“Why this girl?” Dane growled.
Matt’s head hung loosely on his shoulders, rolling from side to side, fighting to stay conscious. “She could’ve been any girl as long as she fit the description.”
“And what would that be?”
“Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin.”
He could’ve been describing Tuuli. I didn’t pay the connection any mind until he said, “And she had to have started her menstrual cycle.”
Tuuli’s words came back to me. In The Brotherhood’s eyes, the day a girl starts her period, she becomes a woman. She’s fair game. My guts twisted.
I stepped closer to the carnage. “Take off his shirt.”
Dane turned his dark eyes to me. “The fuck you say?”
The guy’s hair was longer than the last time I’d seen him. His beard was longer, his scowl meaner. He had to be packing at least thirty more pounds of ass-kicking meat on his bones. Dane Reynolds was one scary motherfucker. I kinda liked the guy. I also enjoyed ruffling his feathers.
“I said, take off his fuckin’ shirt.”
The knife that had been poised to pierce Matt’s crotch sliced through the air to land at my throat. “Listen, Freddie Krueger. Just because I didn’t kill you and your pretty boy cousin last time we met doesn’t mean we’re partners. You’re on my turf. I give the goddamn orders.”
Dane wouldn’t cut me. He had to save face in front of his brothers. Still, I was pissed that I had to spend another day in Montana dealing with Slayer shit when I could’ve been naked in bed with my girl, so I continued to push his buttons. “Fine. Mr. Reynolds, sir. I’m pretty sure if you were to…oh, I don’t know, maybe take off that fat bastard’s shirt, you might find some interesting ink. If my suspicions are correct, and they usually are, his skin art will tell you who this fuckin’ piece of shit is taking his orders from, and why he’s hunting for a specific type of girl.”
Dane’s nostrils flared. He turned his back to me, ripped open Matt’s denim button-up, then used the knife to cut through his wife beater. Sure enough, from the collarbone down, he was covered in black and red ink. Hate symbols. Prison tats. Celtic crosses. Swastikas.
Even with Dane’s back to me, I registered the change in his breathing, the shift in his stance, the coiling of his muscles.
Pissed-off biker rage charged the air.
“Goddamnmotherfuckingwhitecocksuckingpieceofshit.” His blade sunk through Matt’s thigh like a hot knife through butter.
The growled scream barely registered before Dane fisted the guy’s hair, yanking his head forward to expose his back, revealing one ugly-ass depiction of a laughing skull set over a jagged swastika. The Brothers of Banshee.
Dane’s entire body stiffened before he yelled, “You swallow that racist fucking come when they’ve got their pink dicks shoved down your throat? You scream that white power propaganda bullshit while you fuck each other’s hairy white asses?” He twisted the weapon.
Over the screams, I heard Dane promise to make Matt choke on Slayer cock before they put him to ground.
I honestly didn’t know how the guy was still conscious.
Dane continued. “Now, tell me, what are you and your boyfriends doing with these girls?”
The Banshee only smiled a creepy as fuck, bloody smile.
Entertaining as Dane’s interrogation tactics were to watch, I really did need to get back to my girl. “Anyone got a pen?”
Three sets of eyes turned my way. The guy standing guard next to me reached inside his cut and pulled out a blue Bic. Skinny. No frills. Perfect. “Thanks,” I said, snagging the utensil from his hand. “May I?” I asked Dane.
Brows raised, he stepped away and gestured toward Matt, giving me the go-ahead. I bit down hard on the bottom of the pen, then chewed, crushing the plastic to give it a sharp edge. I stepped in front of a laughing Matt, grabbed his hair, cranking his head back at a sharp angle on his neck, and shoved the chewed end of the ballpoint up his left nostril.
I only had to dig around for a few seconds before Matt yelled, “We’re shipping them to Idaho. Brotherhood is paying ten thousand a head for the virgins. Fifteen if they’re drug-free and prettied up.” Matt’s frenzied laugh turned to tears.
“The Brotherhood? You talking about Jeremy Carver?”
“No. Jeremy’s not running the girls…his son-in-law runs that show.”
My blood ran cold. “Carver doesn’t have a son-in-law.”
“Semantics. You think Carver’s pretty little baby has remained untouched out of respect for Jeremy? Hell no. Erik laid claim to that bitch and her pussy years ago. Meyer’s a certified psycho. Every man in The Brotherhood knows not to so much as blink in her direction unless they have a death wish.”
I shoved the pen into the fucker’s eye, dug around a bit, for fun, and because he’d talked about Tuuli’s pussy. When he stopped screaming, I ordered him to continue.
“Rumor has it there’s a wedding planned for later this summer. Erik has a shit ton of supporters. Carver’s followers are ready for some fresh leadership. Erik has been keeping that sect afloat financially.”
“Trafficking blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies,” Dane interjected.
“That’s only part of the income he’s generating for The Brotherhood under Carver’s nose.”
The conversation continued while I pushed outside to the cool fresh air. Mind reeling. Muscles twitchy. Fucking Erik. Fucking Brotherhood.
Fuck. I needed to get home.
I found Tucker across the lawn, leaning against a gate post, deep in conversation with one of the Slayers. He’d opted to stay outside during the interrogation. Suited me. The country boy needed to keep his hands clean, for Aida and the baby.
“So, you’re the Rest Area Reaper,” the bald guy said, shaking his head.
Tucker only nodded.
“Guys and I been taking bets on whether the Reaper was a psychopath or a criminal genius.”
Dane slammed through the barn door, blood-soaked and brimming with rage. He met my glare, then shifted his attention to Tucker and the bald brother. “We good here?”
Baldy replied, “Yeah, we’re good. Prez is on his way.”
“Gonna need your intel on the pimp that brought her here,” Dane said, more an order than a request.
Fine by me.
I pulled up the files on my cell and hit send. “Check your inbox.”
Morrison was as good as dead. Motherfucker, meet meat grinder. Damn if I didn’t get a little tingle.
“Where’s the girl?” Tucker asked, pushing off the rail to stand straight.
Dane spat. Wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “She’s safe.”
“No offense,” Tucker said, pushing his luck. “But I’ve witnessed what happens to the girls in your club.”
Dane twitched, stepping closer. “She’s safe.”
“I need a guarantee,” Tucker growled, stepping nose to nose with the Slayer, ready to kill for the child.
“She’s the Prez’s niece. That guarantee enough?”
“Fuck,” I grunted, unable to hide my cringe.
Dane pulled a hand-rolled out of his pocket, his glare never leaving Tuck. “How about you fuckers get outta here.”
“Not a problem.” I slapped a hand on Tucker’s back and urged him to back the fuck off. Even I wasn’t grisly enough to stick around and watch what the guy inside had coming.
The girl was safe, back with her family.
Matt Child? Well. That fucker was in for a world of hurt.
I hurt. From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Cracked, but still whole. I hadn’t shattered. I was living, breathing, and not at the mercy of any man.
I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in one of Tito’s black hoodies and a pair of his boxers. When I came down the hallway, Aida greeted me from the kitchen table, coffee at the ready.
“Hi.” She offered me a blue mug along with a rare smile.
I took the warm cup, gripping it with two hands, absorbing the
heat. “How did you get in?”
She pulled out a chair and made herself comfortable. “Tito gave me a spare when he moved in.”
“Tango told you what happened?”
“He was worried about you.”
Her black sweater bore a wet stain over her right shoulder. Odd as it was, that small imperfection put me at ease.
“Where’s Lucia?”
“Upstairs.” Another grin warmed her icy features. “Rocky is reading to her.”
I slunk into the chair opposite Aida, tucking my knees against my chest, my heels hooked on the edge of the seat.
Worried eyes assessed me from across the table.
“I’m okay. I am. Really.” I dusted a finger over the darkening bruises on my throat.
“I can see that.”
Then why are you here? I wanted to scream. I had always licked my wounds in private. Hide. Hide. Hide. I hated that Aida, of all people, saw me as weak, a victim, but Lord, how I needed to talk. “He’s always been violent. A bully. He’s never hurt me like that before, though. Something’s changed.”
She nodded. Paused. Huffed. “I just got off the phone with Tito. He didn’t handle the news very well.”
“I was going to call him. After my shower.”
Aida shifted in her seat. Dark waves fell over her shoulders. She pulled her hair behind her back before straightening her spine and tilting her head. “Listen. I may be out of line, but there are some things I think you deserve to know before this thing between you and Tito progresses.”
Her confident mask slipped, revealing a hint of fear. Her eyes glazed, gaze drifting to something over my head before dropping to her hands. “Something happened to Tito before he came to Whisper Springs. He came back different than the guy I grew up with. Broken. Half-dead on the inside.” She lifted her chin, blinking her focus back to me. “But the two of you started hanging out, and that spark came back. He’s trying to be the old Tito again.”
“What happened?”
“That’s not my story to tell.” Click, click, click. Her red nails beat an erratic rhythm against her mug. “What I can tell you, though, is he needs to let go of the shit from his past. He deserves to be happy.”
“You think I can make him happy?”
“You do.” Aida sighed, gnawing her lower lip. “He’s going to storm in here, half-cocked, and hell-bent on going after Erik. That’s who he is. He protects the people he loves, by whatever means he deems necessary. He’ll do and say some ugly things. That’s how he protects himself.”
“Aida. I’m not—”
She silenced me with a raised palm. “Just be patient with him. Please. He’ll come around. He’s stubborn, and tough, and scary as hell. But he’s also fragile. He needs to break before he can heal. He’s going to fight the change. He’ll try to hold his cracks in place. When they start to fall, it will piss him off. That’s when he’ll hurt you. That’s when you’ll have to love him the hardest.”
I understood more than she could imagine. I struggled to hold my own pieces together. Some days, I wanted to let go, let my pieces fall and shatter.
I’d yet to take a sip of my coffee. Since I hadn’t a word to say in response to Aida’s confession, I lifted the cup to my lips and forced myself to hold her gaze.
My hands shook. My body hurt. My heart exploded over and over behind my breastbone.
She tilted her head, studying me with a thoughtfulness I never would have expected. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“The night your brother died. It wasn’t your first time, was it?”
I shifted, dropping my feet to the floor. “My first time?”
“Witnessing violence. Murder.”
I shook my head. “How did you know?”
She took a sip. Swallowed. “It didn’t break you.”
Because there wasn’t much left of me to break.
“You’re so much like this town, Tuuli.”
“I don’t understand.”
“On the outside, Whisper Springs is small. Gorgeous. Picture perfect. But you get to know her, her people, her quirks, you see the secrets she hides. The darkness that gets swept under the rug. My gut tells me there’s a novel’s worth of dark and gritty hiding behind that meek little mask you wear.”
I’d been right to fear Aida. She saw everything.
“I grew up surrounded by hate, and violent, angry, lost men. I’ve witnessed my share of violence.”
“We’re not too different, you and I.”
I resisted the urge to throw my arms around the scary woman. If she only knew how much her words meant to me. “How’s that?”
“We were both born into lives that would crush most. Difference is, my father raised me to fight for my life, take what I wanted. I get the feeling your father taught you to submit for survival, to take what was given, good or bad. Am I wrong about that?”
“I wouldn’t call what he did teaching. I was forced to submit. Fighting was never an option. Survival wasn’t part of the equation.”
“You want to learn to fight?”
“I don’t like violence.”
“I don’t think you understand. I don’t mean fight back…I mean fight for your life. To never feel helpless again.”
“I would like that.” My vision blurred. I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand.
Aida nodded, waiting for me to gather my composure. “Do you want me to stay until Tito gets back?”
“No.”
She pushed from the table. “Will you call if you need help?”
“I don’t think Erik will show his face around here. Not tonight anyway.”
Aida laughed. God, even her laugh was gorgeous. “I don’t mean with Erik. I mean if you need help with Tito.”
BILE ROSE IN MY throat. My body burned, rage fueling the fire. I sucked in a hearty dose of oxygen and pushed into the dark apartment.
The space was quiet, save the buzz of the refrigerator’s motor. I flipped the switch that lit the room. Nothing out of place. Two empty mugs sat in the sink.
I kicked off my shoes and headed to the bedroom, that damn organ in my chest attempting some high-flying, Cirque du Soleil type shit, dragging my intestines along for the ride.
Soft, steady breaths greeted me. Layer by layer, I peeled off my clothes, biding time, hoping for a shred of calm amidst the chaos buzzing through my head. When I joined my soft bunny between the sheets and pulled her against me, I couldn’t tell who trembled harder.
“I fought him, Tito. I fought back,” she mumbled into my chest.
Jesus Fucking Christ, I wanted to scream for her. Hunt the fucker down and tear him limb from limb.
Instead, I pulled her closer, and whispered, “That’s my girl.”
“Don’t let go.” The words floated up to me, so soft, I thought it’d been my imagination. Tuuli’s small body inflated, then deflated before she dragged her fingers up my torso, then curled them around my neck, digging into my flesh. “Don’t ever let go.”
I struggled to hold her trembling form, fearful that her pain would set me off. She needed assurance, a promise that everything would be okay. I searched in vain for the right words. All I could manage to say was, “He’s going to bleed, baby. He’ll never hurt you again. I promise.”
Despite her shiver, she didn’t admonish my threat.
“Where are you hurt?”
She sighed, rolling onto her back. “I have a few scratches. Nothing too bad.”
I rolled out of bed, hit the light switch, and threw the covers back. She was bundled in my sweatshirt, drowning in my sweats, but fuck if the sight didn’t rearrange my guts.
“I need to see you, baby. Take the clothes off.”
She wiggled out of the pants first. Her knees were bandaged, but not enough to hide the bruises. When she lifted the sweatshirt over her head, revealing the marks around her neck, my knees hit the mattress. My soul screamed, battling a level of rage I’d never experienced.
I hadn�
�t been physically ill since I was a child. Used to brag I had a strong constitution. My stomach, however, unaccustomed to my newfound feelings, revolted at the sight of Tuuli, bloody and bruised.
I sucked that shit up, shoved it down deep, and crawled over her, inspecting for more damage. Tuuli watched with feathered breaths, features softening every time I touched her exposed skin.
Scalp to toes, I examined the beauty beneath me, gauging her reactions—winces, gasps, or changes in breathing. She trembled under my touch, blushing, shivering, nipples puckering tight. So responsive. So goddamn brave.
I sat back on my heels, reverence stealing my breath.
Tuuli was changing my landscape. Bulldozing her way through all the bullshit. Clearing a path, allowing light to reach the parts of me that had yet to shrivel under all the rubble.
“You wanna talk about what happened?” I asked, forcing my jaw to relax, bracing for details I might not have the strength to hear.
“No.” Weary eyes begged me not to push.
“Okay. When you’re ready.” I lay beside her once again, curled my arms around her small, naked frame, and buried my nose in her hair, fighting the urge to kiss every battered inch of her body.
We stayed that way, silent and warm, clinging to each other.
“Tito?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m going to learn how to fight.”
I wanted to growl my disapproval. Pound my chest and assert my authority. Tuuli had suffered enough under the thumb of male ego. I couldn’t tell her no any more than I could stop planning Erik’s unfortunate, untimely, and if I played my cards right, gruesome death.
Tuuli would never face Erik or anyone from The Brotherhood alone. Telling her so would demean her worth, her desire to protect herself.
I knew that deep down.
Instead of keeping my thoughts to myself, instead of sealing my fucking lips and letting her feel powerful, I kissed her and choked out a response. “You don’t need to fight. I’ll fight for you, baby.”
I couldn’t fight any longer. My body ached, deep and hot, buzzing with need. Tito was everywhere, a force of nature, surrounding me, seeping through my flesh and bones.
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