by Addison Jane
Evie rushed into the room and climbed up at the breakfast bar next to her mom, coloring books and markers in hand. She looked at me with a frown. “Why is Aunt Dee’s face all scrunched up like that?”
“Because Aunt Dee has a serious case of denial,” Amelia responded in amusement, looking at me as if she was challenging me to try and talk my way out of this one.
“What’s denial?” Evie asked curiously after a few moments of thinking.
“A river in Egypt,” I answered before Amelia could open her mouth.
Evie looked between the two of us like she was confused as hell and had a lot more questions to ask, but my mom quickly stepped in to save me. “That’s enough you two,” she said, shaking her head. Or at least I thought she was going to save me. “Let’s not tease Dakota about denial… I’m sure he’s very nice.”
“Fuck my life…” I murmured under my breath while Amelia cackled loudly.
Evie just stared at me with a worried frown. I could see her trying to work the words out in her head, and I saw the moment she eventually realized that she was three years old, and she had more important shit to worry about like what color to color the bird in her picture.
I turned back to the stove and started to stir the soup again, my tummy grumbling loudly and drawing the attention of my mother who walked up beside me and stood at the counter. “Is he nice?”
“Mom…” I sighed, but she hit me with one of those Mom glares that instantly made you remember why you grew up to be a respectful member of society—because you got your ass beat if you didn’t. I groaned. “The question is irrelevant because right now, there’s nothing going on.”
“Do you want there to be something more going on?” she asked, brushing her hands over her apron casually. “Is he the kind of man who would look after you, protect you, make you laugh, give me grandbabies?”
I choked on a laugh and shook my head at my mother who just stared at me innocently. The grandbabies part I wasn’t entirely sure about, but I was starting to realize that the rest was true. He’d already proven he would protect me and fight for me if need be, and not only that, but I’ve come to learn that Ripley’s wit is just about as quick as mine, and he did actually make me laugh.
But it was all too new.
I was starting to see sides of Ripley that I was pretty sure he didn’t let a lot of people see. He was letting me in, but the door wasn’t open just yet.
Did I ever imagine I’d be at a place where he was the one I was aching to get back to? Hell no. But strangely, I was glad it was.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The loud knocking on the front door pulled my thoughts away, and after a few moments, I began to grin.
Amelia rolled her eyes before looking over at me.
“Nobody’s home,” I called with a wide grin as I continued to stir the pot of soup on the stove top.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Not a single person questioned the knocking. Amelia continued to color with Evie at the counter, while my mother opened the oven and checked on her pie, fighting a smile.
This was like a tradition for us, which was why no one was leaping up to get the door. Austin and I were always in competition to see who could lock each other out first, or who could get one up on the other.
“There’s no one home,” I called out as my big brother walked around the corner with an annoyed frown. “Dang it, who gave you a key?”
“It’s my house.”
Austin looked intimidating as hell. He was tall, broad, and a little scruffy looking. But it was essentially the police uniform that drew people’s attention. In that uniform, he looked just like my dad. They were so similar in their looks, but their temperament and their approach to work was very different. I think mostly because my brother had been so tainted by Dad’s death that he’d become less focused on helping people like my dad, and concentrated more on how he could bring down all the hardened criminals like the ones who stole Dad away from us.
My heart squeezed a little tighter.
Austin leaned his shoulder against the wall and huffed. “Honestly, shrimp. This shit is getting kind of old.”
“You would know all about things being old, wouldn’t you?” I threw back, turning my back on him and dipping my finger into the pot I was stirring before bringing the mixture to my mouth.
He rolled his eyes. “You know we all have to eat that and you just stuck your finger in it.”
“I don’t have cooties.”
“That’s debatable.”
“That’s enough you two,” my mom chuckled as she walked over and kissed my brother on the cheek before pulling back and slapping it gently. “Be nice to your sister.”
My eyes lit up, and I poked my tongue out, quickly pulling it back into my mouth before Mom turned around and came over to check on dinner.
“How is your apartment?” Mom asked as we sat down to eat a little while later. Evie was already filling her cheeks with Mama’s pie and bouncing in her seat.
“It’s good, Mama,” I answered, beginning to attack my own plate.
“Funny, because I went around to your place the other day, you weren’t home,” my brother interjected, using that serious tone he had when he was trying to make a point. “Tried every other day, too. You haven’t been there for almost a week.”
Five days actually, drama queen.
Amelia nudged him in the side and whispered something under her breath, but he continued to look at me, waiting for an answer.
“I’ve been staying at the clubhouse,” I finally responded, trying to make it sound casual. Like it was no big deal. And to everyone else in the room but my brother, it wasn’t. “Austin, it’s fine. Meyah and I have been working on some school stuff together, and her brother’s been staying with them, so she didn’t want to be away too much.”
Oh, how the lie rolled so easily off my tongue.
“While that all sounds great, Dakota. You do realize that Caleb Corrigan is out to bring these guys down, and the last place I want you while that’s happening is in the fucking middle of it all.”
The sound of Caleb’s name alone set off fireworks inside me, and I looked up from my food, my tongue tingling with some words that were definitely not dinner table worthy but that clearly defined my opinion of this asshole.
“Caleb Corrigan has no idea what he’s talking about,” I managed to condense it down to while staring at my brother across the table.
He raised his eyebrow at me. “He say something to you at dinner?”
He said a lot, but nothing I can repeat.
“I can read people, Austin,” I started, knowing that this would never convince him but giving it a go anyway. “He gives me the chills. I don’t trust the guy.”
“Yet, you’re happy to stay in a clubhouse where at least four of those members have done time, been convicted, or been suspects in a crime and mysteriously been released.”
“That’s enough, Austin,” Mom hushed, glaring at her eldest child across the dinner table.
“You have no idea who these people are or what they’ve done,” I threw back, trying to keep my hands beneath the table. “Not once have they ever done anything but give me a job, look out for me, and protect me no matter the cost. If you took a moment to actually understand the MC, you’d realize that the laws they lived by were respectable and honorable, just like the laws you live by.”
“You’re not safe there, Dee,” he replied like he’d just ignored every other word I’d said. “I’m asking you to please just listen to me for once because right now I’m just waiting every single day for the day that shit hits the fan at that place and you’re caught in the crossfire.”
I opened my mouth to argue and try and tell him that it’s okay, that they would keep me safe, but then I saw Austin’s face. The tiredness in his eyes and the way his hair was standing on end like he’d run his fingers through it in worry too many times today. And then
I remembered that I was a selfish bitch. Ever since I was a kid, I’d made him worry about me. He’d put up with my bullshit, my smart mouth, my inability to follow the rules and abide by them, and my need to be different and uniquely me.
I came into this family fresh off a hospital bed where I’d almost died, and since that moment, Austin had my back. He protected me, he watched over me, he made sure no one would hurt me like that ever again. And you know what, he didn’t have to.
Yet, he was the one who taught me how to throw a punch, how to drive a car like you stole it, and how not to let other people’s opinions matter.
I wasn’t his real sister.
We didn’t have the same blood.
My brother though, he was always there. He was the solid.
I inhaled deeply through my nose. “I hear you, I’ll go back home.”
His shoulders relaxed. Austin got up with his empty plate and walked around the table. He hooked his arm around my neck and pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Love you, munchkin.”
I shoved my hands against his rock-hard stomach, and he pulled back, laughing to himself.
“I just want you to know, though,” I added before he could move on. “Caleb’s there to get rid of the bad guys, and the boys in the club… they aren’t bad, Austin. They’re loyal, they’re trustworthy, and they’ve never treated me with anything other than respect. So just remember that, okay?”
I could see him gritting his teeth, but eventually, he took a deep breath. “Yeah, I hear you.”
I let out the air I’d been holding, fully preparing for a fight.
Austin trusted me, but I knew he was only trying to look out for me. And you know what, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
He had my back.
I may not be a part of the family that the universe intended for me, but I’m so fucking glad I’ve got the one I have.
RIPLEY
Puffing out my chest and drawing back my shoulders, I decided I’d just need to be brave. To make sure that she was okay, and that Dad wouldn’t be angry when he got home because Momma had forgotten to switch the tap off.
So, I pressed my hand against the door.
And I pushed it open.
I sucked in a deep breath, my body shooting up off the bed. Sweat beaded at my hairline, and I raised my hand, wiping it away.
You’d think one day it might get easier, that my heart wouldn’t race or that I wouldn’t feel like I was constantly going to be sick for a few minutes after the nightmare, but every single time, it hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, and I just couldn’t breathe.
I dropped back down onto the bed, fully awake but just needed an extra moment to gather my thoughts. The sheets rustled beside me and a hand came across my chest. It was warm, and I welcomed her touch, something which seemed strangely normal and comforting. I honestly thought if we just gave into the tension for one night, then maybe the way I was feeling would go. I thought I’d be able to fuck her out of my head and out of my system, but it turned out it just buried her further and further beneath my skin, and I was starting to fucking like having her there.
Where I could protect her.
Where I could keep her to myself.
Where no asshole could hurt her.
Dakota’s blonde hair lay across the pillow as she nuzzled her face against my arm, and her fingertips tickled my stomach. It was a weird sensation to become accustomed to during the past few days—having someone sleep beside me. I’d never wanted that before, always petrified I’d have a nightmare, and that they would ask too many questions.
I didn’t want to have to explain to anyone.
I didn’t want anyone to see me at my weakest.
And that was how my demons and my nightmares made me feel—weak.
As much as I just wanted to roll over and sink my cock deep into the woman beside me, I just needed to get out of there. I needed to clear my head. I needed to figure out what the hell I was doing because this was either going to be the best decision that I’d made, or I had just screwed up tenfold.
I leaned over and brushed my lips across Dakota’s temple, closing my eyes for just a minute. I couldn’t help but fucking smile as I drew back, shaking my head. “What the fuck have you done to me, pixie.”
Then I climbed out and threw on my cut and a pair of jeans and headed downstairs to the workshop that was connected to the clubhouse.
Part of me missed home.
But another part of me knew there was no way in hell I was leaving just yet.
Thankfully, with the renovations of the theater hopefully going ahead soon, I wouldn’t have to, and that alone would give me more time with Dakota, to really see if this was the fling I thought it would be, or if what I’d been fighting for so long was changing.
One thing I really missed from home was my shed.
The little fucking shed out the back of the clubhouse back in Vegas—it was my solace. It was where I went when I needed to find my head again.
As much as I tried to keep a level head, I didn’t deny that there were times I could be an asshole. I hated disrespect, I hated seeing my family hurt, and I hated people who looked down on the people I cared about, which was something Drake and I had in common. The difference between us was the way we handled things.
While Drake preferred to really consider how he could hurt someone and come at them from a place he knew would break them, I was more of a throw my fist type and think about the rest later.
When I felt like things were building—whether it’s because of something going on with the club, or whether it’s because of memories and nightmares, or maybe a perfect little pixie girl who’s buried herself under my skin—carving helped to clear my head.
And right now, I seriously needed it.
I’d set up shop in the corner of the brothers’ workshop. Thankfully, I’d brought some tools with me so I could try and recreate some of the designs from the theater before Drake puts down an offer on the place. But we weren’t visiting again for another few days after he finishes up things in Vegas with the apartments.
I brought a couple of small pieces of Aspen wood with me too. It was easier to work with my big tools, and I already had something I’d started that came to me a few months ago but it seemed to make more sense now.
My mind often got lost in the grain of the wood, the patterns it made, the way it flowed so seamlessly. My carving knife was sharp, and when I got really excited about a creation, I had to constantly tell myself to slow down so I wouldn’t slice my hand open if I missed the wood.
My body and mind were both finally starting to feel like the fog was gone, and I could think clearly again. And since it had risen, the only thing I could think about was Dakota. Just thinking about her had a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. She was like a fucking addiction which I knew was bad for me, but I still had no intention of giving up. Not just yet.
She kept me on my toes. She was sharp. She was fucking intelligent. And behind the brash shell that she seemed to hide behind, there was this perfect amount of sweet and soft. Like she’d tell me to go to hell, but she’d probably follow me there because she felt bad I’d have to go alone. I was suddenly feeling some kind of bullshit that I’d never really felt before, nor did I know what the hell to do with it.
“Wow! Ripley, this stuff is amazing.”
I sat up quickly, barely missing my thumb with my carving knife. “Fuck!” I breathed, shaking my head, my heart feeling like for a moment it had stopped and was taking a second to start up again. My muscles tensed even harder as I watched her move toward a group of things I’d carved. The shirt she had on was big and baggy, not one of mine though, like I found myself wishing it was. I noticed her brother’s name written across the back and assumed it was one of his.
I’d have to rectify that.
Her eyes scanned the objects on the workbench. Some were small, things like animals or objects and shapes I found interesting. Others were bigger, massive pieces of wood with
intricate and delicate designs and shapes carved into them.
I didn’t really have control over what I produced. It just developed as I began to work with the wood. The one thing I hated though, was people touching them.
My skin crawled as she got close. I waited for her to reach out and touch them. It was what most people’s reaction was—to run their fingers over it, to see how it feels and memorize it with their touch. But every time someone did, it made me feel sick.
I wasn’t sure what it was about someone touching a piece of my work that made me feel so damn on edge, maybe it was just a lack of respect or acknowledgment. If a painter shows you his work, no one goes up to it and puts their fingers in the wet paint. Or a person who molds with clay, you don’t go up and poke the display and press your fingers into the damn thing.
Just as I was about to snap, I noticed Dakota hadn’t actually touched the piece she was eying. Her hand was raised, her fingers tracing it in the air, but never actually placing her hands on the carving itself.
I just stood and watched her in complete awe.
Where the hell did this girl come from?
She froze for a second and looked up at me with a gentle smile. “I didn’t realize you were so creative,” she teased. “Who knew someone so rough could produce something so…”
“Fucking epic?” I offered, folding my arms across my chest and leaning back against my workbench as I watched her wander closer.
She dusted off her naked legs, shaking her head. “I was going to go with pretty, but it’s nice to see that your ego covers more than just your looks and sexual abilities.”
I chuckled. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“The other night I came out here to say something… and, umm… I never quite got to say it.” I couldn’t help but smirk when her cheeks flushed. I leaned back against the workbench and waited in amusement as she fought to find the right words. But what seemed like it was kind of cute, I soon began to realize was actually her feeling uneasy. “I actually came out here to say sorry for being a bitch the day you came to the bar to rescue me. You didn’t have to come out there, you could have let Meyah come and pick me up, not caring if I was in trouble or what. And I tore you a new one. It’s not an excuse, but I find it hard to let people see me as broken or like I’m incapable or less than.”