by A. M. Myers
“When it comes to Tate, it’s probably a good bet to just assume both. Plus, with pregnancy hormones, it could change every hour.”
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” I warn him and he shoots me a look that calls me a moron in eight different languages before shaking his head.
“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back before sighing. “How are things going with Warren?”
I scoff. “They’re not.”
“Blaze mentioned that you found something about that video,” he prompts and I nod, breaking down the whole deep fake thing for him just like I did for Blaze and he stares off into the distance, quiet for a moment before whispering a curse.
“So, I’m really fucked then?”
I shake my head. “Naw, man. I’m not giving up and I’ll find answers for you, okay? You can’t think like that.”
“I can’t seem to stop thinking like that,” he replies, scrubbing his jaw. “Ever since the raid, all of my thoughts revolve around what Ali and Mags are going to do when I get sent to prison.”
I clap my hand on his shoulder and he glances over at me. “None of us are going to let that happen, man. I don’t care what I have to do…”
“Appreciate it,” he murmurs, nodding, before he stares off into the distance again and silence falls over us. We sip our beers, both of us lost in our thoughts and I run through all the information I’ve looked up on deep fakes, trying to find a way to prove that the man in the video isn’t Storm but like I said to Blaze, whoever made it is really fucking good. I’ve even considered making a replica of the video using the real Storm to show the subtle differences I noticed but it’s a slippery slope and I don’t want to make the problem any worse.
Storm nudges me, pulling me out of my thoughts as he points to a big white van pulling up outside of the fence. “What the fuck is that?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” I tell him, cocking my head to the side as a well dressed woman steps out of the passenger side and fluffs her hair as she looks around. The side door opens and three men step out and one of them turns back to the van to pull out a giant camera as one of the others points to the clubhouse. “What the fuck?”
“What do you say we go see what’s going on?” Storm asks and I nod as we both stand up and set our beers down on the table.
“Sounds good.”
We start off across the parking lot and when they notice us walking over to them, they all start rushing around to set up the camera and start rolling, The woman pastes a professional smile on her face that looks as fake as her tits before bringing a microphone to her mouth as the cameraman points to her. She launches into her intro and Storm nudges me with his shoulder.
“Be charming.”
I scoff. “I’m always charming.”
“Then be extra charming today,” he growls under his breath as we reach the fence and we overhear snippets of her report. She’s here to investigate the video of Storm and why the club wants to hurt the city of Baton Rouge and my stomach drops.
“Can we help you?” Storm calls when we reach the fence and she ushers the cameraman to follow her as she struts over to us and flashes us that smile. It’s honestly a little terrifying.
“I’m Christina Hill with Channel Eight news and I’m here to investigate the video that was posted to the internet two weeks ago. You’re Logan Chambers, aren’t you?”
He nods, his body tense and his hands fidgeting at his sides before he shoves them in his pockets. “I am.”
“Care to tell the people of Baton Rouge what your club has against them and why you’re threatening to hurt people?”
“We’re not,” he answers. “That video isn’t real.”
She frowns, glancing back at the camera with a worried expression before facing us again. “I see… and what about the other videos? Are you saying they’re all fake?”
“What videos?” Storm asks, glancing over at me but I have no fucking clue what he’s talking about. Her gaze flicks between the two of us as she takes a fraction of a step back. It’s a subtle tell but one we both notice.
That’s it.
Our fates are sealed.
“There are eight other videos that were posted to the Bayou Devils website. Do you really expect people to believe that you don’t know what I’m talking about?” she asks and Storm nudges me before tilting his head to the clubhouse and I nod as he turns back to Christina Hill.
“Ma’am, the Bayou Devils don’t have a website so yes, we have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I turn and start walking back to the clubhouse as she asks him another question and when I’m far enough away from them to not draw a ton of attention to myself, I pick up the pace, running across the pavement as my mind races. Storm is right. The club doesn’t have a website or any social media and though I’ve thought about making one in the past, we all decided as a group that it was best if we did our work through word of mouth instead. Most of the time, it allows us the privacy we need to protect the people we rescue as well as ourselves.
When I get inside, I run over to the stairs and race up them, drawing looks from Kodiak, Chance, and Blaze as they sit around on the couches talking, but I don’t have time to stop to explain what is going on. Once I’m in my room, I sink into my chair and wiggle the mouse to wake up my computer. The screen springs to life and I fire up the internet before navigating to the search engine and typing the club’s name into the search bar. As soon as I hit enter, a page of results pop up and the first website claims to be the official site for the Bayou Devils MC. I click on it and hold my breath as the page loads.
The home screen doesn’t have much on it, except the video of Storm and my heart hammers in my chest when I see the little arrow on the side of the screen. I click it. Another video slides into the same place, this one of Chance and I press play as my stomach rolls.
“For far too long, the city of Baton Rouge has looked down on us, casting us as villains without any proof and we’ve taken it. We live with it every day despite the work we do to protect our neighbors. I’ve been glared at, mothers have moved across the street with their children when they see me coming, and I’ve even been spit on. For what? The way I look? The tattoos on my arms? The cut I wear? We’ve had enough…”
I pause the video and shove away from the desk as I lean back in my chair and run my hand through my hair as I struggle to form a single thought. Time seems to slow as I stare at the screen and every cell in my body aches to take action, do something about this but I can’t come up with anything. Shaking my head, I roll forward and click the arrow again, revealing a video of Moose but I can’t stand to watch it yet so I keep clicking through video after video until I get back to Storm’s. There is one for each of us and no doubt, each one promises pain, violence, and bloodshed to the citizens of Baton Rouge - our home, our city.
Ringing echoes around the room and I blink at the screen a few times, unable to process what it is, before it finally registers. Sucking in a breath, I dig my phone out of my pocket. “Hello?”
“Hi, Travis,” Warren says, his voice sickeningly cheerful and I turn away from the computer as I grit my teeth and glare out of my window where Christina is still interviewing Storm. Blaze has joined him but I’m not sure that will help anything. It seems like she has already found us guilty and with the evidence she has, I can’t blame her.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Gosh.” He chuckles. “So hostile. I was just calling to chat. I noticed that you got my little present and before you say anything, I know Christmas was two days ago but I’ve been so busy, you know?”
Scanning my room, I wonder how in the hell he’s watching me - something else I haven’t been able to figure out despite my relentless digging but nothing has turned up.
“Travis, you still there?”
“You enjoying yourself?” I snarl before shaking my head. My head is still so fucking fuzzy and it’s making me ask him dumb questions. Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it,
I suck in a breath and turn back to the computer.
Jesus, get it together, Broussard.
He laughs again. “Oh, immensely. So… do you like my present? I know it’s not as nice the one you gave Rowan on Christmas Eve but I really tried.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He tsks before releasing a heavy sigh into the phone. “Are you okay, Travis? You don’t quite sound like yourself. Have you been getting enough sleep?”
“Shut up,” I snap, that all too familiar feeling of wanting to put my fist through a wall flooding my body as I grip the arm of my office chair until my hands ache.
“That’s no way to talk to the man who holds all of your friends’ lives in his hand,” he murmurs, sounding disappointed and my stomach rolls at his ability to sound completely sincere no matter what emotion he’s portraying. “You do remember what will happen if you reveal any of this information to your brothers, right?”
I nod. “I remember.”
“Excellent. I’m glad we’re on the same page… although, I would love any excuse to finally get my hands on our little Rowan. I’ve been dreaming about her every night, you know, and the anticipation is just killing me.”
I want to fucking rage at him, scream and tell him to stay the hell away from her but that hasn’t worked in the past and as I think about him actually laying his hands on her, I struggle to take a breath. I need to find something else, a way to discourage him from going after her but what can I do? As I rake my hand through my hair, I wonder if he is only focused on her because of me and if I reacted with disinterest, he would lose interest. Sucking in a breath, I try to calm my frazzled nerves as I shrug.
“Go ahead. She is just another in a long line of women I’ve fucked and honestly, I’ll get bored with her soon enough.”
He roars with laughter and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. “Did you really think that would work? My infatuation with Rowan has absolutely nothing to do with you, Travis. I want her. I have from the moment I watched you press her perky tits up against your window, putting her on display for me. Torturing you with it all is just an added bonus.”
There is a pounding in my ears and spots flash in my vision as I think about him watching us that first night we were together. He would have had to been outside the clubhouse to see what we did and knowing he was right there makes my blood boil. How many other signs have we missed?
“Nothing to say to that, old friend?” he asks and I shake my head. “Fine, then. I’d better get going anyway. There is so much work left to do before we end this but I’ll talk to you soon.”
He hangs up before I can say anything - not that I had anything else to say to him - and I toss my phone on the desk before dropping my head into my hands and releasing a breath.
Dread.
Rage.
Pain.
And fear.
It all swirls around inside me, each emotion pulling the life from my veins and feeding another as I desperately try to stay afloat and I don’t know how much longer I can hold all of this together. Sooner or later - and I’m leaning toward sooner more with each day that passes - I’m going to break and the thought terrifies me more than anything else.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rowan
“Go ahead. She is just another in a long line of women I’ve fucked,” Travis says, stopping me in my tracks just outside his room. The door is wide open and he’s in his office chair, facing away from me with his phone pressed to his ear. “And honestly, I’ll get bored with her soon enough.”
Pain blooms in my chest and I blink, frozen in place as I try to wrap my mind around the words he just said but it’s like trying to wade through mud.
She is just another in a long line…
I’ll get bored with her soon enough…
Tears sting my eyes as the pain only intensifies, spreading through my body like poison, and I take a step back as my lip wobbles. I shake my head. The words repeat themselves over and over again in my mind, tainting me, tormenting me, and on each trip around, they lash out, inflicting another wound as the ache in my chest continues to grow until it’s so intense that it’s difficult to even take a breath. Turning away from his room, I lift my chin and press my lips into a thin line, trying to look strong and put together as I hurry down the hallway, desperate to get somewhere private. The only upside of this situation is that everyone else is outside, watching the news crew that pulled up awhile ago, so there will be no one to see me totally lose my mind over this boy.
I descend the stairs as quietly as possible before breathing a sigh of relief at the empty bar. A smashing sound echoes through the clubhouse, coming from upstairs, and I flinch as I slip down the hallway, running now as the tears threaten to fall. As soon as I’m in my room, I shut the door behind me and make sure it’s locked before turning and pressing my back against it. Hot tears fall down my cheeks and something between a gasp and sob escapes me as I sink to my ass and clamp my hand over my mouth. The pain in my chest is so overpowering that I want to claw at my own chest, like I’m trying to physically rip my heart out so there is a valid reason for this pain I’m feeling and I reach over to my bed, grabbing my pillow and burying my face into it as I cry.
Memories from the last three weeks rush through my mind on a loop - that first night Travis and I had together, our breakfast at the cafe the morning after, the way he hauled me out of the diner over his shoulder, the night I danced for him, our food truck date, the night he took me up on the roof to look at the stars, the night in when he told me I was worth more than a quick fuck in the back…
Did it all mean absolutely nothing?
God, I’m so fucking stupid. From the very beginning, he told me it would never be anything more and I was happy with that arrangement. I never wanted or expected anything more but somewhere along the way things obviously changed. The problem is, I didn’t realize just how much our relationship had changed until two minutes ago when I overheard him calling me “another in a long line”. The idea of him with another woman pops into my mind, unbidden and completely unwelcome but my subconscious doesn’t seem to care and I drop my head back against the door as the tears continue to fall.
I love him.
There is no other explanation. Somewhere along the way, while he and I were “just having fun”, I fell head over heels in love with Travis Broussard. It should be a happy revelation or maybe a scary one but all I can feel is the pain of his words as they rip through me again, like I can’t resist punishing myself with my own stupidity.
How could I fall in love with him?
He made things so clear to me and not once, did I ever think that there could be more for us so how did I let this happen? I remember what I said to him that first night, that sex didn’t equal love to me but what I never planned for was the fact that our physical connection would pale in comparison to the emotional one we’ve built in the last twenty-one days. Travis is my person, the one I always look for in a crowd and the one who makes me feel safe when I’m feeling out of control and chaotic. He makes me feel seen and cherished.
My body shakes with my sobs as I grab the star pendant hanging around my neck and squeeze until the points of the star dig into my skin. It distracts me from my shattered heart but only for a fraction of a second before I remember the way he held me after Warren chased us through the mall and on the night of Fuzz and Piper’s wedding. I felt something different then, something new but I dismissed it as stress. It wasn’t and I should have known then. Travis has always been my sanctuary and despite the chaos raging around us, when we’re together, nothing else exists. It’s been that way from the beginning and I ball my fist before slamming it against the wall next to me.
So, so stupid.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had walls up around my heart and as I look back, I don’t think anyone has ever been able to scale them… not fully. Not even Travis but that’s because he smashed them down with that first look and I didn’t even notice. All of my han
g-ups in my previous relationships didn’t matter with him and I should have seen that it was more than just the “casual” nature of our relationship. Scoffing, I shake my head. We were never casual… or, at least, I wasn’t. I just wish I would have realized that before I got my heart broken into a million pieces. Thinking back to my attitude when I first got here, I hit the wall again.
I didn’t want this.
I wasn’t looking for it and yet, here I am, sitting on the floor of my room, crying my eyes out over a man who makes me feel wanted and needed and seen, a man who stole my heart with his intense eyes and crooked grin, a man who ravaged me at every opportunity but also, somehow still made me feel cherished and a man who will never love me back. His words flicker through my mind again as anger and pain creep through me, twisting together so tightly that I can’t even tell where one ends and the other begins but I’m not mad at Travis. He hasn’t done a single thing wrong so I can’t be mad at him. I wish I could be but the blame lies on me. I let myself fall for him even knowing that there could never be more than this.
My breathing stutters and I close my eyes again, taking a deep breath as I run through my options. On the one hand, I could completely cut things off with him and end it all right here and now but as I try to imagine that conversation, I don’t think I can bring myself to do it. I could tell him I love him but there is no doubt in my mind where that would lead and then I would be back to option number one. Or… I could just keep going. But could I keep my feelings to myself while he and I continue our relationship? Could I really be the same with him knowing that a time will come when he will end it with me? It will suck but will it hurt any worse than breaking up now? Will my heart be anymore broken?
My tears slow as I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling again as my mind races but the more I think about it, the more I know there is only one thing I can’t do and that is walk away from him. I love him and there is a big part of me that feels like I might just love him for the rest of my life and I would rather spend every moment I can with him than walk away now and wonder how many moments I could have had. Plus, my heart just can’t take it. I’m going into this knowing full well that it will end, that someday he will tell me that it’s time to let go and move on but I can’t be the one to do it.