Chapter 2
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— Indira —
Dutch’s house sat on the back edge of the club property, a sprawling ranch-style place he’d built two years ago but barely used until we started getting serious.
Most of the brothers lived in rooms upstairs at the clubhouse, but Dutch had wanted something that felt more like a real home.
Somewhere he could bring a woman he actually cared about, he’d told me once.
What a fucking joke.
I unlocked the front door and stepped into the living room that had started to feel like ours over the past few months.
My half-finished novel sat on the coffee table next to his motorcycle magazines.
My favorite throw blanket was draped over his leather couch.
My coffee mug—the one with the ridiculous cat meme that made him roll his eyes every morning—sat in the kitchen sink.
Evidence of a relationship that apparently meant nothing to him.
I grabbed an empty box from the garage and started in the bedroom.
My clothes took up about a third of his walk-in closet.
Dresses for work, jeans and sweaters for lazy weekends, the little black dress he’d bought me for the club’s anniversary party last month.
I yanked everything off hangers and shoved it into the box.
A horrifying thought hit me like ice water as I grabbed my stuff out of the bathroom.
I was going to have to get an STD panel.
He’d been wearing a condom with Crystal—I’d seen that much—but had he always?
With every woman? And even if he had, weren’t there things condoms didn’t fully protect against?
Herpes, HPV—god, I didn’t even know what I should be worried about.
These weren’t thoughts I’d ever had to consider before.
The thought made my cheeks burn with humiliation.
I’d have to sit in some clinic waiting room, fill out forms asking about my sexual history, explain to a stranger that my ex-boyfriend had been screwing god only knows how many other women behind my back, and hope they could tell me I was safe.
How many women had there been? How long had this been going on? The entire year we’d been together? My stomach churned as I remembered every time we’d had mind blowing sex, every morning I’d woken up in his bed feeling safe and loved.
What a naive little fool I’d been.
I swept everything into my toiletry bag with sharp, angry movements.
The sound of Dutch’s Harley in the driveway made my stomach clench. I’d hoped to be done before he got here, but packing was taking longer than expected. Too many little pieces of my life are scattered throughout his house.
The front door opened and closed, followed by heavy footsteps in the hallway.
“Indira?” His voice was cautious, like he was approaching a wild animal. “What are you doing?”
I looked up from where I was kneeling beside the bed, pulling my favorite pair of pajamas from his dresser drawer. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. Still in his jeans and Venom Riders cut, he looked every inch the dangerous biker president. This morning, that look would have made my knees weak. Now it just made me angry.
He moved closer, reaching out like he was going to pull me into his arms the way he always did when I was upset. “Hey, come here.”
I jerked back so fast I nearly tripped over the box. “Don’t touch me.”
The hurt that flashed across his face would have broken my heart an hour ago. Now it just made me angrier. “Keep your filthy hands away from me,” I snapped.
“Filthy?” His voice was genuinely confused.
“Have you even washed your hands since you fucked her?” The words came out in a rush of disgust. “You smell like her. You probably still have her all over you.”
Dutch’s face flushed red, and he looked down at his hands like he’d forgotten what he’d been doing with them twenty minutes ago. “Indira—”
“What? Were you planning to come home and kiss me with the same mouth that was on her? Touch me with the same hands that were all over her body?” My voice was getting higher, more hysterical.
“How long has this been going on, Dutch? How many times have you come to me straight after fucking someone else?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, guilt written all over his face.
“How long?” I demanded. “How long have you been fucking other women?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Indira—”
“How long, Dutch?”
“I never stopped,” he admitted quietly.
And just like that, the floor fell out from under me. “Never stopped. So we were never exclusive? Not once in this entire year?”
“You’re my woman,” he growled, as if that explained everything.
“One of many, apparently.”
“It’s not the same thing—”
“You’re right. It’s worse.” I turned back to my packing with sharp, jerky movements. “At least the club girls know what they’re signing up for. I was never given that opportunity.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he said finally.
I stood up, clutching the pajamas to my chest. “Dramatic. Right. Because finding your boyfriend fucking another woman is totally something I should just shrug off.”
“It’s not like that, and you know it.” He stepped into the room, his voice taking on that patient tone that made me want to scream. “Crystal isn’t another woman. She’s a club girl. It’s completely different.”
“How?” I shoved the pajamas into the box with more force than necessary. “Your dick was inside her, Dutch. How is that different?”
His jaw tightened. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?” I spun to face him. “You’ll go fuck Crystal again? Oh, wait, you were probably already planning to do that anyway since you weren’t expecting me tonight.”
“That’s not—” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up the styled blonde strands. “Look, this is just how things work in the MC. My father did the same thing for twenty years. My mother never had a problem with it.”
“Your mother stayed because she had no choice!” The words exploded out of me. “She had no education, no job, no money of her own. I’m not your mother, Dutch. I have options.”
“So what, you’re just going to throw away everything we have because of this?” He gestured vaguely, like ‘this’ was some minor inconvenience. “Because I got my rocks off with a club girl?”
“Everything we have?” I laughed, sharp and bitter. “What exactly do we have, Dutch? Apparently what I thought we had and what you think we have are two very different things.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to that low, commanding tone he used when he expected to be obeyed. “We have a good thing, Indira. Don’t fuck it up because you’re being emotional.”
“Emotional.” I repeated the word slowly. “I’m being emotional because I expected fidelity from my boyfriend. How unreasonable of me.”
He nodded, like I was finally starting to understand. Like he was glad I could see how unreasonable I was being.
“In your world, maybe fidelity matters. In mine, it’s different. The club provides for its members’ needs. That includes the women. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something to me!” My voice cracked on the words.
“It means everything to me!” I turned back to the dresser and started pulling out more of my things.
A lacy bra he’d bought me-into the box. Tank tops I’d stolen from him that had become mine-into the box.
My fingers found the delicate necklace he’d given me for my birthday, still warm against my throat.
Without thinking, I ripped it off and hurled it at him.
“Keep your guilt gift,” I snapped.
The necklace bounced off his chest and clattered to the floor. “Indira, stop. You’re being irrational.”
“Irrational?” I whirled around, and something must have shown in my face because he actually took a step back. “You want to see irrational?”
I grabbed the framed photo from his nightstand—the two of us at a charity ride last month, both smiling, his arm around my waist—and hurled it against the wall. The glass shattered, scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Feel better?” Dutch asked dryly.
“Actually, yes.” I picked up the cologne bottle from his dresser and smashed it against the wall, too. The expensive scent filled the air, cloying and overwhelming. “Much better.”
“That’s enough.” He moved toward me, but I grabbed a heavy motorcycle magazine from the nightstand and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it hit the wall behind him.
“Indira, knock it off.”
“No!” I was spiraling now, the complete destruction of everything I’d believed about us pouring out of me.
“You don’t get to tell me to knock it off!
You don’t get to fuck other women and then act like I’m the problem for being upset about it!
” I reached for his alarm clock, but he caught my wrist before I could throw it.
“Enough.” His grip was firm but not painful. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“Let go of me.” I tried to yank free, but he held on.
“Not until you calm down.”
“Stop telling me to calm down!” I shoved at his chest with my free hand. “Stop acting like this is my fault! Stop acting like I’m the crazy one for having normal human emotions!”
He caught my other hand and held both my wrists, effectively pinning me in place. “Baby, just breathe. You’re working yourself up over nothing.”
“Nothing?” The word came out as a broken sob. “This is nothing to you?”
For just a moment, his expression softened. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“No, I think that’s exactly what you meant.” I stopped struggling against his hold and looked him in the eye. “I mean nothing to you. What we had means nothing to you. Fidelity and honesty and basic respect mean nothing to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Prove it.” The challenge hung in the air between us. “Prove it, Dutch. Tell me you’ll never touch another woman again. Tell me Crystal was a mistake, and it’ll never happen again.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and I could see the war playing out on his face. Finally, he said, “I can’t promise that.”
My breath hitched, sharp and painful. I’d known he’d say it, but hearing it out loud still destroyed me.
“Indira.” He waited until I met his eyes. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. Come to bed. Sleep on it. We’ll talk tomorrow when you’ve had time to think rationally.”
“Let me go.” My voice was barely a whisper.
He released my wrists slowly, reluctantly. I stepped back and resumed packing, my hands shaking with rage and heartbreak.
“You still want to leave?” he asked. I could see the confusion in his eyes. Clearly, he thought I was going to fall in line and jump into bed with him after his “it doesn’t mean anything” speech.
“Yes.” I shoved the last of my things into the box with sharp, angry movements.
“You’re going to throw us away over this?”
I spun to face him, fury blazing through me. “You threw us away the moment you decided Crystal’s pussy was more important than my feelings.”
His grip tightened on my arm again. “Watch how you talk to me.”
“Or what?” I yanked against his hold. “You’ll go fuck another club girl? Good luck with that, Dutch. I hope she’s worth it.”
His face darkened, and I could see the dangerous edge creeping into his expression. The same look he got when dealing with club business. For the first time, I realized he might not actually let me leave if I kept pushing.
I forced myself to take a shaky breath and let my shoulders slump in defeat. When I looked up at him, I made sure my voice sounded broken rather than defiant. “I just... I need some time to think. Away from here.”
His grip loosened slightly, and he actually looked relieved. “That’s more reasonable. How much time?”
“I don’t know.” I picked up the box again, careful to keep my movements slow and defeated. “Maybe we can talk in a few days when I’m not so... emotional.” The words tasted like poison, but it’s what he wanted to hear.
His shoulders relaxed. “Good. That’s good, baby.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Take tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. This will blow over.”
I nodded and headed for the door, biting my tongue to keep from telling him exactly what I thought of his dismissive attitude.
“Indira.” I paused at the doorway and looked back. “I do care about you. You know that, right?”
“I know,” I lied.
I made it to my car before the tears started. But I didn’t let myself fall apart until I was safely back in my own apartment, with my own locks between me and the Venom Riders MC.