by Rachel Jonas
Something my brothers taught me not so long ago stuck in my head. That thing about not pushing too hard, not backing her into a corner.
So, slow and steady it is.
I lift her chin until her gaze meets mine. She’s fucking beautiful, yeah, but that’s not what has me addicted. Life’s dealt her a shit hand, but despite all that, she’s one of the toughest people I’ve ever met. There’s a fire in her that nothing’s been able to kill—not even me, before I came to my senses.
I lower my stare to her hand and gently examine it. The bandage is bloodier than before, which means the wound needs some attention.
“Does it hurt much?”
She shrugs and meets my gaze. “Probably less than you think, seeing as how this isn’t the first time I’ve done something like this out of anger.”
That doesn’t surprise me, but what does catch me off guard is when she manages to smile. Her eyes are glassy, though. Like she’s holding back unshed tears.
“I know you can stand on your own two feet, and I know you don’t need anyone to take care of you, but… maybe you should let me. Just this once, at least.”
She stares for a moment, maybe sensing all the unspoken things that just ran through my head—about loving her, wanting to be whatever she needs me to be.
Her hair shifts when she finally nods, giving in. “…Okay.”
It isn’t lost on me that she doesn’t let many people in, but somehow—even being the twisted fuck that I am—I managed to be counted in that number. I don’t take that lightly. But something unexpected came with the territory of being with a girl like Southside. There’s this powerful loyalty she brings to the table and, in turn, she draws the same out of those closest to her.
Guess that’s why I’m here instead of out there, hunting down my father for the shit he pulled. I’m staying put, making sure Southside’s good, because she needs someone more than ever tonight.
“Let’s get this hand cleaned up. Then, we’ll talk.”
She hesitates, but eventually nods. There’s a tough conversation ahead of us, but we’ll take this on the same way we’re learning to handle everything else.
Together.
Chapter 4
WEST
Don’t ask about the bags. At least not before getting her hand cleaned up.
Southside trails me when I head to the bathroom in search of supplies to clean her wound. While I rifle through the medicine cabinet, she takes a seat on the edge of the tub, still not speaking much. All I come up with are a few drops of alcohol, a tube of antiseptic with the cap missing, and one strip of a gauze bandage that might be enough.
Note to self: Buy this girl a first-aid kit ASAP. She rages often enough that I’m sure it’ll be put to good use.
“Ok, so fair warning—the extent of my experience patching up wounds is limited to tending to injuries I’ve sustained on the field. Just thought you should know.”
She flashes another of those sad smiles before answering. “Thanks for the heads up, but I think I’m in good hands.”
I smile a little too, but hers has already faded. Why? Because Vin did a fucking number on her tonight.
Focus on her. Deal with his ass later.
Southside’s gaze flashes toward me when I settle beside her on the edge of the tub. She watches me loosen the old dressing and, somehow, I manage to get it off without hurting her more than she already is. I get my first good look at her knuckles now, and she definitely did a number on them. None of the gashes seem deep enough to require stitches, though. She got lucky.
Peering up at her, I raise a brow.
“Beautiful girl, hot temper—that’s a deadly combination,” I tease. “Ever consider anger management?”
“Once or twice, but some say being a little on the explosive side is part of my charm.” She winks playfully when I glance up from working on her hand.
“Yeah, well, we all know people lie sometimes, Southside.”
The joke actually draws a laugh out of her. One that sounds genuine, easy. I’d like to think that has something to do with me being here, looking after her.
“Ouch,” she winces, recoiling a bit when I dab her knuckles with alcohol.
“You good?”
Those dark-blue eyes of hers flash up for a second when she nods. Bringing her hand close again, I blow her skin to soothe the sting. Now, her attention’s on me instead of the pain, like it was a moment ago.
“Better?”
She nods again before answering. “Yeah, a little.”
Despite all I know those eyes of hers have seen, they’re so innocent. It guts me every time I look into them. The more I think about whatever Vin’s done, the more I want to hunt him down, even without having any details of their conversation.
“I need to know what he said.”
The words roll off my tongue as I dab ointment on her wounds, aware of having just jumped the gun. My plan was to get her settled before bringing this up, but I couldn’t hold back any longer. It’s a miracle I made it this long.
This girl… she has my whole damn heart, and sometimes it’s overwhelming.
Uncomfortable.
Guess I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable until now, when it’s been made so fucking clear that I can’t protect her from everything or everyone.
Waiting for her answer is killing me, and so are her red-rimmed eyes. It’s obvious she was crying at some point, even if she wants me to think everything’s cool. As I stare at her, at the aftermath of Hurricane Vin, I know all I need to know.
She won’t even look at me now, hasn’t for almost a full minute. But I don’t push. Instead, I finish dressing her wound, put the first-aid stuff away, then reach for her uninjured hand.
“Where are we going?” she asks, looking every bit as worried as I expect her to.
“To your room to talk.”
Her eyes widen with the suggestion, and before she even opens her mouth, I know what this is about.
“Actually… why don’t we go to the living room instead? I left clothes all over my bed and—”
“I already saw the suitcases,” I cut in, saving her a lie.
Now she knows there’s no point in hiding the truth—that she intended to leave. Hell, for all I know, that’s still her plan.
With that blank stare aimed at me, the silence seems so much louder. So loud it confirms my assumption—that she was fully prepared to bail without telling me a thing.
Her expression’s suddenly full of guilt and her eyes pool with unshed tears.
“It’s okay. I’m not mad. You were only doing what you thought you had to do,” I say quietly.
It isn’t a lie—I do understand. She was doing what felt smart, safe. But that shit stings like hell, imagining her bailing on me without saying a word. It brings something to light, though. That there’s still so much I don’t know, don’t understand.
Hesitant, Southside follows me to her room. There’s an awkward moment of silence as she gathers the luggage, then places it in her closet. She settles on the floor after that, resting her back against the bed and I lower to sit beside her. Then, after a long stretch of silence where we do nothing but stare at the wall, I try my luck at a conversation again.
“I need you to tell me why Vin was here tonight.”
No answer.
I’m trying to hold my composure, but damn. I don’t know where her head is, don’t know how vulnerable she is, so I’m walking on eggshells.
I place my hand over hers—the one that’s not busted up—and as soon as there’s contact, her eyes flood again. Seeing her like this gets to me, probably more than she realizes.
“Please, tell me what happened.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, her gaze lowers. “It wasn’t that big a deal.”
“It wasn’t that big a…” I stop myself just short of echoing her response, which now has my brow twitching.
It wasn’t a big deal? Then why the hell did she freak out and start busting shit up with
her fist? Why the hell was she fully prepared to make a run for it?
Because it was a big-fucking deal, which means she’s blowing smoke up my ass.
Deep breath. Don’t fly off the handle.
“Did he make you sign something?” I ask.
A look of confusion flashes across Southside’s face. “No, it was nothing like that.”
When she leaves it at that, I feel another spike of frustration and my eyes never leave her. It’d make sense for Vin to come at her with that same NDA bullshit he took to Parker and Casey. It’d make sense for him to assume Southside knows my secret—which she does—so it’s not farfetched that he’d be on a mission to silence her like he did the others.
“You worry too much.”
She forces a fake-ass smile right after speaking, and I know it’s fake because, again, she’s on the verge of crying.
“You had a right to freak out. I probably gave you a heart attack when you came in and saw all the glass.”
“And your bags. Let’s not fucking forget those,” I add, making sure she knows that has to be addressed, too.
Frustrated, her stare lingers on me for a moment before her gaze wanders up toward the ceiling.
“I overreacted, let my emotions get me all riled up.”
This is the line of bull she tries to feed me next, doing a shit job of pretending not to be affected. And, fuck, I can’t stand this tiptoeing shit.
“I can’t fix whatever my dad did if I don’t know where to start, Blue.”
Another fake grin, but bigger this time. “If you’re calling me Blue, that means you’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
“Who the fuck are you trying to kid right now? Throwing in a joke or two doesn’t mask the fact that you’re crying. Or the fact that something that asshole said had you ready to jump ship and fucking leave without so much as a damn smoke signal. So, like it or not, you’re gonna have to give me more than bullshit.”
Well… okay. So, I still suck at slow and steady. Noted.
I tried keeping my cool, but all my alarms are sounding off right now. She’s trying to make light of what’s happened, and all that does is tell me there’s something to hide.
Her stare practically bores a hole through me, but she seems to understand that I’m not buying into the act, not buying her bullshit. Eventually, that brings us to a stalemate.
She shifts her gaze now, instead keeping her eyes trained on the ceiling. I can’t read her mind, but she sure as shit isn’t forcing that smile anymore, which says a lot.
“There’s nothing you can fix, West. Just… let it go.”
I draw in a deep breath and there’s an unbelievable amount of frustration and tension in my shoulders.
What the hell isn’t she saying?
“So, that’s where you think we’re leaving this? I’m supposed to believe he didn’t say anything at all? Supposed to believe you got pissed and fucked up your hand because you didn’t like the interior of his SUV or some dumb shit like that?”
With her eyes still aimed toward the ceiling, she sighs. “Damn it, West! He just… he doesn’t want us together!”
That last part leaves her mouth awkwardly. Like she would’ve rather placed her hand on a hot stove than say those words out loud.
“And?”
“And what?” she snaps, rolling her eyes. “The man sees me as ‘southside trash’. Meanwhile, you’re his fucking heir and shit. Add it all up and he doesn’t want someone like me ruining your rep.”
She’s determined to make me believe this is the conversation they had, but it’s not working.
“Bullshit.”
She scoffs and I see her frustration brimming over, but I don’t give a shit.
Another dramatic eye roll and she faces me again. “Fuck, West! What the hell else do you want me to say? He doesn’t want you with me, doesn’t want us being together to tarnish your image. End of story,” she snaps.
Anger has my blood boiling and both fists clinched tight, because there’s more. A lot more.
A few heart-pounding seconds go by and we’re silent, facing an impasse. Mostly because I know it won’t be easy getting her to confess the whole truth, but she has to. The only way any of this works is if we bring each other in. On everything.
Another sigh from her means she’s done talking, done letting me drag more out of her than she’s willing to share.
“That night I came by to air out all our shit, I explained why I targeted you when we first met. You said something that’s stuck with me to this day. Do you remember what you asked?”
The only sound in the room are her angry breaths as they puff from her flared nostrils. However, after a few seconds, I at least get some form of a response when she shakes her head.
“You said that one simple conversation is all it would’ve taken. Just one moment of trust and transparency. That stuck with me, and it’s the reason I’ve been honest with you about everything since,” I add. “You, my brothers, and Joss are the only people on this planet I trust one-hundred percent. I know you’ve seen a lot of shit, have been through a lot of shit, but I need you to know you can trust me like that.”
She doesn’t speak right away, but I notice something I’m not even sure she realizes yet. She’s trembling. Sure, it’s slight, but I notice it right off the bat.
“You’re safe with me, Southside. Always.”
Again, she gives me nothing, but I think she’s softening. So, I keep talking.
“Asking if Vin made you sign something wasn’t random. I asked because he’d already been to visit Casey before I got there. He made her sign an NDA because of what happened between us. Then come to find out, he did the same to Parker, which means he’s on the warpath, covering his tracks and mine, but I have no idea why. Seeing her was already a little weird, but even more so knowing she’d seen my dad recently. Made matters worse that she was being super cagey, checking over her shoulder every few minutes.”
Southside blinks at me and I can only hope I’m making some sort of progress.
“He added a bribe to sweeten the pot for Casey. My best guess is he did the same for Parker, which explains her recent shopping spree. There is a bright side to all this, though. If you want to call it that.”
Southside’s brow quirks—the first real sign of life I’ve seen in a while.
“With her signing the NDA, agreeing not to ever tell what she knows about Casey, we’re free to go to Dr. Pryor. We can tell her about the video without Parker being able to retaliate.”
Southside’s still quiet, but her softening expression gives me a small flare of hope. Maybe she’s coming around.
“I thought you only told a handful of people,” she says. “So… how’d your dad find out?”
“That’s the same thing I’ve been wondering. My first thought was that Casey may have let something slip to someone other than Parker, and it somehow circled back to Vin. That seems like too big a coincidence, though. He definitely knows shit he shouldn’t, but—”
“The phones.”
I glance toward Southside when she sort of mumbles that to herself, slipping into a thought she has yet to share aloud.
“Meaning?”
“It’s something Hunter said the last time I visited. He told me not to trust the phones and I… I hadn’t put two and two together at the time, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. It would explain how your dad knows about you and Casey. It would explain how he got that picture I only shared with Ricky. I…”
She falls silent, staring at the floor as the weight of this revelation hits her. Hits us both.
Would Vin really go that far? Tracking phone calls and text messages?
No sooner than I ask myself that question, I’m reminded of all the other shady shit he’s done lately, and it isn’t hard to believe. The bastard’s more than capable, even if the bigger question still remains in play—why?
What does he stand to gain by keeping tabs on us? Or what does he stand to lose if he
doesn’t and something slips past him?
My mind’s already made up; I’m confronting his ass. He knows I’ve seen Pandora’s post, knows I’m aware that he’s had words with Southside tonight, so he’s likely expecting it. I won’t reveal all my cards, but he needs to know whose side I’m on.
Hers.
It’ll always be hers.
I glance at Southside’s hands again and they’re trembling a little more than before. It’s the only sign she’s not as tough as that look on her face suggests. When I lace her fingers with mine, her watery stare shifts toward me.
“He… threatened me.”
Those words are like a bullet, breaking skin, ripping straight through my heart.
“And as bad as I know you want to give him shit about it, West… you can’t,” she adds.
My glare hardens. “He can’t keep doing this shit. If I don’t make it dead-ass clear to him that—”
“He said he’d hurt Scar.”
Those words cut off my train of thought, taking whatever I was going to say right out of my head. When she said he threatened her, I assumed that meant he’d try to get her kicked out of school or some shit like that.
“His exact words were that he’d have her taken from me,” Southside explains, meeting my gaze with desperation in her eyes. “But West… he made it abundantly clear how easy it would be to make her disappear—make us both disappear—if I don’t cooperate,” she adds in that same shaken tone.
“Cooperate?”
“Yes.” There’s tangible fear in her eyes and I don’t miss it.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
Trying not to go off the rails, I breathe through another of those long pauses when she takes forever to answer.
“West, honestly, I shouldn’t even be telling you this much. If he finds out—”
“I’d never do anything to put you or Scar in danger,” I cut in. “Whatever you don’t want him to know, he won’t know. You have my word on that.”
She studies me a moment. That’s when a tear finally slips down her cheek, making it impossible to not feel the weight of what she has yet to say.