“Meant to talk to you earlier, but your bodyguard never left your side.”
My frantic gaze searches the crowded clubhouse for Marcel or my brother. I finally spot them at the bar.
Slipping my phone in my pocket, I paste on a smile. “What’d you need to talk about?”
His lips turn down as if he’s disappointed in the question. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about your mom. I didn’t know her as well as some of the older brothers.” He waves his hand at the room. “But she was always real nice.”
At least she was nice to someone.
And, ewww. Is that his polite way of letting me know he never nailed my mom?
My gaze drifts to the bar again and this time there’s a ratty, half-naked club whore with her arm around Marcel’s neck.
Hudson follows my gaze. “Ignore Mady. She’s a cunt. Always looking for conflict where there doesn’t need to be any,” he informs me. “Her life’s pretty boring outside the club.”
Well, that was blunt.
Shaking his head, Marcel extracts himself from Mady’s sloppy embrace, picks up his drinks and nudges Carter with his arm. Together, the two of them move through the crowd toward me.
“You serious about this clown, Charlotte?” Hudson asks.
Sick and tired of people questioning me, I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off.
“Relax, I’m joking.” His gaze searches the room before returning to me. “Your uncle’s bent about it though.”
“So I gathered.”
“You staying long?”
It almost feels like he’s trying to warn me. “Probably not.”
“That’s good.”
I want to ask him why, but he stands and disappears into the crowd the opposite direction from the way Teller’s approaching.
I accept the drink Teller hands me and take a long sip before meeting his eyes. He doesn’t even mention Hudson.
“Everything okay?”
“I want to leave soon.”
“Whatever, whenever you want, Sunshine. Just say the word.”
Carter joins us, red-faced and sweaty. “He’s a good wingman, sis,” he says, flopping into the chair next to me.
“Gross,” I mutter, taking another sip.
“He doesn’t need a wingman,” Marcel says, which makes my brother chuckle.
“Girls here are only interested in me because of who I’m related to,” Carter says.
Teller shrugs and I wonder what advice he’d give my brother if I wasn’t sitting right next to him.
Their banter is a nice distraction from the reason we’re all congregated here.
Unfortunately, Chuck has to interrupt us. Correction, my uncle and his VP, Keeper, invade our small circle.
“Long day,” Keeper says, patting my knee. “You all right, sweetheart?”
Somehow I manage to answer without cringing away from his touch. “As okay as I can be.”
“Well, least your ma and pop are together again. Dean loved that woman something awful. And she was never the same after he died.”
Chuck’s eyes narrow and I’m not sure if it’s the mention of my dad or the reminder of both losses.
Marcel’s arm tightens around my shoulder and I relax against him, feeling completely protected.
“Haven’t seen much of you lately, Carter,” Keeper says. “Still doing your art?”
He says art the same way I’d say fucking goats.
Carter mumbles, “Yes.” Then he glances at my half-empty cup. “Let me go fill that up for you,” he says, leaving so fast, he splashes a bit of my drink in my lap.
I glare at Keeper for chasing my brother away when Teller had finally pulled him out of his guilt-ridden shroud.
“Carter’s a talented kid,” Teller says, smoothing over the awkward moment. “I’ve been trying to talk him into doing an apprenticeship for tattooing. Got a buddy who’d love to get his hands on him.”
Merlin snorts.
“Why? He a fag too?” Keeper asks.
Silence falls over our group. An empty void where my uncle doesn’t bother to defend his only nephew. Nope. Club first. Fuck family. Chuck might as well tattoo that on his chest. Right underneath his cliché “No Regrets” tat.
Teller takes a long sip of his drink before responding to Keeper. “I don’t want to fuck him, so I never asked. You want me to tell him you’re interested next time I see him?”
Oh, Christ, nothing makes these knuckle-draggers need to prove their manhood more than implying they might be gay. Marcel neutralized the insult to my brother with a few simple words and his don’t-give-a-shit attitude.
Uncle Chuck guffaws loud enough to draw Whisper’s attention our way.
I’m surprised he’s tolerating someone insulting his VP’s manhood in the middle of his clubhouse.
Especially someone from another club.
CHAPTER FIVE
I need to come clean with Marcel.
Today showed me how in deep we are with each other. My foolish attempt to chase him away, thinking it would keep him safe, seems stupid and pointless now.
He deserves to know everything. I trust this man more than I’ve ever trusted anyone in my life. It’s both terrifying and comforting.
When we return to my apartment, Carter pulls me aside. “I’m going to crash at Bianca’s tonight.”
“Are you sure? You can stay here.”
“Nah. I’ll stop by in the morning though. We can do breakfast or something.” He lifts his chin toward my apartment where Teller disappeared so I could have a moment alone with my brother. “He’s a good guy, Charlotte. Don’t let the shit with Uncle Chuck and his stupid club interfere.”
“I’ll try.”
“If it comes down to Chuck or Teller. Choose Teller.”
“I think I already have.”
“Good.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “Love you.”
“We’re orphans for real,” I say.
“We’ve been orphans for a long time, sis. It’s just official now.”
“True.”
“Feels good, right?” he says sadly, walking away.
“Love you,” I call out. He throws his hand up in an answering wave.
Marcel’s in my kitchen when I finally enter my apartment. “Where’d Carter go?”
“To his friend’s.”
“He all right?”
I almost cry from his concern. Defending Carter earlier came from a genuine desire to protect my brother, not from some arrogant desire to cause trouble in my uncle’s clubhouse. “I don’t know.”
After my father died, no one gave a shit about Carter. Instead, my uncle fed my brother bullshit stories about how Carter was now the man of the house. Later, he called my brother a sissy for not wanting to learn to ride. When he realized my brother had no interest in prospecting for the Wolf Knights, Carter was of no use and he full-out ignored him.
Somehow Marcel’s accepted my brother into the small circle of people who matter to him. Because of me. Because he’s just a decent guy. A man so loving and loyal I can’t even comprehend it. Good to his core no matter what he thinks of himself. He stood up for my brother in a way, that as a woman connected to the Wolf Knights, I’ve never been able to. In a way that matters in their world. He didn’t have to risk pissing Chuck and Keeper off, but he did it because he felt it was right.
“I’m sorry about the other day.” I accept the mug of coffee he hands me and take a seat at my kitchen table.
“Were you worried about me going to your mom’s funeral?” he asks gently.
Staring into my coffee cup, I nod.
“I wish you’d told me.” He shifts, his chair scraping across the floor as he moves closer to me.
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“I understand.” His gaze settles on my face. “Don’t chase me away again.”
It’s both an order and a plea.
“I know how strong you are,” he continues. “You don’t need me. But I want to take care of
you, Charlotte. Whenever something bad happens, I want to be by your side.”
My eyes water. No one’s taken care of me since my dad died. I took care of Carter. Took care of my mother until I had enough and left for college. Everything after, I dealt with on my own.
Marcel pulls me into his lap, and I curl my arms around him, resting my forehead against his. His leg shifts, adjusting me in his lap, reminding me of the awful stuff he’s survived. “You’re wrong. I do need you,” I whisper. “How about we take care of each other?”
“That sounds good to me,” he answers in a low, rumbling voice.
Tears sting my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you, Marcel. Or cause problems for your club.”
“Charlotte.” He uses two fingers to lift my chin and meets my eyes. “The only thing that could hurt me is being shut out of your life.”
I sniffle and nod.
“No more.”
My hands twist in the folds of my dress. “I need to take this off.”
His face remains passive. We’re still on shaky ground. And I still need to come completely clean with him. He gives me a nudge. “Go on. I’ll clean up in here.”
I don’t bother shutting my bedroom door. All I want to do is peel this awful dress off and toss it in a bonfire.
It feels like a flannel pants kind of day. I add a T-shirt and go find Marcel.
He’s in my living room, sitting on the corner of my couch. Legs crossed with his ankle resting on his knee. Tapping his fingers along the edge of his boot. “Hey.” He smiles and holds his hand out. “Feel better?”
A warm wave of emotion rolls up my throat, prickling my eyes with tears. “No.” I don’t quite know how to accept the comfort he’s offering, but I allow him to pull me into his arms and hold me while tears run down my cheeks. “I feel so guilty,” I whisper.
“Why, Sunshine?”
The nickname makes me smile through my sorrow.
He uses his thumb to brush the tears off my cheek. “Talk to me.”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’m relieved that she’s gone and I know that’s awful. I loved her, but I hated her too.”
While I gather my thoughts, he holds me, rubbing slow, comforting circles on my back.
“She always seemed to hate me, but it’s not like she treated Carter any better. I always wondered why she even bothered having kids. My dad was the one who did stuff with us.” I babble out all the thoughts and feelings that come to mind while Marcel listens. “When he died, it was awful.”
“Did your uncle help you guys out?”
Nausea rolls through me and I sit up. “Yes and no. He gave her money. Fed her habits. Kept a roof over our heads, so I guess that’s something.”
Without the full story, I probably sound like an ingrate to him.
I close my eyes, debating whether to share my darkest pain. If he ditches me because of my emotional baggage, better he do it now.
Before I fall any more in love with him.
Charlotte looks so lost. I keep touching her, trying to reassure her I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. My hand curls around her neck, my thumb brushing her soft skin. Under my fingers, her pulse beats wildly, even though on the outside she seems calm.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. After my dad died, Chuck was in and out of prison.”
“Club still take care of your mom?”
“Ulfric made sure we were okay. He was more like an uncle to me than Chuck ever was. He tried to get my mom sober, but it never stuck.”
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
She takes a few deep breaths. Trying to center herself? Calm down? I can’t tell. “What’s going on in your head? Your pulse is out of control.”
Her eyes widen and she leans into my touch, rubbing her cheek against my hand. “It’s nothing. I was such a stupid kid. I bought all the lies and crap the club preached. How innocent my uncle was. That he got railroaded by the system. The usual outlaw garbage.”
She meets my eyes for a second and her gaze darts away. As if she thinks I’m insulted or will disagree. “Go on.”
“So, my brilliant plan was to become a lawyer. Then I’d work for the club and keep them out of trouble.” She squeezes her eyes shut and her cheeks redden. “It sounds so stupid now.”
“It sounds like a girl who lost her dad young and wanted to hang on to what little family she had left.”
Slowly, she opens her eyes. Her head tilts as if she never considered that was her motivation.
“So that’s why you went to law school? You don’t practice criminal law though.”
I thought it was a casual observation, but something about my words causes her mood to shift. Her jaw tightens. She slides off my lap and puts her back to the arm of the couch so she’s facing me and tucks one leg underneath her. “I planned to concentrate in criminal law. After Chuck’s last stint in prison, he was a different man. Harder, meaner, but he also tried to do more for Carter and me. Took more of an interest in our lives.”
The way she says it is almost creepy and a sick feeling settles in my gut.
“He promised to pay for law school if I worked for the club after graduation.”
“Lot of money.”
“You’re not kidding,” she mumbles.
“So what changed your mind?”
“I used to go to the clubhouse all the time when I was a kid. It wasn’t like it is now. Or at least it wasn’t when they had family days. But, we’d go there for barbeques in the summer, Easter egg hunts.” She swallows hard. “Christmas.”
“Yeah, the few times I was there when Ulfric was running things, it was a lot different. Tamer.”
“Right. I was never afraid there. My dad had been a member. My uncle was a member, who would dare touch me?”
The sick feeling twists into a ball of dread in my stomach. “What happened?”
“Winter break my second year of law school, I went to the clubhouse. They were supposed to have a party for members’ kids. Santa, Mrs. Clause, reindeer, all that Christmas crap. I said I’d help out.”
“Carter come with you?”
“No. He had the flu. My mother was already at the clubhouse. I shouldn’t have left Carter alone, but I’d already promised, so—”
In the short time, we’ve been together, it’s obvious Charlotte is a woman who keeps her word. “You felt obligated.”
“Yes.” She swallows hard and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “This is so stupid,” she mutters.
“No, it’s not. Keep going.” We’re close to something, and I don’t want her to back out. I want her to understand she can trust me with everything.
“After the families left, the ‘real’ party began. I guess there was another MC visiting from out of state.”
“Who?” Her eyes widen at my sharp tone, and I work to calm myself. “Do you remember the name?”
“No.”
“How—”
“Let me finish.”
I snap my mouth shut and wait for her to go on. “I remember Chuck telling me I was old enough to stick around for a club party if I wanted to. My mother agreed. I was stupid and curious, so I stayed.”
“And?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “I don’t remember much after that. Which is both a blessing and a curse.”
“Why?”
She stares at me for a few long seconds before continuing. “I woke up the next morning in one of the clubhouse bedrooms. Half-naked and hurting.”
“Fuck.” I stand and walk to the other side of the room, pacing for a few seconds, trying not to explode. When I finally stop, she’s watching me with fear dancing in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying like hell to calm down.
After I sit back down next to her, she picks up the story.
“I didn’t feel right. I was sick to my stomach. My head felt like it was going to split in two. I’d never lost a big chunk of time like that before.”
“You didn’t do t
he drunk-girl, college experience?” I say, trying to inject some humor before she exposes more of what I suspect is an awful story.
“No. I told you. I tried to fit in when I went to college. But not with that crowd. I worked hard because I wanted to earn at least a partial scholarship to law school. I had a steady boyfriend for a few years too, so I didn’t bother going out much.”
The boyfriend part is new to me, and I want to punch myself for actually being jealous of some guy she was involved with years ago.
“Same thing in law school. The drink ’til you puke thing never appealed to me.”
“Go on.”
“I hurt.” She squeezes her legs together and the blotchy patches on her face and neck go from pink to red. “Down there. Bad. There was blood on me and I knew it wasn’t my period.”
A strangled noise works out of my throat and I sit forward. “Did you go to the doctor?”
She nods. “I went to the hospital.” For a brief second, she meets my eyes. “More than one person raped me while I was unconscious. They found trace amounts of Rohypnol in my blood.”
“Tell me you prosecuted these fuckers.”
Her head tilts as if she feels sorry for me for being naive.
“I thought my uncle would take care of it for me. That’s how the club works, right? Someone hurt a member of his family, I figured he’d want to handle it. It wasn’t in my nature to go to the cops.”
Knowing how my own club operates, that makes sense. I’ve personally dealt with at least three fuckers who hurt a woman I cared about. No cop or court was going to do what needed to be done, so we handled those situations ourselves.
Is that wrong?
It’s wrong to hurt a woman. These guys would do it again and again without remorse. So, no, I didn’t think it was wrong.
“I understand. Believe me.”
“You rescued Mariella,” she says. “A girl you barely knew.”
“Right.”
“And you took care of the ones who hurt her…who killed her, didn’t you?”
“Damn fucking right.” No point denying it. She might as well know who I am and what I’m capable of now.
“Well, my uncle didn’t have your zeal or compassion.”
Beyond Reason: Teller's Story, Part Two (Lost Kings) (Lost Kings MC Book 9) Page 5