Large, bare feet came into my periphery. The water ran in the sink and he laid a cold, wet washcloth over my neck.
I shooed the hulking beast away, ashamed of my weak constitution.
Buck up, little camper, used to be my father’s go-to advice whenever I had a moment of self-pity. He would allow me a few minutes to pout, then tell me to pick myself up, dust myself off, and march on.
If Mim could survive her horrors, then I could certainly handle hearing about them. Buck up, little camper. Buck the eff up. I pulled my shit together, brushed my teeth, thanked Dane for telling me the truth, then I crawled back into bed where Mim was fast asleep, arms and legs spread wide.
I needed to touch her, hold her, feel her heat, smell her sweaty head, and hear that beautiful beating heart. I rolled to my side, curled my arms around the sleeping beauty, and fought tears until exhaustion pulled me under.
Dane
Exhaustion threatened to pull me under where I stood, but fuck if I was about to back down.
“What I don’t get”—Tito threw a right hook, landing a brutal lick to my jaw— “is what that little angel likes about you.” Smack. Smack. “You’re scary as fuck.”
“My sparkling personality, dickface.” I swung. He shifted left, avoiding my right hook.
“And you fight like an old man.” His next strike came out of nowhere.
I hit the mat, blinked the stars from my vision, contemplated staying down, then shook the thought away.
Moretti stood over me, bare chested and begging for more. Tito wasn’t the kind of guy you conceded to, no matter how bad you hurt.
I pushed to hands and knees, ignoring the catch in my hip, then struggled to my feet.
If Moretti noticed my discomfort, he didn’t let on, but instead, he backed away, bouncing foot to foot, waiting for my next move. I’d never seen the guy fight, but I’d watched what he could do to a man, witnessed the depravity. He was a survivor, like me. Not trained, but honed. Street. To the bone.
When he’d asked if I wanted to join him in the gym for a spar, I figured we’d pussyfoot around each other for an hour, release some pent-up frustrations, work up a good lather.
Shoulda known better.
The guy came at me, no-holds-barred, and out of sheer survival instinct, I blocked, then stuck. Once. Twice.
He countered. Kidneys. Ribs.
Yeah. Moretti was rabid, maniacal in his approach, but I was a machine, a God damn tank. Get me rolling, I wouldn’t stop until the ground was leveled. And I was ready to roll because fuck, I hurt everywhere.
I struck, catching his jaw.
He kissed the mat and bounced right back to his feet. “Now we’re talking.” The fucker smiled. “Haven’t had a real fight in ages.”
And so went the back and forth. We ended the verbal taunts and dove straight into beating the shit out of each other.
Bloody, bruised, we continued, neither of us backing down. God. Damn. I fucking loved the adrenaline rush.
“Boys!” a husky voice shouted, drawing my attention to the curvy woman in the doorway.
The distraction was enough for Moretti to land a final blow. Somehow, I managed to stay upright, although on my knees.
Tito cracked a smile. Bent to my level. “Thanks, bro. I needed that.” He offered a hand to help me up. Before turning to face the woman in the doorway, he said, “Mim is lucky you stumbled into that cabin. Doesn’t matter why she’s taken to you. Doesn’t matter you’re a bastard. She feels safe with you, so make sure she keeps on feeling that way.”
I had nothing to offer but a, “Fuck off,” while I slapped his hand away.
I was sick of people telling me what I needed to do. Like I didn’t feel the weight every time Mim looked me in the eye, or wrapped her little fingers around my hand, or those tiny arms around my neck. My bones cracked under the pressure.
And Mim wasn’t the only one weighing heavy. Moriah. Fuck. That woman had me twisted.
Tito slapped me on the back. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” was all I could manage.
He laughed. “Ever want a real challenge…” He pointed over his shoulder to the curvy, raven-haired goddess standing in the doorway, balancing a baby on her hip. “Give that feisty shit a go. She’ll exorcise your demons and serve you your own balls on a silver platter.”
He jogged away, snatched the baby out of the woman’s arms, and disappeared.
The woman, however, tilted her head, pinning me with a stare that left no room for challenge. “You good? Do we need to call Lettie?”
I raised a swollen hand. “All good.”
“Really?” She cocked her hip, touched a finger to her cheek. “Got a little something there.”
I ran the back of my arm over my sore cheek, and yes, there was blood. Already, my vision was blurry, my eye swelling, certain to get worse if I didn’t ice it soon.
“You must be Aida.”
The woman nodded, coming closer. “You’re Dane.” She offered a hand, which I didn’t refuse. She also didn’t comment when I took too long to find my balance.
When I rose to full height, the top of her head barely came to my chest, but somehow her presence filled the room like she was the God damn queen of everything, and I fought the urge to bow in respect.
Arms crossed, she gave me a once-over. “Hear you’ve been helping James around the grounds.”
“Yeah.”
“Want a job?”
Aida was Tucker’s woman. She knew goodgoddamnwell I was, or had been, a Slayer. Meaning, I worked, or had, only for the club. “Don’t need a job.”
“Fine,” she snapped, unconvinced, then turned around and sauntered to the door. “But if you change your mind, James could use a permanent groundskeeper.” She gripped the doorframe and looked over her shoulder. “The guy’s a fucking workhorse, but this place is bigger than we’d anticipated, and with summer looming, there’s no way he’ll be able to keep up with the entire property. We could hire someone from the outside, but that’s just more people in our business, and the less people in our business, the better. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t say much, do you?”
“Only when necessary.”
“Okay then. If you change your mind, I’ll be around.”
“I won’t.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
She raised a hand in the air and flipped me the bird over her shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Dane.”
Damn. I liked that woman. “Pleasure. Aida.”
# # #
“Dane! Grandpa!” Rocky barreled our way, Mim in tow.
“Hey, Rock,” James called out from atop the ladder, hammer mid-strike.
Mim came to my side, her shoulder pressing into my thigh. “Hey, Little Lady. You and Rocky having fun?”
Rocky piped in. “Yeah! We helped Grandma make chocolate chip cookies, and Mim spilled eggs all over the floor.” Rocky laughed and hell, I couldn’t help but laugh, too.
“That true, Mim? Did you make a mess?”
Her arm curled around my leg.
James tucked his hammer into his tool belt and started down the ladder. “Let me guess, Grandma shooed you out of the kitchen so she could clean up.”
“No!” Rocky laughed, holding his gut. “That’s the best part. Mim and Moriah started cleaning the mess, but Moriah looked at the eggs and threw up all over the floor.” He laughed harder. “It was so gross!”
My guts shifted something fierce. My hand went to Mim’s back. “She okay? Moriah?”
Mim buried her face in my hip.
James shot me a worried glance. “I’ll go check on them. Rocky, you and Mim stay out here in case Dane needs help.”
“Sure thing, Gramps.” Rocky planted his butt in the grass next to a pile of cedar shakes.
Mim wouldn’t budge. “Hey, Mim. You think you can hand me that box of screws?” I pointed to the makeshift sawhorse table behind Rocky. “
It’s the red box.”
Mim did as asked, carefully delivering the box. Her gaze never strayed from the ground, her shoulders hunched, face pale. Christ. I squatted, immediately regretting the painful move, then fell forward onto my knees. I gripped her shoulders. “What is it? You worried about getting in trouble for dropping the eggs?”
Nothing.
“It was an accident. Nobody’s mad at you.”
“She’s not scared about getting in trouble. She’s mad.”
“Mad?” I glanced over Mim’s shoulder to find Rocky inspecting a framing square.
“She said her mom used to throw up all the time when she didn’t have her medicine.”
“Medicine?” Drugs.
“She said she doesn’t want to live with Moriah if she needs medicine, too, because she’ll do bad things like her mom.”
“Fuck!” My face heated.
Mim ran to Rocky’s side and huddled next to him.
“Sorry.” Fuck. I’d scared her. “I’m sorry, Little One. I didn’t mean to yell.”
She lifted her eyes, meeting mine.
“C’mere.”
I should’ve gone to her, but my damn hip screamed in protest. Mim made her way back to me, her steps calculated.
I pushed my anger down, swallowed, choked a bit, but I couldn’t let her be afraid of me.
When she stood inches away, I cupped her cheeks and held her steady. “Listen to me. Your mother was addicted to drugs. Very bad drugs. Do you know what that means?”
She blinked, moisture pooling in those big, sad eyes.
“Rocky. Do you know what that means?”
He hopped to his feet and stood by Mim’s side. “Yes. We talk about it in school.”
“Good.”
He took Mim’s hand and stepped closer to her. Damn if that move didn’t make my chest ache.
“Moriah does not do that shit.”
Rocky gasped.
I winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t cuss around you kids.” I paused for a calming breath, and scrambled for the right words. “Your aunt is not an addict. She’s a good woman, and she’s going to take care of you better than your mother ever could. She’s going to keep you safe, and love you, and do everything that your mom should’ve done for you.”
A big tear rolled down the side of her face, gutting me, forcing me to curl my arms around her small frame and pull her close.
“Moriah got sick, but it’s not the same, Little One. I need you to nod, let me know you understand.”
She did, thank fuck, her cheek moving against my neck. I curled my face into her head and whispered, “And anyone tries to hurt you again, I’ll kill them. Got me?”
Deep down, I knew speaking that way to a child was inappropriate on every level. But Mim had lived a thousand horrible lives in her few years on Earth. She’d heard worse. She’d survived worse. She needed the truth, no pretty words, no shallow promises. And fuck. What had I just done?
Moriah headed our way, pale, but a smile pasted on her face regardless. She raised a hand to me in greeting.
I turned Mim in my arms, urging her to face her aunt. “See? She’s fine. She probably ate too much ice cream last night.”
The little girl relaxed under my hands.
Moriah joined us in the grass, sitting cross-legged.
“How’s your tummy?” Rocky asked.
“Much better. Thank you.” Moriah plucked a blade of grass out of the earth and twisted it between her fingers. “Eggs just gross me out, really bad.”
Rocky laughed, then proceeded to tell us stories about kids puking in school, all of them disgusting, all of them making Mim’s body shake in silent laughter.
Moriah, however, turned three different shades of green in a two-minute period of time.
“Rocky. How about you and Mim go see if any of those cookies are ready to eat. I’m starving.”
“Yeah!”
That was all it took. The kids ran toward the house. Moriah turned and dry heaved into the grass.
“What the fuck, gorgeous?”
I struggled to my feet, made my way to her side.
One more gag, and she stood, turning to look at me. “Oh God. I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“What’s happening here?”
Moriah took a deep breath. Blew it out nice and slow. Splayed a hand over her stomach. “Stress. That’s all.”
“Stress?”
She nodded.
“Bullshit.”
“I’ve always had a sensitive stomach. This happened when my dad died, and when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. It’s just how my body reacts to extreme stress. It’ll pass.”
“You need to go to bed. Get some rest.”
“I can’t. Mim and I are meeting with the psychiatrist today. I’m worried she isn’t ready, ya know? What if she freaks the second I try to take her home? I’m scared that I won’t know how to help.”
“She’s doing better every day.”
“I know. It’s just…she’s doing better because you’re here. And Rocky. All of you. But what happens when I take her home, away from this place, probably the only place she’s ever felt safe?”
“Then you deal.”
“Then I deal?” she asked, brows raised, hands to the sky. “Simple as that?”
“Sure.”
“We don’t even know what happened to her yet. We don’t know her triggers. Physically she’s thriving, but emotionally? We don’t have a clue what’s going on inside that little head of hers. And what the eff was I thinking trying to take on this responsibility? I mean, seriously, I’m a train wreck, and—”
I grabbed her chin, “Moriah. Take a fuckin’ breath. Okay?”
Hard enough to process the foreign emotion rolling through my head, but when that beat-down look on her face had me seeing red, I realized I was in a shit-ton of trouble. I wanted to destroy everyone who’d caused that woman pain. Worse? With every polluted vein in my body, I wanted to take that freckled face in my hands and promise I’d protect her every day for the rest of her fucking life. And fuck. I wanted a forever. Forevers were for normal people. Not assholes. Not career criminals. Not…a trailer trash lowlife.
“C’mon.” I grabbed her hand and dragged her back to the house.
When we reached her room, I settled her on the bed, ripped off her shoes, ordered her to lie down, then planted my fists into the mattress on either side of her head. My arms trembled, and I hoped she didn’t notice.
“You gonna tell me what happened to your face?” Moriah smoothed a finger under the cut on my lip.
I pulled away, her touch laced with tenderness I couldn’t bear. “Tito and I were messing around in the gym.”
“You should get that eye looked at.”
How could she worry about my sorry ass, when her life was such a mess? I stared down at her, fighting back the slew of profanities I wanted to spew. “Take a nap. You’re exhausted. I’ll wake you before the meeting.”
Allowing no room for argument, I left. I couldn’t take another second of that broken voice, or the way my insides responded to her pain. I hated not being in control. Hated that she was leaving and taking that little girl with her. Hated that I fucking cared. Fuck.
The door slammed shut, and I made my way to the kitchen, where Mim pulled out a chair for me at the table, then made me sit, then fed me milk and cookies while she put fucking princess bandages on my face.
# # #
“You good up there?” James chuckled.
“Yep.”
“Sure you don’t need a hand?”
“I’m sure.”
I glanced at the mansion one more time, hoping to catch a glimpse through the window. Moriah and Mim had been in that damn room for over two hours talking to that shrink. Couldn’t see a thing through the window, the sun’s reflection making it impossible. Oh, and the curtains were closed, but still, couldn’t keep my gaze from wandering that direction every thirty seconds or so.
“Just saying. I could’
ve had that row down by now.”
“Yeah, yeah, old man.” I hammered down the last two shingles. Sighed. Then inched my way down the slope to the ladder, where James stood at the base, holding her steady.
When I reached ground level, he pounded my shoulder, said, “Thanks,” then handed me an open bottle of pale ale.
“Bottoms up,” he said, staring at the finished gazebo. “She’s a beauty.”
“Yep.” I pulled three long swigs of beer and glanced again at the window.
“They’re fine. You can quit worrying.”
I shot him a glare, warning him to not go there.
Fucker only laughed and pointed a finger toward the window. “That doctor in there. She’s the best in the country. Anyone can help those two, it’s her. So don’t worry.”
Something akin to a grunt rose up my chest.
We parked our asses in the cool grass and stared out over the lake, my head a hot mess of agitation.
James cleared his throat. Swirled his bottle. “Can I ask you something?”
Any distraction was welcome. “Shoot.”
“What’s it like, being in that club? Kurt Sutter get it right?”
“Who?”
“You know…Son’s of…” He shook his head, his cheeks growing red. “Never mind.”
I knew damn well what he was talking about. Better to play clueless. Club business was exactly that. Club business. Wasn’t to be discussed with anyone outside of our brotherhood. I’d die before betraying that trust. They’d been part of my life for as long as I could remember. They’d taken me in, yes, because of my father’s fuck-ups, but twisted as the relationship was, they’d given me purpose. They’d had every right to end me when my sorry excuse for an old man had betrayed the club. Instead, they’d let me take the reins when it came time to bring him in, and they’d allowed me the final strike when it came time to end him.
Still, club life was hard. Gave you thick skin and roughened any soft edges you might’ve had. “I wouldn’t wish that life on anybody with a moral compass.”
James only nodded, eyes squinting against the bright beams of light bouncing off the water’s surface.
“You’re a good man, Dane.”
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