BROKEN: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan's Wings MC)

by West, Naomi

  “Then it moves forward,” he said. “We'll see what we can get out of her, and in the meantime, we'll keep her warm and fed and out of sight. Next full meeting we get, we'll call another vote. Cool?”

  “Cool,” Smalls agreed.

  “Motion's carried, then?” Cutter asked the room.

  All the men nodded their head, silent as the gravity of what they'd just agreed to do began to set in. Times ahead were going to be tough, but Cutter knew he and the rest of the Vanguard would be up to the challenge. They always had been, always would be.

  They were Vanguard, after all.

  Chapter 9

  Liona

  “No, Dad,” Liona said into her phone, “I'm fine. I'm somewhere safe, okay?”

  “I just don't understand why you can't tell me what's going on, honey. Your mom and I are worried sick about you.”

  She was seated on the edge of Cutter's bed again, but this time in her old clothes. The soiled and ruined wedding dress was draped over the back of a chair that stood in the corner. It seemed to glare at her with insubstantial eyes, like the conglomeration of cloth and tulle resented her for not using it properly.

  She twirled a strand of hair idly and averted her eyes from the dress, from the guilt. “Dad, I'm fine, alright. I'll tell you when I'm ready to come home.”

  “But, why are you hiding, hon?” he asked, genuine bewilderment in his voice.

  What she wanted to say was: “Because my ex-fiancée is a sick fuck who's been physically and emotionally been abusing me for years, and I know it'll just be a matter of time before he murders me.”

  Instead, she merely shrugged it off. “I don't want to talk about it right now.”

  “Liona, honey, you gotta tell us, though. Wyland's not saying anything to either of us, but I can tell his parents are really upset. Well, his father is. His mother's just a wino.”

  Liona laughed knowingly. “Yeah, that sounds like her. Valium and Chardonnay. Don't worry, that doesn't have anything to do with me leaving her son at the altar.”

  “It's just ...” her dad started to say, then trailed off. “I ... I don't know.”

  “What dad?” Liona asked. Her dad had always been forthcoming with her, even if she hadn't been that way with him, especially over the last few years. “What's wrong?”

  “What you did,” he said after a while, trying to pick his words. “I know you probably had good reason, or thought you did, at least. But ...”

  “But what?”

  “It was just rude,” he said, his voice rising out of the pleasant, mild-mannered decibel range he normally kept.

  Liona was surprised he'd actually raised his voice like that. The word choice, though, was all too familiar. To her dad, politeness ruled over everything. He was the most polite, considerate man she'd ever met in her life. Everything he did, even in private, was seemingly dedicated to preserving civil order. He'd never yelled at her when she was growing up, never struck her in anger, or even as a punishment. He was simply ‘nice,’... but not in an artificial way, like two-faced Wyland. He was genuine, true to his word.

  It killed her to have to hurt him this way, and her she felt herself choke up a little. “I'm ... I'm sorry, dad. This is something I had to do. And, I guess it hadn't seemed real until the day of. So, I'm sorry. Okay?”

  Silence on the other end of the line.

  Liona's heart sunk. “Dad?”

  “I'm here.” He sighed into the phone. A long, sad sigh that carried with it the weight of years of parental responsibility. “Well, I love you, honey. And your mom does, too. Call us when you can, okay?”

  She smiled at his words. She knew they loved her, but his words just seemed to alleviate some of the guilt she was feeling. “Okay, dad, I will,” she said. “You can count on it. And I love you guys, too.”

  “Okay,” he said, and she could tell her probably had his lips tightly pressed together like he always did in this kind of situation. “We'll talk to you soon, honey. I love you.”

  “Bye, dad. I love you.” She ended the call and dropped the phone down on the bed next to her.

  Well, that had actually gone better than she hoped. She hated leaving her dad in the dark like this, but there wasn't anything else she could think to do. She couldn't exactly tell him she was crashed out with a bunch of bikers on the outskirts of town. That definitely wouldn't have flown. But, at least now he and her mom knew she was safe.

  She rearranged herself on the bed, pulling her legs up and crossing them. She rested her face in her hands, with her elbows on her knees, and stayed like that for a moment. She needed to call Wyland next. She didn't know how she was going to do handle it, though. How could she call her tormentor, especially after this slap in the face she'd just given him? He'd be out for blood.

  Just, then, though, the handle on Cutter's door turned. She looked up from her cradle to see her old friend return, two cups of coffee in one hand.

  “Thought you might need some,” Cutter said, gesturing with the coffee.

  Liona smiled up at him. “Got anything stronger?” she asked.

  He smiled a little smile and set the cups down on top of his old, beaten down dresser. “Bourbon okay?” he asked as he pulled open the top drawer and pulled out a bottle of Buffalo Trace.

  “Please,” she said, nodding. Her eyes tracked over him, over his MC vest, over his arms. They looked even better than when she'd first seen them on the side of the road.

  He opened the bottle and began to pour a finger or so in each cup. “Gave you cream,” he said as he poured her dram, “and a little sugar.”

  “Perfect,” she said as she took the warm cup from him. “So, what'd you guys decide?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “We put it to a vote,” he said over the lip of his mug, his steely eyes boring into hers, “and you can stay.”

  If she hadn't been holding he hot cup of spiked coffee in her hands, she would have burst out in applause. That was the first good news she'd heard in ages. Literally.

  “But,” he said.

  Her heart sank. “But?” she murmured.

  “You can stay, for now,” he said, emphasizing the last two words. “That was a preliminary vote, since the whole club wasn't here.”

  “Geez,” she said, “how often do you guys vote?”

  “Just on big things,” he said. “But, it was unanimous, which is good. Like I said, we'll still need another one.”

  “When will that be?”

  He shrugged. “When all the guys are in one place. Could be in a couple days, could be next week. We got a couple guys in lockup right now, so it might be a while.”

  She hadn't known about that! She made a face. “In lockup?” she asked.

  He nodded, solemnly. “Wyland.”

  All she needed was that one word. So, her fiancée was coming after them, too. She didn't know why, though. Maybe, she figured, they were just easy pickings. He'd always been more interested in his career than anything else, and he already had his eye on the District Attorney's job. All he needed to get there was some good headlines. And a notorious MC like Cutter and his friends would fit that bill perfectly.

  She took a sip of coffee. The hot liquor burned at the same time it soothed.

  “Guess it's time,” Cutter said after a while, “we discussed the sleeping arrangement here. The two guys I mentioned, they don't have bunks here, so we're full at the moment.”

  Here it came. A mixture of heady desire and trepidation filled Liona. She hadn't ever slept with another man besides Wyland. In one sense, she was attracted to Cutter, but she still couldn’t figure him out. Had the tension she’d felt earlier between them been sexual in nature. Her mind wandered again as she wondered what he would be like. Would he be too rough with her? Could she handle a man like him? And would she be woman enough to satisfy his needs?

  It wasn't the expectation of sex that worried her, really. She'd been going through that with Wyland for years. Paying for her room and board with her body had become al
most second nature.

  “So, I hope my bed is comfortable enough for you,” Cutter said. “Don't worry, I'm taking the couch in the rec room.”

  A bit of a shock hit her, then. “You ... you're not ...?”

  “Not what?” Cutter asked, clearly confused.

  He hadn't been planning on taking advantage of her at all, she realized. She was a person in need, to him, not some piece of meat he could use for his every whim.

  Inside, she was ecstatic that he wasn't like that. At the same time, though, she was a little hurt he didn't seem to want her in that way. She blushed and shook her head and looked down at her bourbon-laced coffee. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “Uh ...” he said. “Oh ... kay?”

  She looked back up at him, a small, soft smile on her face now. “Anything else I should know about?”

  “Yeah,” he said, setting his coffee cup back on the dresser. “Don't be worried about the guys. They know who you are, and they know you're my friend. They're all gruff, mostly, and may mess with you a bit, but if the MC says it'll protect you, that's what we'll all do.”

  She nodded, a flush growing on her face, and her smile growing bigger.

  “What?” Cutter asked, returning her smile.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” She looked back down at her coffee, thinking about her words. “It's just that, well, I'm wondering where you've been all this time. You and your guys. And, I'm just thinking about how lucky I was that you happened to be riding by.”

  “Guess that's what it was,” he said. “Luck. I wasn't even planning on going to the wedding, you know. But, then Wyland had one of the guys arrested at the restaurant.”

  She smiled, but then thought about what he'd just said. She cocked her head to the side. “How'd you know about the wedding? Hear about it on Facebook or something?”

  “No,” he said and gave her a perplexed look. “You sent me an invitation at the restaurant. Didn't you?”

  She shook her head. “I didn't even know you were still around, remember?”

  “Oh ...” Cutter said, his brow furrowed. “That means Wyland must have.”

  “Why, though?”

  He shook his head. “This is just too weird.” He let the subject drop after that. It was probably for the best they didn't dwell too much on Wyland's obsessiveness.

  “Well, tell you what,” she said after another sip of the spiked coffee, “how about I take a shower and get some of this makeup off?”

  “Yeah,” Cutter said, grabbing his coffee mug off the dresser and heading to the door, “probably a good idea. Bathroom's through there. Faucet's a little finicky on the hot water, so be careful. It'll scald.”

  She drank down the rest of her coffee and got up off the bed. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

  Chapter 10

  Cutter

  He closed the door quietly behind him and headed out into the rec area. Smalls and a few of the guys were playing cards, and some others were just throwing darts. They didn't have any clear direction, no overriding goal to keep them focused. So, now, it was just time to sit and wait. Tom Petty had been right. Waiting was actually the hardest part.

  Smalls looked up from his hand. “She settling in alright?”

  Cutter shrugged. “Guess so. She's taking a shower right now.”

  He considered mentioning the revelation about the wedding invitation, about the card being from Wyland, and not Liona. But, something like that wouldn't have done any good, or served any purpose. All he'd do is raise some hackles and get some of the guys more concerned than they needed to be at that point. Besides, they'd all voted on the matter. For the time being, everything was settled in the MC.

  At the same time, though, not telling them immediately was eating away at his insides. He wasn't normally one to keep something from the guys unless it was because of compartmentalizing their “business.” In that case, keeping information back was as much for the MC's safety as it was for his.

  This was a different matter. Didn't they deserve to know that the new assistant DA had a hard-on for them, one that went beyond just making a name for himself?

  “You okay, buddy?” Smalls said after a moment.

  Cutter waved him off and pushed the thoughts from his mind. “Nah, I'm fine. Just thinking about all this stuff, why she left him. That kind of shit.”

  His second-in-command nodded, understanding. “It's screwy, buddy. Real screwy.”

  Then, Cutter remembered something. He didn't have any clean towels in his bathroom. “Shit,” he muttered. “Towels.”

  Smalls laughed as Cutter turned and stalked out of the rec room and went to the central linen closet. With as many beds as they had, and as many showers, they had to have a central place to keep everything organized. He opened the closet up and pulled down a couple towels, tucked them under his arm, and headed back down to his bunk.

  He pushed the door open without even thinking about it and marched into his bedroom. Liona had left her clothes on the floor, making a trail that led right into the bathroom. He could hear the shower running but, for some reason, it just didn't register that he should knock. This was his bathroom, after all. He hardly even let the girls from the club shower in there. He was too worried they might see too much in such a small gesture and start getting clingy.

  He pushed the door open and walked right in, towels still tucked under one arm.

  Naked, Liona was half hidden by the curtain as she leaned in to adjust the water. She turned and cried out, a startled yelp that jarred Cutter and caused him to drop his bundle. She yanked the curtain in front of her instinctively, trying to cover her nude form from his sight.

  “Oh, shit!” Cutter said, startled by her reaction, and the fact that she was naked in front of him for the first time ever. He went to cover his eyes but couldn’t help catching a glimpse of her wonderful body.

  He also couldn’t help notice the imperfections. Mottled purple bruises covered her torso. The last time Cutter had seen something that bad, it had been on his own body when he'd slipped up on his bike. They were everywhere clothes would always cover: the top of her thighs, her back, her stomach, her ribs. Big, fist-sized bruises that marred her perfect skin.

  His vision went red with rage. It didn’t take much to fill in the pieces. The thought that Wyland could have won her in high school the way he did, then hurt her like this! For a moment, he flashed back to when he was growing up, when he'd seen the black eye on his mother's face. Back then, it had been a feeling of helplessness that had flooded him. Now, though, he understood why some people murdered. Why some people killed in a blind passion.

  He stepped towards her, hand outstretched. “Liona, Jesus-”

  She flinched back, her eyes wide, her lower lip trembling. “Please,” she whispered, her words seemingly catching in her throat. “Just give me a second.”

  Something inside Cutter broke. Like a hand had reached into his chest, grabbed his heart, and began to squeeze. He turned away from her, to give her privacy, and put the towels on the sink. He walked back out into his bunk and sat down on the bed, trying to control his breathing. He needed to control his breath, he knew, or he'd fly off the handle and do something crazy. And he couldn't have that. Not now. Not anymore.

  He'd loved this woman since the first time he saw her all those years ago. Loved how fierce she'd been, how strong and sure of herself. Now, here she was, carrying the marks of that motherfucker. Cringing away from him like an injured animal.

  In the bathroom, the curtain rings clinked together as Liona got in the shower and pulled the curtain closed. Now, Cutter knew why she'd left him at the altar. He shook his head, but kept his breathing steady. If only she'd left him earlier. He ...knew that women in those kinds of situations sometimes didn't have options, didn't have choices. They thought no one would believe them, no one would help. And, if they did say a word, their abuser might come for them, might hurt them worse.

  His mother had been that way. She'd
stayed with Cutter's dad until the old man croaked from lung cancer. Cutter had enjoyed watching that, the old piece of shit's hair falling out, his skin going flabby and yellow as he withered away to nothing but a husk that couldn't harm a fly.

  Where Cutter had grown up, on that side of town, wife beating was pretty common, especially on a Saturday night after a husband had had a few beers. No one called the cops about a few yells, or some screams of pain. Cops were for the rich people that could afford lawyers. People like Wyland, and his family.

  Cutter had vowed to never touch a woman like that. Not ever. He'd kill himself before he became like his father. He could see now why Liona was so reticent about discussing why she'd left. To be on the run from your abuser was one thing. To have that same man be a member of law enforcement as district attorney was something else. Who would handle a restraining order? Who would even believe her?