Wrench (The Club Girl Diaries Book 6)

by Addison Jane

  “I remember that one time he tried to blow bubbles with me and breathed in the bubble mixture.” Harlyn smiled as we sat on the sofa and talked about Slider and how important he had been to us. She was curled up on Wrench’s lap, his arms wrapped around her and her head on his chest.

  She was in her pajamas, getting ready for bed. I’d talked to Op, and he’d said it was probably best that with the mood of the clubhouse right now, that she stayed here for the night. I understood it was undoubtedly a hard decision for him to make, but I also knew that there was a whole clubhouse of brothers and women who were looking up to him in this moment. They were looking to him to stand strong for them.

  Harlyn had shed her tears with us earlier when we explained that he was gone. Although we’d gone for a reason that she could digest a little easier and explained that he was sick, it hasn’t made it hurt any less.

  “Remember when he tried to convince us that he could fly?” I giggled softly.

  Harlyn rolled her eyes. “Or when he said he had a pet elephant that lived in his pants.”

  Wrench and I both looked at each other and tried to contain our laughter.

  “Only Slider.” Wrench chuckled as he shook his head. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed, miss,” he said as he lifted Harlyn in his arms and stood up.

  She yawned and cuddled in closer to him. “Are you gonna be here in the morning?”

  He looked over at me and I nodded. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to be there for him, to comfort him in his time of need just like he’d done for me. Everything else didn’t matter in that moment. The shit with Peter, the drama with Op. None of it was important right now.

  “Yeah kid, I’ll be here.”

  Slider’s funeral was emotional and heartfelt. There wasn’t much said, but in all honesty, it really didn’t need many words. Slider was a bright soul whose life spoke for itself. He was gone too young, but you also couldn’t say that he hadn’t lived.

  Wrench had spent the last two days in communication with his sister. With Judge’s help, he’d finally been able to track her down and let her know what had happened. I guess it was a little too late for them, and that broke my heart, but seeing her there to say goodbye was uplifting.

  Hopefully, with the brothers around her, they could give her a little peace of mind in knowing that he was loved and cherished in the world. And despite what they had gone through as kids, that he was never without a smile on his face.

  He’d found a family here.

  I stood back beside the corner of the church as the boys carried him out. I wanted Wrench to be with his brothers, and Harlyn was strong in her feelings about being there for her dad.

  A tear slipped down my cheek as they loaded him inside the hearse, the sheer amount of people that had come to say their goodbyes was mind blowing. Brothers from other charters around the states had come to offer their condolences and celebrate the life of a man that no one would ever forget.

  “Must be so sad to lose someone you care about,” the voice came from behind me.

  My spine straightened, and I looked over my shoulder, finding Peter just a few feet away, mimicking my stance. His shoulder was braced against the wall, and his hands hung at his side, one holding a gun casually as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

  I took a step back into the shadow of the church, the small alleyway not even wide enough for me to stretch my arms across. Turning, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Go home, this isn’t the place nor time, unless you want to be killed.”

  With the brothers already in a shitty place, it would only take one word from Peter, and someone would start swinging. This was about appreciating and celebrating Slider’s life. There was no way in hell I was gonna let him get away with turning that into something destructive.

  He shrugged. “I wonder how many bullets I can fire off. How many people I can take down before they even think to reach for their weapons.”

  The bristles on my back stood up and I took a step back. He raised the gun, pointing it directly at me, and I froze.

  “Let’s go for a little drive, shall we?” he asked, even though I knew at that point there was no option. I gritted my teeth and moved down the alleyway, hoping like hell that no one walked by and questioned my escape.

  He directed me in between two other buildings before we came out on another street where there was a limo waiting. The driver stood at the door, holding it open for us. I heard the roar of motorcycles start up and my stomach sunk as I rushed to climb into the car, knowing that they would be heading this way toward the cemetery. Peter took his time, and I watched out the window as the bikes rounded the corner and headed toward us.

  Not one of them looked as they formed a progression behind the hearse. I spotted Wrench, and my gut dropped as his eyes flicked toward the limo for just a brief second, feeling like he was looking directly at me. I knew he couldn’t see me, the tint on the windows just too dark, but it was like he could sense I was there.

  “Take us home,” Peter ordered, and the driver gave him a firm nod as he slammed the door shut and rounded to the driver’s side. We’re barely moving before Peter opened the bar and poured himself a drink. It wasn’t uncommon to see him holding a glass of some kind, swirling champagne or sipping at expensive wines.

  It wasn’t just a dinners or gatherings either. He’d pour a glass with lunch or even take one with him to his office while he was working. Occasionally, I’d even find empty glasses in the bathroom, but up until now, it had just seemed normal.

  “Would you like a drink?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with what resembled joy or excitement.

  I screwed up my nose. “No, I would not,” I told him harshly, knowing that he could slip me almost anything in one of those glasses. If that was his plan, to make me an addict again, I hope he knew that I knew exactly what he was up to.

  He shrugged uncaringly and settled back into his seat. I wanted to vomit. I hadn’t felt this trapped in a long time, sitting in a car with the man who made it his life mission to destroy me.

  “I heard a whisper in the wind that you’d visited with Eric,” he started, not holding back his disgust when he mentioned his friend’s name. Eric had said that they weren’t close anymore, but maybe Peter wasn’t happy with the fact Eric was moving on with his life and distancing himself from Peter’s crazy. “Taking the kid out of the equation. Smart move.”

  He nodded as though he almost appreciated the counter actions I’d taken against him. I knew for a fact that it wasn’t information that just floating to him on the breeze, he would have had to go looking for it.

  “Did that hurt? Knowing one of your friends helped me?” I taunted. Without warning, he slammed his palm against the window of the car. I jumped and pulled back, my eyes wide.

  “Eric is no friend of mine,” he sneered, his eyes alight with fire. “He betrayed me.”

  I watched him cautiously as his anger filled the car with churning tension. I guess he knew what Eric did, he knew he’d helped me escape him.

  Of course he did.

  I decided to play it safe, keep my mouth closed and not push his buttons any more than I had too. The more comfortable he was with me, the better. I needed him to share information, rant and rave so that I could somehow figure out what his end game was within all of this.

  Was it just to hurt me?

  Did he have some ulterior motive?

  These drugs he had control of were obviously becoming much bigger than they once had been. It was obvious that he wanted to spread them throughout the states, but when people or clubs like the Brothers by Blood stood in their way, they either had to back off or fight back.

  Peter—he wasn’t one to back off.

  We pulled up outside of the house that often haunted my dreams. It was just how I remembered it, what little memory I held of being there. It really was beautiful. It was Victorian styled and had been around for many years. While it had the older style exterior, it had been redesigned to look very modern
with dark colors and brickwork that framed the large doorway and wound up all three stories.

  From what I understood, it had been in Peter’s family for a long time. It was the reason he lived here and chose to travel for work rather than live full time in New York where his family’s company was based and where his parents were. He told me once that the memories he had of this house growing up meant something to him, they felt important in his mind.

  I struggled to understand how someone so destructive and heartless could feel anything at all. I think in his own way, he really did believe that what he had done to me was in my best interests. Like he almost felt like he’d put his heart and soul into our relationship and I’d crushed him.

  No, he had destroyed me.

  If he couldn’t see that, then there were more problems here than I first thought.

  I stepped out of the car and took a deep breath knowing this was going to be painful. Peter may have had pleasant memories here, ones that pulled him in and kept him here. But every memory I had inside this house made me want to run screaming.

  My hands shook, my eyes flicking around from side to side as I tried to figure out if I could do just that. Did I really want to relive this pain?

  As I looked to the side, Peter stood watching me, holding the gun in his hand. I noticed now that he’d never actually put it down, except for to pour himself a drink. His eyes glared at me, almost daring me to try and escape him, the promise that he would hunt me down like an animal clearly evident in his demonic stare.

  He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go inside and have a chat.”

  My feet felt like they had been dipped in lead, each step heavier than the last. My chest already felt constricted as Peter stepped up beside me and pushed the door open, waiting to the side and directing me in first.

  The smell was the first thing to hit me, and I instantly felt like I was drowning.

  Peter had two maids, they kept the house so damn perfectly clean that they would practically follow you around the house, picking up after you and wiping down doorknobs that you’d touched.

  He liked things clean—far too clean. He hated mess in business and in his personal life.

  The smell of cleaning products and bleach struck me in the face, and suddenly, I was right back where I started. Right back at the gateway to hell.

  Standing in the center of the room, I could feel their eyes on me.

  My vision was hazy, but I could make out some of their movements, some of their shadows. I could see the whites of their eyes as they studied me with genuine curiosity, while others looked on as though I was their next meal.

  There was a voice in my head, it sounded like it was in the distance though, like it had been pushed too far back now for it to make any impact on what I was doing.

  Run, it said—no, it screamed.

  It was my voice, it wanted me to run, to get the hell out of there and save myself. But even if I did want to listen to it, I couldn’t move. My body was numb, just the way I liked it. My limbs didn’t even feel as though they were mine anymore. I wanted the voice to go away too. I hated the noise, that’s why I was in this place to begin with, to escape from the noise.

  So I pushed it further back, hiding it away.

  With every pill I took it seemed to become quieter, leaving me in silence and bliss.

  I was sick of hurting, sick of feeling like I wasn’t normal and being looked at like I was a freak. Peter was rescuing me, he was saving me. No more downers or breakdowns where I considered ending my life, no more crazy mood swings or manic states where I embarrassed my family.

  Peter cared, he wanted to take my pain away, and he wanted to be there for me. But in order to get those pills that I wanted, I had to help him too.

  A door opened off to the side. I couldn’t move my head to see who had come in, it felt like a brick sitting on my shoulders. I sensed the rush of air breeze past my body—when it hit my naked body, goosebumps broke out across my skin.

  Angry voices spoke quietly in the corner. They were muffled, but I could almost make out some of the words.

  “… needs to stop...”

  “… show them what it can do…”

  It didn’t mean anything, my brain struggling to piece together what the voices were saying. Another gust of wind passed by me and the door was closed again within seconds. That was when Peter stepped out into the light, his face contorted in anger.

  My eyes widened as he held another pill between his two fingers. They were so tiny, but they were everything. They were my cure and the only thing that had ever helped me feel less than crazy.

  “What are you gonna do for this, Annabelle?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  Something had upset him, I could tell. I could comfort him, ask if he was okay, but instead, all I could see was that pill.

  “Anything,” I whispered, the voice in the back of my head crying out in pain. I needed to silence her. I licked my lips. “Anything.”

  “Get on your knees and beg me for it.”

  So I did.

  I groaned and rolled onto my side. Something wet was laid across my forehead, cooling my skin. It felt good. I wanted it to stay there. My eyes blinked open, the bright light causing me to squint. Everything was a blur, shapes, and colors all seemed to smear together in a dirty looking rainbow. My head hurt, really bad, but I couldn’t figure out why.

  “Don’t sit up,” Peter said, his voice nearby.

  Then it hit me, the smell, the memories, the shame all flooding over me at once. I held my hand to my mouth to stop the vomit from spilling out over the floor.

  “Shit,” he cursed. “Here.”

  A glass bowl was shoved in front of my face and I quickly grabbed it, half my body hanging over the edge of the couch as I emptied the contents of my stomach into what looked like a fancy crystal fruit bowl.

  Slowly, I forced my body into a sitting position, placing the bowl between my legs and hanging my head over it. A hand swept through my hair, pulling it back and out of my face. It sent a chill down my spine, and I slapped it away. My eyes narrowed on him as I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  “Don’t you dare touch me,” I told him, my voice shaking.

  I wasn’t exactly scared of Peter, but he did hold power. He knew things about me, had evidence of the shit that I’d done. He held power that he could use against the club, to make them look bad. What he didn’t have, was a fucking moral compass. That was dangerous when it was mixed with his need to be on top and the connections he held within his pockets.

  How many people had he blackmailed to get this drug on the market?

  Deacon had said that he had no idea how it had been approved by the FDA. Probably because they were paid to shut up, or they were replaced with people who were easier to manipulate.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” I said finally when he just stared at me across the couch.

  “I forgive you,” he answered, his face softening. “I need you to know that I forgive you for running and that even though you hurt me, I’m willing to move on.”

  I thought my brain was going to explode at that moment. What the hell was he talking about, forgiving me? And moving on?

  I placed the bowl on the floor and stood up, my body wavering for a moment before I found my balance. I must have passed out. The emotions and memories becoming too much to handle, so my body had just shut down to try and protect me. Even though it had, I could feel my hands shaking, and out of the corner of my eye I could see the shadows had begun to sneak in. I needed to fight back, and I needed to do it now before I broke down.

  “You forgive me?” I asked, shaking my head and taking a step back when he stood to his feet. Peter wasn’t little, he was tall, and while he wasn’t muscular like Wrench, he was still heavily built, enough to be intimidating. “What about all the pain you put me through? Because I don’t forgive you.”

  His brows pull together in the middle. “I was helping you. You think it was easy fo
r me to see you have those attacks and watch you break down. You think I enjoyed watching someone I cared about in so much anguish and pain?”

  “You used me to test out that drug. You got me addicted to those damn pills,” I cried out, tears brimming my eyes. The shadows were coming, but I was trying my best to force them back. I needed to, I couldn’t risk what would happen if I broke down right now, here with him.

  He took a threatening step forward. “They made you better. You begged me for them, and I couldn’t tell you no. They helped you.”

  My eyes widened. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, it didn’t even make any fucking sense. “Do you even hear what you’re saying?” I snapped, rubbing at my chest with the palm of my hand, trying to keep the blood pumping and keep myself alert. Peter sounded delusional like he actually believed that what he had done had helped me like he hadn’t completely destroyed me and turned me into a zombie.

  His face softened. “I was helping you to be normal… to feel normal. And I had to prove to those people that this drug… it worked. They needed to see it. People like that, they don’t understand what it’s like for people like us to get through the day, to fight to keep our social standing when everyone is expecting us to fall.”

  I pulled back, the fact that he was justifying the way he used me almost made me reach for the vomit bowl again. He shook his head, coming toward me with his hand outstretched, it reached for my face, but I ducked out of the way and headed for the door, desperate for air, scared of being trapped in this room with him and having it cave in around me.

  Keep fighting, damn it.

  His hand grabbed my arm, pulling it hard and twisting my body, slamming me up against the wall. The loud thump caused the pictures on the wall to rattle, neither of us moving an inch until the sound ceased.

  His breath fanned against my face as he stood over me, his harsh features now becoming fierce and unforgiving. “You made me look like a fool,” he spat. “After everything I did for you, you ran off with another man’s baby.”