She was the only one I trusted enough with my truth. Sooner or later Shooter was gonna want to talk about Butch and me, and I wasn’t nearly ready enough for that conversation. I might never be, but I had to find it in me somehow to tell Shooter something, because he deserved that much.
He was a good man, and he’d loved Butch. The pain of losing him had almost killed him like it killed me. But at least now he had some absolution from that pain, and he had somewhere to direct that pain.
Me, I was still teetering on the fucking ledge, ready to fall into hell.
I switched my bike off and made my way toward the house. I looked over the front imagining Harlow out here sunbathing. She was too pale and skinny for her own good, and some sun would do her good. Needed to introduce her to the club soon, too. Now that Casa and Shooter had mouthed off about her, people were getting fucking curious as to who she was and why she was so important to me.
Yeah, I’d need to take her to the club real soon and introduce her to everyone.
I could hear Casa and Harlow’s voices from outside, because they must have been standing in the hallway—which was good, because it meant that Casa was on his way out. I pushed the front door further open, cursing Harlow for not keeping it closed and locked like I’d told her, and froze as I stared inside.
Casa was standing in front of her, his hands wrapped around her biceps as he stared down at her upturned face. It was pretty fucking obvious what was going on by the heated flush to her cheeks and the way he was handling her, but all I could do was stare.
Harlow’s gaze moved from him to me, and she gasped and tried to pull away from Casa, but he held on tighter to her before slowly turning to look at me.
Brother didn’t even look guilty.
Instead he smiled at me, like he wasn’t standing in my house, with his hands on my woman.—a woman I’d directly ordered him to stay away from.
“Welcome home,” Casa said, finally letting go of Harlow. He spread his arms wide and gestured to the mess of my hallway, which looked like an animal had made its way through it at some point. “Thought we’d surprise you with a little homecoming present, brother, but you’re early.”
I couldn’t speak, because I knew if I were to speak it would be to warn him that I was about to send him to Hades for touching what was mine. The thoughts came thick and fast, the violent images blurring into one.
Death. Destruction. Blood. Bones. They all played out in my head on how I wanted to hurt him, but the words…the words were lodged in my throat.
“Better leave you with your old man,” he said to Harlow, giving her a wink before reaching over and picking up his jacket. He slid it on, taking his good time with it like he had all the time in the world, and showing me no fear before pushing past me. Fucker made no attempt to sidestep me, either. But that was Casa. He was one arrogant bastard.
I turned around, watching him walk toward his bike, a swagger to his walk.
“Casa!” I bellowed, finally finding my voice.
He stopped walking and slowly turned around to face me. “What?” he smarted, still with that cocky smile that I wanted to smash off his face.
“We’re done, you hear me?” I replied. Because it was important that he know exactly where we stood from there on out.
He nodded and pulled his hat back on his head. He smiled wider. “That’s fine by me, brother.”
We stared at each other for long seconds until I felt the air move next to me and Harlow come to stand by my side. I kept my gaze firmly on Casa, though, even when his gaze moved from me to her.
“And what about the girl?” he asked.
“You don’t worry about the girl. She ain’t your problem,” I replied, anger ready to explode from my chest.
He nodded and sucked his bottom lip in before letting it back out. “You sure she knows that, brother?” he replied, and climbed onto the bike. He winked at Harlow, and I felt her flinch and step closer to my side and I automatically pulled her against me
Casa laughed bitterly and started the engine, and if it hadn’t have been for the club and the fallout from me going over there and ripping his throat out with my bare hands, I would have done just that.
“Laters, girl,” Casa called to Harlow before backing out of my driveway and heading away from the house.
Harlow and I stood in the doorway in silence, neither of us yet ready to speak. The sound of Casa’s bike still echoed through the air, but it faded with every passing second until it was just the sound of our beating hearts and the light breeze rustling through the trees in my front yard.
I felt Harlow’s fingers reach out to touch my arm and I looked down at her with a scowl. She looked different from the last time I had seen her. It had only been three days, but it seemed like so much more. Her skin had been pale and dirty, yellow and purple bruises marring her. Yet now she had a healthy glow about her cheeks and her bruises were almost gone. Her hair was clean—smelled clean, at least. It was tied up on top of her head, and covered in splattered paint. But it wasn’t greasy and she smelled good. Really fucking good. She smelled like Harlow, instead of sweat, cum, and beer.
“Dom?” She whispered my name hesitantly, like she was afraid of me. And she should have been.
I barged past her and into the house. I headed for the kitchen to grab a beer, and saw the two plates on the kitchen table, with silverware and bottles of beer next to them. Steak had been pulled out of the fridge and something was cooking in the oven.
It probably looked worse than it was. But what could I say? It looked really fucking bad.
She’d used my money to make dinner for one of my brothers, and let him drink my beer in my house, before they what? They fucked in my bed?
I turned as I heard her coming down the hallway toward me, though she stopped and waited, sensing that I was about to lose my shit.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she whispered.
“It’s not what it looks like? Is that what you just said to me?” I said, calmly, though I was beginning to lose what little self-control I had.
“Casa was helping me surprise you,” she mumbled, tears welling in her eyes.
“Well, you fucking did that all right.” I stalked toward her and looked her up and down. “You can take the sweetbutt from the club, but you can’t take the club out of the sweetbutt. Ain’t that right, Red?” I sneered and pushed past her again.
“It wasn’t like that!” she cried after me, and I turned to face her, hating the pain written across her face but wanting more of it all the same.
I had done nothing but miss her for the past three days, and couldn’t wait to get home to her. Thought we could catch up, talk about old times, help heal each other. But she was already fucking half the club, by the looks of it. Harlow didn’t want saving; she was quite happy to stew in her own bullshit life.
And that was fine by me.
“I want you out,” I said, and she openly started to cry. “I want you out of my house and out of my life.”
“Dom! Please!” she sobbed, coming toward me, but as she got close I pushed her away.
“I said get the fuck out of here. You’re a dirty slut, Harlow. No man will ever make you his old lady, because no man wants to share your pussy with the rest of his fucking club. Now get your shit and get the fuck out!” I full-on yelled, making her flinch and more tears spill down her cheeks.
She ran up the stairs and I listened as she opened and closed drawers as she got her shit together.
Minutes later she came back downstairs with a small rucksack filled with her things. She paused on the bottom step and opened her mouth to say something but I turned away and walked into the living room before she had a chance. I didn’t need to hear her bullshit excuses any longer.
I’d felt like the biggest piece of shit ever when I’d seen her at the Bangers’ clubhouse. She’d been a mess. Not a hot mess, just a fucking mess. Skinny, coming down from a high, and was in a room with several of the Bangers club. She’d looked a
t me with those big doe eyes of hers like I was her knight in shining armor, and then I’d taken her in my arms and held her tight while she cried and apologized for shit that wasn’t even her fault. I’d held her close and felt the weight of the world get even heavier because I knew who was to blame for it all, for her life going to shit and ending up as no better than a piece of meat to these men: me. I’d led her on that path all those years ago, and then broken her heart before abandoning her to her fate. A fate I had set in motion.
Or at least that’s how I’d seen it. How I’d always assumed it went down.
But I could see now that it wasn’t me, but her. She was to blame for how shit had turned out, not me. When I’d left all those years ago, she could have gone home and made it up with her mom and dad. With me out of the picture, they would have taken her back. She could have had a good fucking life, but she didn’t. She’d wallowed in her own self-pity because I’d wanted Butch more than her. She’d turned into a slut by her own doing, not by mine, and I was done feeling bad about it.
I also didn’t need her to make me feel better when she was the one making me feel worse. I had thought we could help each other, but I was wrong. I was better off alone.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed quietly from the doorway.
I squeezed my eyes closed, hating hearing the pain in her voice. She was a grown woman and could fuck whoever she wanted to, and she’d never told me to feel bad for what I’d done, she’d never asked me to apologize, or make it up to her—that was on me.
Yet it still hurt—seeing her with Casa like that. Harlow had always been mine. My friend, my lover, and my confidant. Knowing that she was fucking men and seeing her with her hands on a brother were two very different things.
And Casa. Why the fuck Casa, of all men?
She could do so much better than him. The man was a slut that fucked anything that moved, and some that didn’t. His only preference was that it had a warm, wet hole he could stick his dick into. He could have any woman he wanted, so why her? Why my Harlow?
No, not my Harlow.
She wasn’t mine.
Hadn’t been for a long fucking time.
Maybe that’s why I was so angry.
My chest ached with restrained hatred. A fucking inferno burning inside of me. My muscles ached from holding back, when what I really wanted to do was break some skulls and spill some blood.
“Get out,” I gritted out to her, not daring to turn around and see her face because I knew it would break me completely.
I wasn’t even sure why I was angry at her anymore—only that I was. And I had been for a long time. Heartbroken and angry, and I hadn’t been able to tell anyone why because I couldn’t talk about it. Even now, even with Butch in the ground, I was still afraid of people knowing who I was. What I was.
Bringing Harlow back was a mistake, a big one, because all I was doing was using her as a smokescreen for who I was. I’d hoped we could be friends, that we could help each other, but I was wrong. We were only causing each other more pain.
“I love you, Dom. I’ve always loved you. And I have no doubt that I will always love you. That, what you saw then, it wasn’t what you thought. But even if it was, you have no right to punish me for it. Friendship doesn’t come with rules, or terms. It just is. It shouldn’t be this painful to be friends with someone that I love so much, and yet it is. Seeing you every day, knowing that you’re not mine—it kills me. But I’ve accepted it, and now you need to accept it too. I’m not yours, and you’re not mine. You decided you only wanted to be friends—that was your decision. You can’t have it both ways...You can’t keep me for yourself but not be with me either, because I deserve more. I deserve to be loved. For a long time I didn’t think so, but coming here…seeing you again made me see my worth.” Her voice was soft, broken, and she let out a shaky breath. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate that.”
I turned around to face her, feeling my heart tear down the center when I saw the pain etched across her face. I was confused, and lonely, but mostly I was a broken man, my heart yearning for something and someone it couldn’t have; and bringing Harlow there, it had been wrong. Because I was stringing her along, just like I had done with Butch.
I couldn’t have him and I didn’t want anyone else to have him, either. And now I was doing the same thing to Harlow. But regardless, this was over now. I recognized my mistakes and now I was going to fix them.
She took a step toward me and I narrowed my eyes until she practically cowered under my glare.
“I said, get the fuck out,” I snarled. “Go home to your mom and dad. Start again.”
I wanted her to fight back, to argue, to shout, to hit me and tell me she hated me. I wanted her to do anything but what she did.
“I’m not welcome there. Haven’t been for a long time—you saw to that, remember?” she replied without an ounce of anger or judgment in her voice.
My gut creased at the memory of how I’d fucked up her life. I hadn’t just left her that day; I’d made her choose between me and her parents, and she’d chosen me. Her father was a highly respected man, and his only daughter being with a biker was not good for his reputation. She hadn’t cared, though. She’d fought for me. Yet when it came down to it and Butch had called, I hadn’t fought for her. I’d left her and gone to him, to the club, and I hadn’t looked back. I was a cruel man, and of all the things I had done in my life, leaving Harlow like that, fucking her life six ways and dropping her ass…that was one of the only things I regretted.
I sighed, looking away from her. “Well, you ain’t welcome here either.”
Harlow nodded, picked her bag back up off the floor, and walked out the door.
Chapter fifteen:
Dom
I turned up at the club feeling like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I hadn’t slept at all, but instead had spent the night finishing off the job that Harlow and Casa had started. They’d finished the living room and I couldn’t really complain, since it looked a hundred times better. It also made me realize that maybe Harlow had been right, and what I’d seen was all in my head.
The hallway, however, was a different matter. They’d only just started on it, so much so that I considered shoving everything back into place and leaving it like I had done the past few years I’d lived there, but then I’d seen the photo. Butch and I had been happy and he’d just moved in, though we’d kept it all under the radar with him just crashing with me for a while. Our secret was still solid, our blossoming romance still new. It was way before all the bullshit went down with Parker, and before I’d backed out of coming out.
Mostly, though, it was way before things had started to fall apart.
In the end I had to finish off painting. Didn’t really have much choice once I’d destroyed most of the furniture and had thrown the can of paint against the wall, making it spill everywhere. Good thing the floorboards were old as shit and it didn’t matter none.
I parked my bike and headed into the clubhouse. Place was quiet because it was early morning, though as always, there were people around, sleeping, drinking, or fucking. I was sober and really needed not to be right then, so I headed straight to the bar to rectify that situation. Pops was already there, just like he always was. He took one look at me and slid his glass of whiskey over to me.
“Look like you could use this more than me,” he said with a dry laugh.
I threw the whiskey to the back of my throat, enjoying the burn as it went down. “Probably right.”
Rose was nowhere in sight, and I huffed out my annoyance as I waited for her, really not in the fucking mood to wait for anything right then, certainly not when I wanted—no, needed—to fall into oblivion for a couple of hours.
“Where the fuck is Rose?” I snapped. Bitch was always there—either behind the bar, or in the kitchen, or with Pops. The pair of them were pretty inseparable, though she didn’t belong to him. No one really knew what the deal was with them. He was old enough to
be her dad and she was beautiful enough to have any man she wanted. Yet she hung around the cub and fucked some drunk old man. Shit was weird, but no one questioned it. And despite her not being a claimed woman, we all knew she was his and his alone.
“She just went to the little girl’s room,” Pops said, and I grunted an okay at him, already thinking about just serving myself. “You doing okay there, Dom?”
I looked across at Pops, my expression showing anything but okay on it. My face must have shown a hundred different emotions, varying from full-on rage right down to stomach-churning grief, because Pops winced when he caught sight of me.
“I’m just great, Pops,” I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm.
“Well, you’re not looking too good, son. It’s not my place to say it, but we’re family so I’m gonna say it anyway—”
“Don’t,” I interrupted angrily. I looked over at him, seeing the confusion on his drunk old face. I was the good guy around here. The one everyone always expected to keep the peace. To hold the fort. To think rationally. But no one knew shit about me, not really. And I was in no mood to listen to a fucking lecture today. “Keep your opinions to yourself, old man. You don’t know enough about what’s going on for your advice to be worth anything.”
“I know more than you think!” he argued back.
I laughed bitterly and shook my head. “Where has this bitch got to? I need another fucking drink if I’m gonna be lectured by an old drunk like you.”
His confusion turned to anger, his eyebrows pulling in as he slid off his seat and pointed a shaky finger at me. Man had been pretty much drunk for the past eight years, since his old lady had died of cancer. He’d taken up with Rose shortly—started out as just sex to fuck away the pain, I suppose, but it soon developed into something more. Didn’t matter, though, because he always swore he’d never have another old lady.
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