Digger offers, rising from his bike. “Tyke has it under control.” He pulls his phone from his shirt pocket inside his cut.
“Anything?”
He shakes his head before looking to Tyke, who now does the same. "Update?"
“They’re on their way back,” he says with evident relief. “Not far out.” His head snaps up, and I follow his line of sight.
A man around my age, blond and impeccably dressed in black slacks and button-down—open at the collar and rolled on his forearms—strides across the yard. “Where the fuck is she?”
“You wanna check your attitude, boy?” Tyke squares his shoulders, tucking his phone away in his back jeans pocket.
"Naw," the blond Adonis quips, moving through the shadows to move into the spill of light from the garage. "I'm good." He stops half a foot from Tyke; his head tilted back a fraction to maintain eye contact with the president of the Reapers. "How the fuck did this happen, old man? You got answers?"
“You got a fuckin’ death wish speakin’ to him like that?” Digger interjects, stepping toward the duo. “Where’s your father?”
“Inside. With that gold-digger you dumped at our doorstep.”
He must be…
“You’ll get answers, Deo, when I have them. And only then when I feel you’ve earned them.”
He is. The mysterious Deo—Maddie’s date.
Her fucking stepbrother.
Marco’s son.
Which means, if he’s inside, then the ‘gold-digger’ is… Shit. I take a step back.
Tyke turns his head at the movement. His jaw tics, recognition in the slight furrow of his brow before he extends his arm, offering me his hand.
I find my way to his side on shaky feet, again reminded why I don't fit here. There's a history I'm not privy to, a complex network of relationships and connections that are as ingrained in their daily life as their goddamn DNA.
I’ve never met Tyke’s ex-wife, but given the names they call her, my imagination has done a bang-up job of creating her into some mythical creature of vengeance.
And I’m fucking shit scared that I’ll be the target of that hate the second we step foot through the doors.
Especially if Maddie’s kidnapping has anything to do with Terry.
“You stay where I’ve got eyes on you,” Tyke whispers, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “If they ask you anything you don’t wanna answer, you keep quiet. Got it?”
I nod, gaze seeking Digger's as I do.
Deo stands, arms folded, while he watches the exchange with no shortage of suspicion. "This her?" he asks before redirecting the question to me. "You this Rae girl that Maddie left me to go save?"
My throat feels as dry as cotton. “Yeah.” I nod, fingers crushing Tyke’s with the tight knit of our hands.
His hair may be ash blond, an artificial shade, but Deo's heritage is evident in the strong set of his jaw and the dark eyebrows that add menace to an already critical gaze. He's oddly handsome with intense and overbearing features: sharp cheekbones and a pouty mouth curled at the corners, making him look perpetually amused.
“How long you been here?” Tyke asks Deo, not waiting for the answer before he starts to walk.
I follow along, half a step behind, my hand still firmly grasped in his.
"Ten minutes or so," Deo answers, stepping beside us.
Digger trails behind, a welcome sense of security at my back.
"Father wanted to wait until you had an update, but the witch insisted she be here." He snarls in disdain. "Not that she's any use to anyone."
“Stirrin’ up a storm?” Tyke asks with a hint of humor.
Deo smirks, lazy and lop-sided. “Wouldn’t be right if she didn’t find a way to make this about her.”
Their mutual disrespect for Charlene is curious.
My heart picks up the pace as we near the clubhouse door, the low hum of activity on the other side unsettling. In mere seconds, I'll understand exactly what Tyke's ex thinks of me and our odd arrangement. I take a deep breath as Tyke urges us forward, my lungs fit to burst as my boot strikes the polished concrete of the common area.
The devil in a dark gray suit at the bar catches my attention first. Easily over six feet tall and with a shock of silky black hair, his broad shoulders hide whoever stands beyond as he nurses a drink. He keeps his back to our approaching party, even as everyone around him acknowledges our presence. The casual disrespect in Tyke's house isn't lost on me—this man wants to play games.
A man who must be Marco.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Tyke’s hand tightens around mine, keeping me pinned to his side.
The devil turns, and my heart skips a painful beat when I lay eyes on the blonde woman beyond.
"Your people have been more than hospitable while I was forced to wait on you," Marco quips. He slaps Tyke on the shoulder, jest apparent in the banter between the men.
Yet I can’t peel my eyes from the severely thin woman to my left. She wears a pantsuit like a coat of armor, the sharp lines of the shoulders and neat pleat ironed into the front of the trousers project a power that her underfed frame sorely lacks. Despite her gaunt appearance, I find her beautiful in a fierce way. Her eyes are lined in black, smoky shadow contrasting against her brilliant blue eyes.
Eyes that positively tear me apart where I stand.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Tyke ignores her question, pulling me flush against his front so my back presses tight against his chest. Arms languid over my shoulders, he pins me in place and continues the conversation with Marco. “Minion led the rescue party. They should be ridin’ in any moment.”
"Fox, huh?" Marco rubs forefinger and thumb on either side of his shaven chin. "You think he's involved with your other… problem?"
“Possibly.” Tyke’s body stiffens behind me. “The thought crossed my mind on the way back here.”
I catch sight of Digger leaning his elbows on the bar behind Marco. He listens in yet makes no move to join the conversation, content to glean what he can from eavesdropping alone.
"Hey." The points of three sharp nails dig into my shoulder as I'm jolted roughly in Tyke's hold. "I asked a question, you insolent little bitch. Who the fuck are you?"
“Not now,” Tyke rumbles over my head. “For fuck’s sake.”
Charlene’s eyes flick upward, a sneer curling her top lip. “I want to know why she’s here, listening to you two talk. Since when have whores been privy to club business?”
Tyke’s left arm leaves my front, his hand shooting out to encircle the witch’s throat. “Since when have ex-wives been allowed back on club grounds?” he counters. He shunts her back with a rough push. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut before I have you escorted off-site."
My heart hammers, gaze flicking wildly between Charlene and Marco. Will her new husband do anything about Tyke’s treatment of her? Am I about to be sandwiched in a brawl? To my utter surprise, Marco looks bored with the display as he pours a neat whiskey and slides it toward his son.
“You can’t kick me out,” Charlene pushes. “This is my daughter we’re talking about.”
“A daughter you so conveniently forgot existed while you fucked your way through the brotherhood,” Digger mutters.
She lunges behind Tyke and me, intent on striking the Vice President. Yet Marco's firm armbar stops her dead in her tracks.
He leans in, pressing his mouth against her head as he all but growls, “Sit your ass down in the fucking corner before you embarrass yourself any more than you already have.”
She jerks free of his hold, smoothing her power suit and crossing to the sofa closest to the unlit fire.
What the fuck did she do to have them all hate her with such passion? From Digger's comment, I'd say it was infidelity, but the utter contempt for her feels deeper than that.
“How will you deal with Fox?” Marco asks as though the whole showdown with his wife didn’t just happen.
"How I see fit," Tyke hedges. "Thank you for your offer to help, but it's no longer needed." He twists behind me, one arm still holding me close, to presumably eye his ex-wife. "You can take her home."
“Afraid not.” The mafia man takes a slow, deliberate mouthful of his drink. “Deo won’t be happy until he’s seen your daughter with his own two eyes.”
Tyke nods, the movement swaying me a little in his hold. I feel like a teddy bear, a comfort to him in his time of need. My hands find his strong forearm banded across my chest, and I hold him tight, letting him know that I'm here for him if it's what he needs.
Fuck the mixture of interested and scathing glares we receive.
Tyke and Marco continue to make small talk about people and things I don’t understand, but I tune out their discussion in favor of the sounds filtering from around the room. Namely, waiting for one tell-tale noise from out in the yard. Sure enough, as I consider gently easing from Tyke's hold, the rumble of bikes builds until it becomes a dull reverberation echoing about the cavernous room.
All conversation stops. Charlene rises to her feet, looking to her husband for direction—maybe permission—and frowns when he doesn't move toward the door, stalling her too.
Tyke, on the other hand, slides one large hand to the back of my head, pressing a kiss to my temple. “‘Bout fuckin’ time.” He lets me go and strides toward the yard.
I half-jog behind him, attempting to keep up as we pour into the open space to welcome back the rescue party.
Deo's already there, striding along the line of parked bikes to the old truck at the back of the procession. Tyke veers left, making a line for Minion, who walks across to meet his president. I stay focused on the maddened blond who circles the truck and swivels his head along the line of bikes again.
“Where the fuck is she?” Deo’s hollered question bounces off the iron walls of the clubhouse, filling the spaces between the now silenced vehicles. “Why isn’t she here?”
"The fuck?" Digger darts from behind my left shoulder, jogging across to his brother.
My gaze falls on Tyke, on the way his hands press against his head as he paces back and forth, fingers knitting tight into his hair. A rumble starts, his growl growing in intensity until he lunges left and grabs ahold of a trashcan, upending it across the yard.
I've never felt so helpless in my life. I want to soothe, to comfort, to tell Tyke that everything will be okay, but I don't know if I can when I don't feel that in the depths of my heart. How can I offer lies and hope they don't worsen the situation?
"Shit." Sweetie stands at my right shoulder, Minion's daughter Jamie on her off-side. "This don't look good."
“Why isn’t Maddie here?” I ask. The answer is there, in the echoes of my mind, yet I refuse to give it credence. “Is she still on her way?”
“Honey…” Sweetie wraps her arm around my shoulders, coaxing me into the taller woman’s side. “I’d say they didn’t find her, lookin’ at Tyke’s reaction. God be with that poor child.”
Her warmth undoes me. Her compassion for somebody less of this world as she is in this emotionally charged moment. I hide my face against the front of her loose shirt and let the despair wrack my body, a choked sob coming out in place of the tears that refuse to fall.
Yet it’s anger that steels my jaw. Anger that forces my throat to close and the pain to push back down.
Shit. “It’s my fault,” I grumble against her as Tyke continues to holler at the handful of men hanging on his every word. “This whole fucking thing happened because of me.”
“You don’t know that,” she coos. “Hush now. We’ll hear the details when the boys have it all straightened out.”
There's nothing to straighten out.
I phoned my best and only friend that day, desperate for somebody to fix the problem for me. I was selfish, unable to face the gravity of a situation I’d put myself in. Fuck it all—Kane was right.
I tripped headlong into a red-flag-lined relationship, and now Maddie pays the price.
I jerk free of Sweetie and turn for the clubhouse, determined to get upstairs and out of sight. I don't need these people to look at me and be reminded of my part in this. I don't want them angered at my distress, angered that I dare to be upset about something I caused.
I stride toward the open door and halt when Marco's dark form slides into my periphery. He leans a shoulder against the wide door frame, hands in his pockets, as he watches me storm toward him. I lift my head and meet his eye, his slight smile haunting me as I pass by and come face-to-face with the woman who has the least right to be upset at this moment.
Maddie’s fucking mother.