CHAPTER FOUR
EDEN
“I don’t think it’s normal,” I complain, even though I’m grinning like an idiot.
Fern sighs dramatically, flopping back in her seat. “It sounds like heaven to me.”
“You’re telling me,” Maddie chimes in. “If the Pres wanted me that much, I’d never complain.”
“I never said I was tired of it,” I laugh. “I just don’t know if most guys want it, you know, a few times a day.”
“Stacks is happy with once,” Maddie says, rolling her eyes. “But he lasts forever. Sometimes I’m done way before him and I have to talk dirty just to hurry him along.”
We all burst out laughing.
“And sometimes even that doesn’t work,” she adds, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “so I break out my best moves.”
“Best moves?” Fern repeats. “Please explain.”
Maddie leans in like she’s sharing government secrets. “I give him my arse.”
“No you don’t!” Fern shrieks, laughing so hard she nearly spills her drink.
Maddie nods proudly. “Only way to get him to finish in time for my eight hours of beauty sleep. Hey, don’t judge. It works.”
We’re still cackling when some of the others return from the dance floor.
“We’re trying to set Martha up with someone,” Lucy announces. “But she’s not interested in anyone.”
“She’s shy,” I remind them. “She’s not the type to approach a guy.”
“Darcie saw her chatting with Rabbit yesterday,” Orla says, wiggling her eyebrows like she’s cracked a code.
“Come on, ladies,” I say quickly, not wanting them to embarrass Martha. “She’s not like us. She’ll find someone in her own time. And when she does, we’re going to let her do it her way.”
“She’s a twenty-four-year-old virgin,” Darcie blurts. “That’s not normal!”
“Is that by your standards?” Fern shoots back. “Because I know you’ve slept with, what, over a hundred men?”
Darcie laughs. “Maybe I’ve taken Martha’s share.”
“I’m serious,” I say, my tone sharper. “Leave her alone.”
As the president’s old lady, the message lands and they back off immediately.
The night goes far too quickly. We’re having so much fun that by the time we reach the nightclub where Fern booked us a corner suite, we’re all drunk enough to dance rather than risk another round of cocktails.
“I’m having the best night,” I tell Fern over the music.
She hugs me tight. “Good. You deserve it.”
I drop into the booth beside Martha while Fern joins the others on the dance floor. The barman appears with two glasses of something pale and sparkling. He has to shout to be heard.
“We didn’t order,” I yell.
He jerks his chin toward the bar. It’s packed, people three deep, so I can’t tell who he’s indicating to. “He ordered them!” he calls back.
“What?”
“The man at the bar! He got them!”
He sets them down and is swallowed back into the crowd. I shrug and slide one toward Martha.
“Some guy bought us drinks.”
“Good,” she sighs, taking it in one go. “All that dancing has me dying for one.” She kisses my cheek and heads off to rejoin the others.
I pull out my phone, my head swimming harder now. Why am I this drunk? It’s been months since I drank properly because I’m trying to conceive, but I’ve never been this dizzy, this unfocused.
I text Kade I love you, then take another sip of the drink. It’s cool. Refreshing. Too easy to finish. I send Fern a quick message telling her I’m going to find the toilet.
The club is stifling. Bodies everywhere. Heat pressing against me as I weave through the crowd, bumping off shoulders and elbows like I’m made of rubber. My vision swims.
I find a door and try the handle. Locked.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
“If you want the toilet, it’s the door over there,” a man calls from somewhere behind me. His voice sounds far away, echoing, like my ears are full of cotton.
I squint at the wall until I see another door. I focus on it, hand trailing along the plaster until I reach it. I push and stumble straight through, landing hard on my knees.
“Fuck—” I gasp, realising I’m outside. Cold night air rushes my face. I let out a breathy laugh.
I try pushing myself upright, clinging to the opposite wall. When I turn back, the door clicks shut behind me.
“No!” I scramble to it. There’s no handle. Just a fire exit. Seamless metal. It doesn’t budge. “Great.”
I groan, my head swimming and my eyes too fuzzy to properly focus. Something feels off. Wrong.
I crouch down, setting my bag on the ground to search through it. I pat wildly for my phone. My fingers feel thick. Clumsy. So I dump everything out and wince as lipsticks, receipts, gum, and keys scatter across the alley.
My phone hits the concrete—face first—and the back pops off. “Shit…”
“Let me help with that.”
I freeze. A man steps forward out of the shadows. My vision blurs, doubling his outline. He crouches, picks up my phone, and turns it over.
“I’m not sure if you’ve really fucked your phone up,” he says conversationally, tapping it. Then he shrugs. “Yep. It’s broken.”
He drops it—and crushes it under his boot.
I blink, swaying, confusion twisting into fear.
“Oops,” he says softly.
“Wh–yo—” The words tumble out wrong. Slurred.
The whole alley tilts, and I clamp a hand to the wall to stop myself sliding back to the ground.
“Come on, Queenie,” the man murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”
Kade. My fogged brain jumps to the only name that feels safe.
Kade’s here. Of course he is. He always finds me.
I manage a weak smile as my legs buckle.
Strong arms slide under me, and I’m lifted, cradled against a chest. But the second my cheek hits fabric, everything in me tenses.
It’s wrong. The smell. The warmth. The way he holds me.
I try to push away, but my arms won’t work. My head lolls, heavy and uncooperative, and he carries me a few steps before lowering me to the cold ground. My knees hit first, then my palms. I can barely brace myself.
The air is freezing, but my limbs feel thick, numb. Rubber.
A breath tickles my ear. “You wearing the lace, Queenie?” he whispers.
Every hair on my body rises.
“Ka… Ka–” Why won’t my mouth work? Why won’t the sound come out right? It doesn’t feel like my voice. It doesn’t feel like me.
I try again, forcing my heavy eyelids open, but the world tilts violently when I do. The alley spins too fast, like someone’s grabbed it and shaken it. Nausea claws up my throat.
Why is everything moving? Why can’t I focus?
“I’m here, baby. Relax.”
The voice curls around me, soothing and warm—but wrong. So wrong. Too familiar in a way that isn’t familiar at all.
Baby. Since when does Kade call me baby?
A sluggish smirk tugs at my mouth—or at least I think it does. I can’t feel my own expression. Everything is numb. Cold seeps into my skin, creeping up my spine like fingers made of ice.
Why am I cold?
My mouth is so dry my tongue feels thick, swollen. It sticks to the roof of my mouth when I try to swallow. I try to think back through the night. The drinks. The bar. The dance floor. But every memory feels wrapped in cotton. Fuzzy. Hard to reach.
“I knew you’d look good in it,” the voice whispers.
The words scrape down my spine. Familiar, but warped. Distorted, like they’re being filtered through water. Like he’s speaking into my ear and from across the alley at the same time.
Something brushes across my face.
Fabric. Soft. Suffocating.
I try to turn my head, to shake it off, but my neck won’t respond. My body feels disconnected from me, heavy and uncooperative, as if the lines between my brain and my limbs have been cut.
Is it my dress? Did it slip? Is that why I’m cold?
I can’t make sense of any of it.
I try to lift my hand to pull the fabric away, but nothing moves. Not my fingers. Not my arm. Not even a twitch.
I want to turn my head away from the fabric pressed over my face, but nothing obeys me. It’s like my body has stopped listening. Like I’m trapped somewhere deep inside myself, screaming behind glass.
Something shifts near my hips—pressure, wrong, unfamiliar—and a bolt of pain tears through me so sharp it steals what little breath I had left.
No. No, no, no—something’s wrong. Something’s so wrong.
I try to scream, to tell Kade I’m not okay, that this isn’t right—but the sound gets stuck in my throat, swallowed by whatever’s shutting my body down.
My fingers won’t move. My legs won’t move. Everything feels distant. Detached.
Something bangs against the side of my head, dull and rhythmic, and the world lurches with each impact. My stomach twists violently. “Baby, you’re so fucking tight.”
There’s that word again. Baby. I try again to speak—to say stop, and then darkness creeps in from the edges of my mind, slow at first, then faster. Until everything starts slipping away.
I wince. Thud, thud, thud. It brings me back around. I don’t know how long it is before the thudding stops, but it seems like a long time. Words drift in and out. I don’t know who’s saying them, but they sound ugly. I don’t like these words.
The pain goes, and the material comes off my face. A kiss is pressed on my mouth. It’s not gentle. Kade’s always gentle. His tongue feels too wet, and I know I’m not kissing him back, so why isn’t he checking I’m okay?
Sound fades first. The cold alley melts into a blurry hum, the edges of everything softening until nothing feels real anymore. My limbs go numb. My thoughts float away like they’re no longer attached to me.
And then—it’s quiet. Still. Warm.
I blink and suddenly I’m standing in the middle of a park I haven’t seen since I was a kid.
Summer light spills through the trees. The air smells like cut grass and sunshine. Children laugh somewhere in the distance, but their voices echo strangely, like they’re underwater.
I frown, trying to remember how I got here, but the thought slips away before I can catch it.
Then I see her.
Sitting on a wooden bench beneath an old oak tree, hands folded neatly in her lap, smiling the soft smile I’ve missed for over a decade.
Mum.
My heart lurches painfully. She looks exactly the same. Exactly. But that’s impossible. She’s gone. She’s been gone for years.
“Mum?” The word forms in my mind, but my mouth won’t shape it. No sound comes. Nothing works. My voice is gone, my body heavy and unresponsive, like I’m watching from behind glass.
I lift a shaking hand toward her, reaching, reaching—but my fingers never quite touch. They hover in the air, suspended, useless.
She doesn’t seem to notice. She just sits there, smiling out at the park, peaceful. Real. Too real.
And I feel myself falling backwards, away from her, away from the light, back toward something dark and cold and wrong.
Until the park dissolves like smoke and she fades from view.
KADE
“You can’t turn up to the club,” I repeat, slower this time, letting every word land. Jimmy just smirks and leans back in the chair like he owns the place.
Most of my business is done here, in the tattoo shop I run, or the yard a few streets over where the delivery vans are kept. It’s neutral ground. Safe ground. The club isn’t.
I set my sketch pencils down and turn to face him fully. “We keep our women out of business. That’s how it’s always been.”
He’s only been here a few minutes—conveniently right after Diesel stepped out.
Jimmy laughs under his breath. “You’re forgetting how much I’ve got on you.”
“I’ll take the risk,” I snap, before he can finish the threat.
“We’ve got some extra loads coming in next week,” he explains. “I’ll need more vans on the road.”
I shake my head. “Not happening.”
“Kade, there’s no choice for either of us.” His voice drops, more serious than usual.
“You’re wrong. I choose what work my club takes.
And we’re not taking any more of your shit.
” I step closer. “We didn’t want to touch you in the first place, but we honoured Bull’s arrangement.
That ended months ago. Out of good will, I kept it going.
But my honour only runs so deep, and you’re out of time. ”
Jimmy’s jaw tightens. “You’re not fucking listening. There’s no choice. This goes above me.”
“There is no one above you.” I lean in. “Street rats don’t have people.” A muscle ticks in his cheek. “Get the fuck out of my shop,” I growl.
He stands, but doesn’t move. “If I don’t shift these loads, we’re all dead.”
The door swings open, and Liam stumbles in, looking flustered. “Sorry I’m late.”
Jimmy glares daggers at him before turning his attention back to me. “Nathan Cole wants these loads moved to these addresses.” He lays a folded sheet on my desk. “If they don’t reach their destination, he’s coming for us all.”
I close my eyes briefly, a cold weight settling in my gut. “Nathan Cole? How the hell did you upset him?”
The London gangster is ruthless, untouchable. People with sense don’t make deals with him.
Jimmy shrugs helplessly. “He saw a good opportunity and we agreed on terms.”
“You made a fucking deal,” I thunder, “without speaking to me?” I shoot to my feet so fast the chair scrapes across the floor. “I should’ve put a bullet in you the second I learned about your little alliance with Bull.”
“Calm down, Kade,” Liam cuts in, smirking. “Go home to Queenie and cool off.”
I move before my brain even catches up. My hand clamps around Liam’s throat, and I slam him into the wall hard enough to rattle the frames. His smirk vanishes.
“You little fucker,” I growl into his face.
“Kade,” Jimmy warns, voice low. “Let’s not do anything stupid.”
The unmistakable click of a safety being released slices through the room. My jaw twitches. I shove Liam aside, letting him stumble. He laughs—high, shaky bravado. I step back, but only enough to show I’m choosing to, not because he earned the space.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I snarl. “And stay the hell away from my club.”
Jimmy lifts both hands in a mock surrender, backing toward the door with that oily smile still plastered on his face.
“Understood,” he says, giving me a small, mocking salute before stepping outside. The door swings shut behind them.
The silence they leave behind feels loaded. Like a fuse has just been lit. And I’m standing right on top of it.