He walks out of the room before I can respond. In the dresser drawers I find the pants and an array of T-shirts. There must be one in every color. My eyes move from one to the other, again and again.
Whatever you pick it won't be right. You’ll never please him just like you couldn’t please me.
With great effort I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of the fear coursing through me. Things with Dylan started off like this. I’d wear an outfit that he said looked terrible on me. Every time I made a choice it was wrong, so eventually I’d let him pick something.
I blindly reach for a shirt and end up with a light blue one. I hope this is good. Opening the first drawer I find bras, and I can't help but smile when they are all the same color.
No choice.
I finish getting dressed and try to finger brush my hair the best that I can before turning and looking in the mirror.
Your ass looks huge. Those clothes would look much better minus ten pounds.
“Shut up!” I blurt out.
The bedroom door opens and Cutter sticks his head in. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’m coming.”
I move to walk past him but he grabs my hand. “You look beautiful, good choice.”
The smile on my face is huge. “Thanks.”
With just that small gesture, he gives me confidence and pride that I haven’t felt for as long as I can remember. When I walk into the living room, Lucy is there. In her tight jeans and a shirt with the same symbol that’s on Cutter’s jacket, she’s stunning. She’s wearing makeup that makes all of her features stand out, and her light brown hair is streaked with a bright red.
“Hey, girl.” She smiles at me and I return the sentiment.
"All right, I gotta get out of here. Luce, you need anything, text one of the prospects."
“I know the drill.” She winks at him.
I turn to him and an awkwardness sets in. “Good-bye.”
His hand rests on my hip as his head dips low next to my ear. "Just breathe. I didn't tell them all the whole story. Have fun."
My heart beats faster with him being this close and I'm not sure which of my many emotions is causing it. Cutter makes me nervous, curious, anxious and excited all at once.
"Oh, and if I'm not back by lunch Lucy is going to order takeout for you guys."
He places a kiss behind my ear and I freeze.
I didn’t expect the contact and I’m still not too sure how to deal with it. When you’re so used to harsh and rough, something gentle feels foreign and scary.
“See you ladies in a little bit.” He grabs his keys off a hook by the door and then he’s gone.
“So, any idea what you want to do?” I turn to see Lucy looking at me.
I shrug, not really knowing what people do when they are hanging out. The only person I’ve been around for four years has been Dylan. No friends, no family, no one to talk to. After we were married for the first year he had successfully isolated me from everyone.
She moves closer to me and my breath seizes. “I have an idea. How about we eat a bunch of junk food, watch trash TV and I can answer any questions you might have?”
My breath returns with a whoosh. She’s being kind, thoughtful. There are likely a million other things a woman as beautiful as Lucy could be doing on a day like today, but she’s chosen to spend time with me. Not only that, she wants to do something that’ll make me happy. My eyes prick with tears. “I’d like that.”
I walk into the kitchen and she follows. “Did you want me to make you something? I’m not sure what Cutter has.” I want to impress her. I want her to like me.
“No, no cooking today. This is going to be a lazy day.” She walks over and opens the drawer full of takeout menus without any hesitation. She must know this place well. “Best junk food day stuff is never homemade.” She looks over the menu. “How about nachos, wings, and some cheese fries?”
“That sounds good.” At least she didn’t ask me what I wanted.
She pulls out her phone and calls the restaurant. While she is on the phone I walk back to the living room. I pass a leather jacket hanging on one of the chairs and can’t help but stare at it.
The same symbol is on the jacket and it says “Property of Whip.” I reach out my fingers and stroke the smooth leather.
“It’s called a property jacket.” Her voice sounds behind me and I jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Property? The word has a distinct meaning with me but a part of me feels like it’s different for her.
She opens the fridge and sticks her head inside. "So has Cutter given you the basic MC info? The guys usually have some speech they give that is no help and leaves you with more questions than answers." She grabs two cans of soda and kicks the fridge door shut with her heel, carrying the drinks over to the couch and sitting down.
I join her and tuck my feet under me, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. She is just so confident, so comfortable in her own skin. I’m in awe. It takes me a moment to answer. “He told me a few things, I don’t know much about it.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. "I figured. Do you want to know more? I don't want to bore you if it isn't something you're interested in."
“No, I’d like to know more about it.”
"Okay, that"—she points to the leather jacket—"is a property patch. When a brother decides he wants you, he claims you. It's an honor in the club because they don't do it without putting thought into it. After they claim you, you get a property patch, which basically lets all the brothers in the club and everyone outside of it know that you're off limits." She blows out a big breath. "When you're with a brother you're referred to as their old lady. Most of us hate the term, but it's actually a form of respect."
“Cutter mentioned that term.” I laugh at the fact that they call her an old lady.
She leans forward and grabs the remote, flicking through the channels, not stopping on a single one for more than a few seconds. I take a sip of the soda, coughing when the bubbles tickle the inside of my mouth. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything other than water. I forget the simple things. We sit in comfortable silence for a while: Lucy trying to find something to watch, me sipping at my drink. She eventually lands on a channel and tosses the remote back on the table.
“How you doing?” Her head tilts as she studies me.
I take a breath, part of me not sure how to answer, and the other half not wanting to burst this bubble or “normal” that has formed around us.
“Sometimes something as simple as saying the words out loud can help. I know we don't know each other that well, but I can relate to what you’re going through more than you know. When I came to the club, I was just as lost as you are right now.” Her hand runs through her hair and her eyes seem distant. “The men who hurt you the most aren’t always the ones who mark your body—it’s the ones who mark your mind. Only way to get those assholes out of your head forever is to push them out. You can't do it alone. Support is important because people can guide you when you’re learning how to become whole again. No one can fix this for you, but you. That doesn’t mean people won’t try to help you along the way.”
I take in what she’s saying. Can I become whole again? Can I be like her? Strong and happy? Right now, it feels like that’s so far out of reach, there’s no point in trying.
I look up at her and when I meet her gaze it’s like she sees me. No—she sees straight through me. Sees through the walls I’ve built up over the years. With that one glance she makes me feel like I can expose my soul to her. Like sharing some of what’s going on inside my head might help.
“I don’t know if I can do it. His voice . . . it’s always there. I hear it with every move I make.”
She shifts over on the couch, coming closer to take my hand in hers, and in that small act, I find strength. “I’ve lived like a robot for so long. I had my schedule, my expectations, and I did everything in my power to meet them. Being here with
Cutter, having him not want anything from me . . . it feels so strange.”
She nods. "Each day will get easier, though. Cutter is a good man, and he’s willing to help you get through it."
"I can see him getting frustrated with me, and it scares me," I confess.
Her hand squeezes mine. “I get it. Frustration, disappointment, they’ve all led to pain for you before. As hard as it is to accept, his frustration isn’t with you but with what’s been done to you.”
Someone knocks on the door and Lucy gets up to answer it.
Sitting alone on the couch, my life in pieces all around me, I try to digest the things I have learned today about the club and Cutter. I try to accept that there might be a way I can get better, even though it seems impossible.
“Shit.”
I hear her curse from the kitchen before she runs back to the couch to get her phone.
“Get me Cutter or Whip, now.” She says into the phone and a pit opens up in my stomach.
This can’t be good.
Chapter Fifteen
Cutter
Wrench’s room is tucked at the back of the club, out of earshot and eyesight. The whole room is filled with computers, printers, all sorts of techy shit that I have no clue about. Among it is some of the latest tracking and surveillance gear, not entirely legally obtained. The club functions on hard work and connections. Someone does you a favor, you’re into them for a marker. Trading markers is part of this world.
I need to see if he has found out where that asshole is hiding. When I track him down, he's in his usual place at the desk, typing away on the computer.
“You got anything for me?”
He spins in the chair, the look on his face answering me. “I only looked for an hour before Pres gave me a different assignment. He also said you can’t have us using club resources and providing protection for a girl who ain’t yours.”
Anger fills every inch of my body. “Bull-fucking-shit. She works for us. She’s entitled to protection.”
“While she’s at the club, yes, not in the way you want, brother, sorry. You want any more, you gotta take it up with Pres. Otherwise, let it go.” He moves out from behind the desk and holds the door open. “Let’s get to church.”
Like fuck I am letting this go. I need to find out where Dylan is. I know that he won't accept her leaving him and I want to get to him before he tries to get to her.
It’s a full house today. I take my seat toward the head of the table with the other officers, resting my chin on my hands when Pres bangs the gavel.
"Don't know who they are, or what they want, but some fuckers are messing with our runs. Wrench is working on it, but we don’t have much to go off. Our last run was hijacked, but luckily everyone got away and the product was secured. We are not on lockdown . . . yet. If this shit escalates, it might lead to one."
The murmurs around the table start as we all anticipate what this could mean. We’ve had our share of turf wars and battles with other clubs, but things have been quiet recently—something most of us have enjoyed. None of us want the shit storm that brings again.
“Second order of business—” A knock on the door sounds. Pres looks around the room. “One of you get up and see what the fuck is so important that they are interrupting church.” One of the prospects walks in, looking like his balls are about to shrivel up and die. “You make it a point to interrupt important shit?”
“Whip’s old lady’s on the phone. She said they got problems and to get him or Cutter.”
I’m out of my chair and over to him before he’s even finished talking, snatching the phone out of his hand. “Luce?”
“You need to get here now. There’s a delivery, and it ain’t the takeout I ordered. I’m thinking this was her prick husband.” The shake in her voice gives her away.
“Fuck, on my way.” I give the prospect back his phone and look up at Pres.
“Church ain’t over.” He’s glaring. I can’t disrespect him in front of the brothers. I also need to leave, now.
“Lucy and Jasmine are at my place.” I look at Whip. “Something is up, I’m not sure what because Luce didn’t tell me over the phone, but she sounded off. She told me to get there. She thinks Jasmine’s husband is screwing with them.”
Whip stands, leaning across the table, eyes on Pres.
“If the asshole knows that’s Cutter’s place, I need to get Lucy out of there.”
The room goes quiet. Against my better judgment, I shoot Pres a look. I haven’t got time for this shit.
"Everyone else out!" Pres bangs his fist on the table, his words grating through his teeth. There’s no pause. Everyone except Pres, Whip, and me leave the room.
He looks over at Whip. "You, too. He'll be there in a minute."
The door slams. “You have to—”
Pres is across the room in a second, his finger in my face. “I don’t have to do shit. We have fucking rules, and they have been around longer than your ass, Cutter. Girls get protection and backing if they are club property. Just because you feel fucking bad for the girl don’t make her an exception.”
He turns and takes his seat at the head of the table. “Wrench isn’t looking into the husband, and there will be no prospect watching over her. You got a problem with the by-laws, I don’t know what to tell you, ’cause they ain’t changing.”
A thousand thoughts are running through my mind. If the asshole knows where my place is then this could get really bad, really fast, and as fired up as I am, having my brothers at my back would make this so much easier. But Pres is right—my concerns don’t mean shit while Jasmine is just an employee. When you claim a girl she's tied to you for life. Am I willing to do that? Tie myself to a woman who I'm not even sure will want me once she's better? Hell, I'm not even fucking sure that it would work between us.
He’ll get to her.
With one hand on the door, I turn to Pres. "I'm fucking claiming her."
I open the door and slam it shut behind me. I very well could have just permanently screwed myself, but if it means Jasmine will be safe and have a chance to get herself free from this asshole, it’ll be worth it. Her life is more important than anything else. I might be shooting myself in the goddamn foot, but I don't give a shit right now.
I start jogging down the hall.
“Cutter!” Whip catches up to me but I don’t stop. I just head out front to my bike.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him swing a leg over his Harley, the roar from the engine merging with mine, obliterating the silence of the street. Mile by mile, our tires eat up the distance between the clubhouse and my place.
My bike is barely parked when I hop off, racing up the steps. I throw open my door stopping when a pungent smell fills my lungs, making me thankful I haven’t had a chance to grab lunch yet.
I cover my mouth with my T-shirt. “What the fuck is that?”
Lucy and Jasmine come out of the hallway, their faces wracked with fear. “I ordered food,” Lucy says as she walks over to Whip, wrapping her arms around him, tucking her head under his arm. “It’s the same place I always order from. The guy dropped it off and I didn’t smell it at first. Then I opened the bag and pulled out the container and there it was.” She nods to the bag.
“Go stand with Jasmine, babe,” Whip says after placing a kiss on her mouth.
Lucy nods. I look at Whip and flip open the lid of the container. Staring up at me is the head of what seems to be a small pig, lipstick smeared across its snout. A small piece of paper pokes out of the mouth. I use a pen to open the mouth and retrieve the bloodied note.
You can’t hide forever.
“Fuckin’ sick asshole.”
A sharp scream pierces the air. I turn, looking over Whip’s shoulder to see Jasmine’s hand is over her mouth. She turns and runs down the hallway. Lucy appears in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” she says, before racing after Jasmine, and I’m glad she has because as much as I want to make sure she’s okay, I need to handle shit.
Whip takes the note from me, turning it over. There’s nothing else on it.
“Call the restaurant and find their driver. I need to know how this happened. I’m calling Wrench. We need to find this fucker.”
“Thought Pres said—”
“Yeah, well, I fucking claimed her. She’s club property now.”
The last thing I need right now is to be fucking questioned. I just want to stop this before it gets any worse. I pull out my phone and dial Wrench’s number.
“I was expecting your call sooner.” He laughs, but from where I’m standing there’s fuck all funny about this.
“I need him found yesterday.”
I hang up and fight the urge to walk back to my bedroom. Whip is nowhere to be seen. Where the hell could he have gone? I toss the container back into the bag, tie it up twice, and then toss it into the trash.
The house is quiet. No sounds are coming from the bedroom so I’m guessing Lucy managed to calm Jasmine down. I wander into the kitchen, looking for Whip.
“Restaurant hasn’t heard from the guy in over an hour.” I turn around to see him walk in. “Checked the street. There’s a car parked in the lot with some food orders in it. I looked in the back seat and there’s a tarp there. Can’t be certain but I think he’s on the floor. Car is locked so I don’t know if he’s alive or not.”
"Fuck, that means it wasn't him who brought this shit up here."
The fact that Dylan had the nerve to come to my place makes my blood boil. With each passing day, the amount of pain I want to inflict on him grows. One thing is for sure: he won't survive what I'm ready to do to him.
Whip takes out a smoke and lights up. “You got a plan?”
No. I do not have a fucking plan.
“She can’t stay here, obviously—especially if I’m not here. When I’m not home with her, she’ll be at the clubhouse.” I know that it’s gonna be a problem for her. I doubt she’s ready to deal with all the bullshit that goes on there, and I honestly don't know how her damaged mind will make out there. I don't have a choice, though. I can't even send her to Ambrosia because I'm sure the asshole knows to check there. "You heading back to the club?"
Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5) Page 10