33. Rae
33
RAE
A door slams, the abrupt sound rousing me from the sleep I’d fallen into propped against the arm of the sofa nearest the fire. I blink away the remnants of rest and glance about the room until I locate the back of Turnip’s head as he strides outside into the yard.
It takes a moment for my brain to register that there's no patch on his back.
Kane reclines lengthways across the sofa opposite, legs propped up on the rolled arm and hands clasped over his stomach. He raises a brow and shifts his arms to link his hands behind his head. "Seems like a bit of a story."
“What does?” Harvey sits to his brother’s left, perched on the front of the seat cushion, elbows to knees while his foot taps an impatient beat.
He looks every part like his father.
“Turnip leavin’ the room without his cut,” Kane drawls.
"Eh?" Harvey spins, searching the space where the Reaper officer had been.
“What does it mean?” I slide myself upright, closer to the warmth of the flames.
Kane’s glare holds enough heat to warm the both of us. “What do you think?”
"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking." Fuck him. Maybe it means Turnip was sent to do a job on the down low? Maybe it means he's quit. Or perhaps he's been told to leave.
Can you even quit an outlaw club?
Fucked if I’d know.
"Mean's he's given up his membership," Harvey helpfully clarifies. "The story Kane refers to would be why he did."
I glance at the door to Tyke’s office, still closed. What the hell went down that one of the senior members would do that? “Do you think he gave it up willingly? Or do you think it was taken from him?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” Kane says. “But either way, it ain’t any of your business or your right to ask.”
Fuck me. I can’t with this place. With the rules that some—Kane—seem hellbent on sticking to, and some—Digger, Tyke—seem okay with bending.
Doesn’t make it any clearer for a newcomer like me, that’s for sure.
Harvey’s attention flicks over my head, his face lighting up like the fourth of July. “Hey. How is she?”
I take it as a sign Jamie has emerged from Tyke's room and twist to kneel on the seat, my arms leaning on the back of the sofa. "Is she okay?"
Jamie glances behind herself and dashes across the room to crouch behind the furniture. "She fuckin' spoke," she whispers. "Maddie talked."
My heart swells with joy and relief, yet there’s a distinct barb between my ribs from the regret that I wasn’t the one she decided to open up to. Not about you, Rae. “That’s great,” I say instead. “What did she have to say?”
“Nothing important.” Jamie rises to her feet. “She’s havin’ a shower while I get her something to eat.”
“I’ll help.” Harvey’s out of his seat like a shot, hips swaying as he weaves through the furniture to accompany Minion’s daughter.
I wait until they've left the room and then rise to check on Maddie.
“What you doin’?” Kane’s low question chills the blood in my veins.
If I’m to make this old lady thing work, I’ve got to get along with this fucker. But damn, I understand more and more every day that he’s a product of his mother, not his father, no matter how much he looks like Tyke.
"I'm going to check on Maddie," I say, folding my arms over my chest. “Do you have an issue with that?"
“Seems she’s doing better without you there.” He doesn’t afford me the fucking decency of looking at me as he talks. Nope. The asshole stares down at his hands—resting back atop his stomach—as he delivers the insult.
It angers me that he's managed to mainline his way into my insecurities.
"Didn't see you there snapping her out of her trance, either."
His head turns slowly, a scowl carving deep lines between his eyes. "You're a cunt. You know that?"
“Takes one to know one.”
“Jesus.” He laughs, sliding his lithe body around to sit properly on the seat. “You’re so pathetic.”
“Again.” I lift an eyebrow. “Seems an observation you can make from recognizing the same quality in yourself.”
“What do you want with him, huh?”
"Which one?" I sass, well aware that mentioning my connection to both his father and uncle will rile him up.
“My old man.” He glares from beneath a hooded brow, leaning forward into the same position his brother had. Only, unlike Harvey, Kane radiates pure aggression in the flex of his biceps and the strength of his tattooed hands.
“I want happiness,” I growl.
“To take it from him?” He leans back, slinging an arm over the back of the seat. “I’d say you’re doin’ a good job of that already. Keep at it, Rae.”
“Fuck you.” I advance on his position yet have the foresight to pull up short outside his reach. "What the hell have you done to make your father smile lately, huh? What do you give him that provides him some fucking relief from this bullshit?" I huff a bitter laugh. "You dare to sit there and question me like you're some fucking savior of this place. Like you’re the glue holding it together. Yet you’re nothing but a scared little boy who doesn’t know his place in this fucking world. You’re a goddamn child still hiding behind the wall of his father’s legs while he throws stones at the bullies.”
Kane lunges from the seat, his hand around my throat before I can navigate a step backwards that wouldn’t have me trip over the goddamn coffee table and into the fire. “Who hides behind those legs, Rae? Huh? Ain’t that you?” The smirk that curls his mouth is pure evil. “Or you too busy spreading yours?”
I slap him. He may have me by the throat, but he’s not out of my reach. My palm connects with his face, a loud crack in the otherwise quiet room.
A precious second passes, and then his fingers inch together.
I feel the moment he cuts blood flow to my brain.
The pressure compounds.
“Quit it…” I croak, swinging my arm at his head, hoping to distract him enough that he relents.
Yet my arms are already lead, my vision tunneling. Fuck. Is this how I die? Not to a crazy bitch who chased me with a knife. Not to a kingpin who needs witnesses silenced. Not to an abusive fiancé.
But to the bruised ego of a biker prince with an inflated sense of self-importance.
Damn…
“The FUCK?” The roar cuts through my fading awareness.
Kane releases me with such speed that I fail to recalibrate. The room swims, and I sway left, collapsing partially against the sofa, mainly on the floor.
The Chesterfield screeches across the floor under my weight, tearing away from me as boots pound the ground beside my head.
“Rae?” I cling to the familiar musk of Digger’s scent.
My consciousness returns, yet it’s slow and not without a healthy dose of nausea.
“I’m okay.” I blindly reach for him to pat his arm and assure him I’m fine.
I swat air.
“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” Tyke roars to my right. I catch sight of his legs, blocking Kane from my view.
Maybe it's the lack of oxygen, or perhaps it's the crazy-ass day I've had. But I laugh—hysterically.
It does nothing to stall the ensuing argument.
“Was puttin’ your uncle to ground today not enough?” Tyke continues, the strength of his baritone shaking the floor beneath me. “You want me to send you with him?”
"Like you'd dare," Kane hollers. "You didn't have the guts to do what was needed with Fox, to begin with, and look where that got us.” He drops a bitter laugh. “Do you feel any responsibility for what happened to Maddie?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then fuckin’ show it!”
“What’d you have me do, boy?” Tyke takes a step forward as Digger lifts my head to his lap. “You want me to give in to this fucking hole inside of me? You rather I’d drown myself in a fuckin’ bottle? Cry? Put a goddamn gun to my head?” His rapid breaths fill the poignant silence. “What is it you want!”
I ache to crawl to him. To wrap my arms around his legs and reassure Tyke it’s okay.
He’s enough.
“Shit,” I mutter as Digger strokes my hair.
“Somebody has to lead this place, and that honor was given to me,” Tyke states, tone softening. “Of course, I feel responsible for what happened to your sister, but fuck me dead, Kane, I can’t show weakness. I’m not afforded that luxury.”
I put my hand against the floorboards and force myself upright to see Kane better.
He stares at the ground beside their feet, jaw working a knot.
He knows his father’s right, and what frustrates me most is that I can’t understand why he won’t just cede. Why the hell does he need to keep creating chaos?
Where does his anger come from?
“You got nothin’ to say now, huh?” Tyke sighs. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I put a fucking fist through your skull for touchin’ my woman like that.”
Kane’s heated stare flicks to me before he turns and strides for the stairs.
I don't fully breathe until he's out of sight and Tyke's crouched at my side.
“He done that before?”
I shake my head. "Only with his words. It's okay, Tyke. I stirred him up."
“Ain’t no excuse,” Digger mumbles behind me.
“No, it ain’t,” Tyke agrees, gaze fixated on my neck.
“Is it bad?” I lift my fingers to where the flesh still burns.
“It’ll raise questions.” He flattens his lips and sighs out his nose. “He’ll be punished for it.”
It's there, on the fringes, for me to tell him not to, to give Kane the benefit of the doubt, and to ask him to take it easy on him as his father.
But I tamp that fucking empathy down where it belongs and nod instead.
Caring about everyone else has never got me anywhere. Giving others the benefit of the doubt led to me being used, abused, and taken advantage of.
If I want change, I have to do things I’ve never done before.
And that starts today.
Actions have consequences. Something I know best.
Let the club do what it feels fair.
Let Kane see that I’m a part of this world whether he likes it or not.