Chapter 11 Callie
ELEVEN
CALLIE
It was early.
The sun had just barely cleared the ridge surrounding the valley as I sat on the front porch, sipping my coffee.
I had an oversized sweater over my pajama shorts.
The sweater stopped mid thigh, but no one was out here to see me flash my ass if I bent over.
The night spent in the cabin was as frustrating and exhausting as I assumed it would be.
After Laura and I cleaned, we went into town for food to stock the kitchen.
As soon as we reached the fence to exit, there was a member from the club there to meet us and trail us into town.
It annoyed Laura, but I was beyond caring anymore.
I had grown up with members tailing me and following me around, so I just shoved it into the back of my mind.
Once we’d returned, we began drinking. We were trying to find the silver lining of this trip, but Laura ended up passing out on the couch early, leaving me to an empty cabin full of memories.
The itch under my skin to check behind that picture for a certain key had gotten the best of me.
I didn’t know why I thought it would still be there, or why I assumed Wes didn’t throw it away when he moved out.
I should have just taken it with me when I left, but I was too proud and too damn angry.
Sure enough, as I slid that old picture to the left, there was an outline of where the key had once been.
I searched the mantel to ensure it hadn’t fallen or slipped into a crevice somewhere, but it was gone.
Now, under an early dawn, I felt foolish and annoyed.
Why was I allowing my memories of Wes to define my connection to this place?
It was always mine and my father’s before it was anything to Wes and me.
I took another sip, allowing the foundation of this place to wash over me.
When I was a little girl, my dad used to bring me out here to camp.
It only lasted until I turned fourteen or so, but when I was little, it felt magical.
He’d take off his leather vest and simply become my dad.
Not the president, or any other person to anyone.
He was just mine. We’d spend the whole weekend eating hotdogs, telling stories, and burying treasure.
I wondered if any of that treasure was still buried around the property.
Leaving my mug behind, I walked behind the house and began toeing different patches of dirt with the tip of my boot.
It had been years since I even looked at this part of the property, so I was a little unsure of where to even begin.
Even when I briefly lived here with Wes, I didn’t come outside and look around for treasure, except for that one night, but I couldn’t even remember where we’d buried that jar, or why it hurt so much to remember that moment with my father.
Sorrow crowded my chest and made it ache.
Remembering how he’d helped me get past one of the hardest chapters of my life, using our buried treasure, was something that I had always clung to.
Now, my dad was gone forever. There was no reconciliation talk.
No rumble of his engine, which I used to wish for when I was in my apartment in DC.
No bear hug where he wrapped me in his arms, and I finally felt safe again.
None of that was ever going to happen again, and for all my bravado at the funeral, grief was a knife point in my sternum, threatening to tear me open.
A tight, painful sob caught in my throat as I searched the ground.
The glass jars we used weren’t buried that deep, and the landscape didn’t seem to have changed that much. So, it should be around here, easily available.
When the ground blurred and a tear fell down my cheek, I realized this might be more of a daunting task than I originally thought. The sun made it over the hills, pouring into the valley and bathing me in gold. I sniffed, allowing more tears to fall free as I shut my eyes. Maybe I needed this.
To cry, let out all the anguish and hurt.
Fuck, I needed therapy. It was a luxury I couldn’t afford, but if I saved, or skimped on eating out, I could make it happen.
I really needed to, because this shit hurt.
Eventually I sunk to the ground, wrapping my arms around my knees as the new day expanded around me.
The heat from the sun was already soaking into my sweater and drying my tears, when I heard someone walking.
My head snapped up, my eyes landing on the tall form roughly fifty feet from me. Here in the early morning light, Wes looked like a fallen angel. Devastatingly handsome, a look of determination and wrath painting his features in harsh lines and shadow.
My gaze narrowed, with streaks of tears still clinging to my cheeks. He was the absolute last person I wanted to see.
“What?” I yelled.
I must look ridiculous. Sitting among weeds and dead grass, dirt smudging my ass from where my pajamas had ridden up.
He stalked closer, his face an unreadable mask, like stone. There was no warmth left in him, and whatever used to be there once upon a time was long gone.
The sun created a halo effect around his head as he neared, until finally his motorcycle boots kicked up dirt near my toe and he lowered into a crouch, peering at me from wary eyes.
“I need the letter your dad left you.”
His voice came out clear and deep, like a cold river running in the depths of a cave. Those familiar eyes squinted at me as I sat in the dirt, tears staining my cheeks. Just to ground myself, I dug my nails into the earth at my sides and inhaled a shallow breath.
“What, no ‘Good morning, River?’” I tilted my head, taunting him with the nickname he had used yesterday. Wes used to love waking me up and pulling me outside to catch the sunrise. He’d set me on his lap, wrap his arms around me, and we’d sit there, watching as a new day started.
Staring at me, Wes didn’t so much as flinch or shift at my retort.
“The letter, Callie. I’m serious.”
Heaving a tiny sigh, I drug my nails through the dirt like I was a kid again. “Which letter?”
I knew it was the one from the attorney’s office, but I needed time to figure out exactly how I was going to get out of this.
Wes was cold yesterday, almost cruel. I had to assume the doting, obsessive love of my life from seven years prior was completely gone and in its place was a vicious motorcycle club leader.
His expression stayed calculated, his gaze pinning me in place. The way his focus dropped to my lips was the only indication I had at all that there was a heart beating behind that chest of his.
“The one from the will. This is important. I need to know what he told you.”
Tilting my head back, I smiled with fake bravado. “He told me to sell the property, Wes. All of it. Every single speck of dirt.” I pulled my hand up and let a small pile of earth fall from my palm.
Wes’s gaze tracked the movement, his lips thinned into a firm line. This wasn’t funny to him. I dusted my hands together to rid myself of the filth and then moved to get up, but Wes moved at the same time.
With one palm behind me, he hovered over me, nearly pinning me to the ground. A rush of air left my lungs with how close he was. His chest brushed against mine, his knee came down between my thighs, and his face…
Fuck, his face was equal parts menace and mirth.
“This isn’t a fucking joke, Callie. Lives are at stake. Now, tell me where the letter is.” His breath fanned my face, and how unfair was it that he smelled like peppermint?
With all the strength I had, I glared at him. Our faces were inches apart, one of his hands was behind me, the other had drifted to my waist, and I could feel the heat of his palm teasing the exposed skin where my sweater had risen up.
There under my chest, deep in the rivets of my heart, was a tiny spark, bursting to life with vengeance. The meek mask I pulled on to hide and stay out of everyone’s way was slipping off, and a tempest was raging inside my breast.
“Why is it you think you can treat me this way?” I asked, my voice shaking.
I wanted him out of my space, off me and away from me. This close, I could feel the embers of what used to be between us, and all it did was uncover how badly he’d burned me.
Wesley’s expression shifted to curiosity for a single moment, his eyes drifting across my face like he couldn’t figure out what I was referring to.
His voice was even and low as he replied, “I’m not treating you any differently than how you treat me.”
“You are!” I tried to push at his shoulder to get him to move, but he only leaned closer.
“This isn’t about being nice, Callie. It’s about life and death. I’m not playing a fucking game here. I need to see that letter, and I don’t frankly give a shit if you think I’m mean by asking for it.”
A burning sensation was starting up in my nose, which meant tears weren’t far away. Why the fuck was he on top of me right now? I pushed again, and this time a small growl reverberated in his chest.
“I’ll move as soon as you tell me where the letter is.”
I sagged back, frustrated and annoyingly turned on.
“Fuck you, Wes. I’m not giving you anything, especially when you treat me this way.”
His lips skimmed my jaw as they traveled near the lobe of my ear. Hot breath slid across my skin, and even with the sun caressing the field, his trail left goosebumps behind.
“How is it you want to be treated, Callie? Do you want to be treated like the victim you’re begging to be seen as?
” His hand at my waist slid under the fabric of my tank, and his heated touch moved along my back, up my spine.
His mouth stayed level with my ear as he continued to whisper.
“Or did you want to be treated like the princess you’ve always been?
Worshiped and adored by everyone in your daddy’s club but too blind to see it? ”
What was he talking abou—