Chapter 12 #3
It was hard to say what could possibly come of this exchange. What the Kings wanted was impossible; and while I knew they’d never admit it, the Stallions didn’t have much more than their poker faces to stand on.
But while I found myself quite literally in the middle of their club drama, their conflict wasn’t what was making me anxious. I was still short of breath, and my heart rate had yet to come down, the unspoken conversation between Carmy and me as gut wrenching as if we were yelling at one another.
“We don’t have your man, and it’s not our job to keep tabs on your people. You lost him, you find him. Keep us out of it.”
“You expect us to believe that horseshit?” called a new voice. “This fucker’s not back two days and Fang goes missin’. No way that’s a coincidence.”
Even though I was barely following the back and forth, I knew this fucker meant Pistol—the man whose breath was tickling the back of my neck. Suddenly, it was beginning to sink in what I had done and who I did it for.
My blue eyes fixed on Carmy’s with my arms wrapped around Pistol, I knew I hadn’t merely told my brother I tied myself to one of his rivals. I’d unequivocally and irrevocably picked a side.
More than that, I didn’t regret it.
It was stupid. Oh, it was stupid—but for the first time since I moved back home, I was finally standing up to my brother, sending a message of strength rather than surrender.
I had a purpose. Whatever my marriage lacked in love and commitment, it made up for in protection.
I was Riley Well’s shield, and there was something incredibly badass about that.
“You got proof?” Nighthawk argued. “Cause I’m standin’ right here, lookin’ at one of mine, beat to shit by one of yours—that’s fuckin’ proof.”
Finally, Carmine broke our stare and aimed his glare at the Stallion.
“That’s grounds for retaliation,” grumbled Nomad.
“Got that right,” seconded Cobra.
“You wanna fight dirty, it’s on. Otherwise, message received. Now, let him go.”
There was a tense moment of indecision that seemed to last forever.
Then the leader of the Copper Kings signaled one of his men to untie Pistol.
With his forehead still pressed against the side of my neck, it didn’t feel right letting him go, so I didn’t.
I felt as much as I heard his groan of discomfort when his wrists were freed and his arms fell lifeless to his sides.
“It’s over,” I cooed, gently stroking the back of his neck. “Can you walk?”
He nodded slowly before lifting his head. I pulled away enough to see him, and it took everything in me not to wince at the sight of his swollen face.
He had a cut above his left eyebrow. It was old enough that the blood which trickled out of it was already hardened dry and turning brown.
The skin under both of his eyes showed signs of bruising, and the split skin at the crown of his nose didn’t look great.
It was a miracle his nose wasn’t broken.
Each of his cheeks were puffy, but it was obvious he took more of a beating on his left side. His bottom lip was cut right down the middle, and I could see the blood stains that coated his teeth.
I wondered how long he was tied to the chair.
I wondered if his battered face was all the work of Carmine, or if others had taken a turn.
I couldn’t say whether or not it was false hope or common sense that had me convinced it was the latter.
I was pissed at Pistol for what he did the previous night.
When I thought he didn’t come home because he was out doing whatever the hell he wanted without giving me a second thought, I was ready to use him the way I felt like he was using me.
But this?
This punishment…
Even I had to admit it was more than he deserved.
The irony that he took such a beating from my brother was uncanny.
“Bet it looks worse than it is,” he mumbled.
I didn’t believe him for a second, but I understood that was my cue to get up.
Carefully, I slid out of his lap and reached for his arm in an effort to help him stand. As he got to his feet, I saw the way his jaw locked in pain as clearly as I understood the determination in his eyes not to make a sound. He didn’t want to broadcast how much he hurt.
I shook my head at his relentless display of pride, but I didn’t blame him.
He took two slow steps toward the exit, and I knew, no matter how much he needed it, he wouldn’t let one of his brothers help him. It was up to me to convince him he didn’t have to make the journey in his own strength.
“Here,” I murmured, taking hold of his hand and lifting his arm until it was around my shoulders.
The movement made him grimace, but I pretended I didn’t notice as I wrapped my arms around his middle and peered up at him.
“Be the man who walks out with his woman under his arm. No one will know you’re leaning on me,” I whispered.
He glanced down at me, and something I couldn’t quite interpret flashed in his dark green eyes. It was there and gone so fast, I wondered if I imagined it.
Was it gratitude?
Acceptance?
I couldn’t say. But I was sure of one thing—it was entirely unfiltered.
He offered me a subtle nod before he took his next step. Together, we continued for the door.
I looked around for Carmy as we went, but he was gone.