22. Candy
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CANDY
W hen I left Atlas’s office, my first instinct was to go to Butch’s suite to calm down. After upgrading from the storage supply closet, it’s an impulse reaction to enter my disobedient biker’s space.
Heated from my altercation with Butch, I stomp my feet as I make my way upstairs to his room. Once outside his door, my hand hovers above the handle like many times the year prior—doubting if Butch’s invitation was legit. However, this time my hesitation is not from doubt, but stubbornness.
I turn on my heels, marching across the hall to Ebony’s room.
Not bothering to knock, I let myself into her space. The door slamming behind me does nothing to take the edge off my temper as I hoped.
“Fucking men.”
Ebony pops her head around the corner of her bathroom. Her black hair is in giant rollers, and she’s dressed in her red silk robe with half her makeup on. I must have interrupted her getting ready for the day. After all, the MC ladies were invited over text to Jo’s for lunch, and Ebony doesn’t go anywhere without her hair done and face full of makeup .
She points her big makeup brush at me like a wand, shaking it. “Yeah! Fuck those men. Fuck them right up their chrome tailpipes. Now get in here and help me choose my eye shadow for the day. We need to hustle if we plan on getting to Jo’s in time, before the preggers eat all the food.”
“The preggers?”
“Yeah, the preggers—as in all the mamas incubating their babies,” Ebony explains nonchalantly, circling her makeup brush around her tummy. “Jo, Opal, and, according to Chase, Simone, too.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Referring to them as ‘the preggers’ is a little crass.”
Ebony waves a dismissive hand at me. “What you call crass, I call honest. Have you seen what Jo can stuff away in her mouth? I don’t know where the hell she puts it, since that second set of twins takes up all the vacant room in her stomach. Her bones must be hollow like a bird’s or something, hoarding it for extra reserves when those twins suck the nutrients right out of her. Proof those preggers will eat our share if we don’t hustle.”
Good old Ebony—distracting me with meaningless tasks and ridiculous conversations when she senses I’m out of sorts.
Despite my foul mood, I join her in the bathroom. Doing anything is better than brooding over Butch and his asinine behavior.
Ebony digs through her cosmetic bag, pulling out eye shadows. Pursing my lips, I consider the option before settling on a nude with peachy undertones—perfect for Ebony’s honey-bronze skin.
Without looking at me, Ebony stares at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, applying her eye shadow with meticulous precision.
While Ebony works, I lean against the wall, sulking like a child not getting her way—irrational behavior for a grown-ass woman. However, I feel my reaction is valid, given Butch is trying to convince Atlas and the rest of the guys not to assign me to the case, ruining my chances of finding closure on a deeper level.
“Curious, but which men are we upset with today?”
Ebony is not one to pry. She hates it when others enquire about her past or current situationship with Tank. If you respect her boundaries, she’ll respect yours. Seems my pissy demeanor is extreme enough to make her feel obligated to root out the source of my sullen mood.
Grimacing, I fold my arms across my chest like a petulant child. “Not men—a man. As in mine.”
“Gotcha. And what did Butch do to deserve the wrath of Candy?”
“He’s trying to stop me from joining the sex trafficking case.” I explain the current mission, who’s the culprit is to me, and how I volunteered to be the inside person for the operation.
“Can you believe the nerve of this guy, interfering where he has no right?” I huff, irritated all over again.
With only one eyelash attached to her eyelid, Ebony slowly turns to face me. She gawks at me, blinking her eyes rapidly, like she’s having a seizure.
“Excuse me?! You volunteered to do what, now?” Ebony tosses her eyelash curler on the counter, shaking her head. “I know damn well you didn’t offer yourself for this case to be a good-doer and not think your old man wouldn’t have something to say about it.”
I scoff at her words. “Has the man claimed me, Eb? Maybe with his body, but he hasn’t with his words. Last I checked, if a biker wants an old lady, he makes his claim known to the club. Butch is not my old man.”
Ebony rolls her eyes to the ceiling, her one fake eyelash fluttering wildly. “For fuck’s sake, stop being dense. The entire club knows you’re his. He laid a silent claim on you over a year ago.”
Surprised, I recoil. “A silent claim? A year ago?!”
“Mm-hm,” Ebony hums, turning back to the mirror to attach her other eyelash. “Why else do you think the brothers stop coming to you for bunny time?”
“I assumed it was a combination of me shooting them down and being a snitch on the club.”
“Maybe at the time, but the crew has moved past the betrayal. I’m talking the whole year after. You think any of those guys wouldn’t have asked for a hookup if you were available ? Come on, Candy.”
What she says makes sense. As soon as I stopped having casual sex with the crew members, I never had to decline the guys more than once. With how often the bikers like to get their dicks wet, it didn’t make sense they wouldn’t have asked again the year following.
But if this is true, why hasn’t Butch claimed me publicly?
For crying out loud, we screwed each other’s brains out the night before and were greeted by half the crew when we exited the storage closet. It would have been the perfect opportunity to do it if Butch’s intentions were to make me his old lady.
My temper rises again. “Silent claim or not, Butch hasn’t said jack shit to me about titles. Until he utters the words to me or puts a property patch on my back, it’s all speculation at best.”
Ebony waves me away. “Whatever you say, chica . But I’m telling you, old man or not, Butch reacted the way he did because he has feelings for you.”
“I know he has feelings for me,” I murmur with a slight shrug, my cheeks heating. “He admitted it to me last night.”
“Okay. There you have it. He cares about you. His reaction, though over the top, is understandable. Hell, if I were him, I’d have reacted worse. We’re not talking about you getting involved with any sex trafficking investigation, which in itself is concerning enough. We’re talking about you coming face-to-face with the devil who violated you.”
My friend’s blunt reasoning ruffles my feathers. “Why is facing one of my rapists so hard to comprehend?”
Ebony whirls on me, her fists clenched at her sides. “Because most of those who’ve been hurt never want to face their abuser again. I sure as hell never want to see Dante again as long as I breathe air.”
I freeze, staring horror-struck at my friend. “Eb?”
Realizing she said more than she meant to, Ebony’s lips thin. She turns away from me, her hands running nervously over all her cosmetics, like she’s desperately trying to distract herself .
Wanting to give my friend comfort, I take her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. She looks at me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Ebony is very tightlipped with her past. And now I know why.
“Is Dante the reason you left your last MC?”
“Yes. Among other reasons,” Ebony grits, pulling her hands from mine. “This conversation isn’t about my past. I would appreciate it if you dropped your questioning.”
My heart aches for my friend. I school my face not to show my hurt. Ebony wouldn’t appreciate my pity. She’s too proud to tolerate it. It would only serve as a reason for her to push me away when she needs her supporters around her.
“I get it. Just know I’m here if you wanna talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She sucks in a ragged breath. “It’s my past, and that’s where it stays.”
I’ll never pry into someone else’s trauma. It’s not my place. I left the door open if she ever feels the need to unload. “Sure, Eb. Whatever you want.”
Finding my answer acceptable, she nods. She picks up another cosmetic brush, blending in her makeup like nothing happened.
“As I was saying, facing an abuser is difficult. You can prep yourself for however you want the altercation to go, but you won’t know what your reaction is until you’re facing down the person. Let’s say the worst-case scenario happens—which is a genuine possibility, given the circumstances—and you freeze or lash out. As awful as it is for you facing the abuser and the flashbacks, what will your reactions mean for the team and the investigation?”
If the worst happened, it could mean death, not only for me and the crew, but for all the people being auctioned.
My mouth goes dry. I swallow before answering, “I see your point.”
“Good. You need to see what you’re up against before riding in like some damn Joan of Arc fool. ”
“But, Eb, I won’t freeze, and I won’t lash out. I know what’s at stake.”
“Are you able to promise that? Better yet, are you able to promise Butch that? If anything were to happen to you, your biker will blame himself.”
“Why would he blame himself? I volunteered for this, knowing the consequences.”
“He’s. Your. Biker,” Ebony says slowly, like I’m a child struggling to comprehend something basic. “His job is to protect you. You ride with him, he takes extra precautions on the road. You wear something revealing out, he stays close to your side and warns other dudes off. You get hurt or sick, he helps nurse you back to health. It’s his job.”
I open my mouth to argue but stop short, realizing Butch does all those things she mentions, and more.
“Look at Atlas, Gauge, or Chase. How are they with their other halves? Hmm? They start wars, raise armies, burn the world around them to protect the one they love.”
My mind hooks on to the last word Ebony says. “Love? You think Butch loves me?”
Ebony shakes her head. “Gurl, you’re more lost than I thought. His actions speak volumes.”
I take a moment to contemplate her words. Yes, Butch’s actions suggest he cares. He’s verbalized he wants me, only me. But he hasn’t told me he loves me, nor do I expect him to, with the relationship being brand new. Still, I find the idea of him loving me to be a stretch. Who could love me?
“Nah. I don’t believe it. I need the words from the horse’s mouth.”
“Words are hard for a nearly mute man who’s comfortable with his silence.”
“Fine,” I grump. “I’ll take a handwritten note with an I love you .”
“Handwritten note? What are you? A preteen?”
“A text, then,” I say in exasperation .
“He’ll say the words when he’s good and ready or when you show the same interest back.”
“I slept with him—twice. How much more interest can I show?”
“Geez,” Ebony scoffs. “Awfully hypocritical of you to demand words from him while not practicing what you preach.”
Damn, she’s right. “Ouch.”
“You get my honest opinions, chica . Take it or leave it. Back to the point. If the roles were reversed and Butch was the one facing a person who hurt him, how would you be reacting?”
“I—I,” stuttering, I bite my lip to stop my tremble. “I’d be irate.”
Ebony waves her hand at me. “Exactly.”
Shit. Butch’s response was out of line, but so was I with how I went about things.
“I should have talked with Butch about my intentions with the case before saying anything to the rest of the crew.”
Ebony shrugs. “He would have fought you still. However, I think his reaction would have been better. You blindsided him in there, volunteering like you did.”
I run my hands down my face, frustrated with myself. “How do I apologize without backing out of the case?”
“Are you for sure working the case?”
“Atlas seemed to contemplate my offer before I left his office. No idea what Butch has said to him since I left. But I’m sure he tried to talk Atlas out of it.”
“As any old man would,” Ebony informs me, with a pointed look.
We’re interrupted by frantic knocking on Ebony’s door. “Hellooo? EB?” someone calls out in a distinctly feminine twang.
“In here, Red,” Ebony hollers from the bathroom.
“Is Candy with you?”
Intrigued, I exit the bathroom.
“Yeah,” I say, with a raised eyebrow. “What’s up?”
Red sighs in relief. “Oh, thank God! You need to come quick.”
Ebony and I exchange a quizzical look. But Red looks panicked, wringing her hands .
“Red, what’s going on?”
“It’s Butch.”
The way she says his name with such concern has alarm bells going off in my head. I grab Red by the shoulders, needing her full attention. “Did something happen? Is he okay?”
“Um, physically? Yeah.” Red pulls on a lock of her hair—a nervous habit of hers. “But maybe not for long.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of nonsense. “Not for long? What does that mean?”
Red clears the air from her lungs, like she’s bracing herself for something unpleasant. She tugs on my hand, leading me to the door.
“You should see for yourself.”