by Anne Malcom
“Jesus fucking Christ, Rosie!” Cade shouted, banging his fist on the table once I’d finished.
I leaned back, twirling one of my curls. “What? ’Cause I’m a girl I don’t get to have some fun?”
Cade openly gaped at me. That was something. My stoic brother was famous for his murderous poker face. Never did he betray any form of human emotion unless he was around my sister-in-law or his babies. Then he was a big fucking teddy bear. Unless someone threatened them. He’d set the world on fire and not even blink if anything happened to them. And I’d hand him the match.
“I know you have a fucked-up idea of the concept of fun. I’m to blame for that, and I’ve accepted it. I get your version of fun is fucking with some gangbangers who sold drugs to kids. Or getting tangled up in shit with other chapters,” he seethed. “I let you have that. We can clean that up, so you can handle that shit yourself. But international fucking criminals, Roe? You fucking serious? This can get you dead. Really fucking dead.” His voice was shaking with fury that no doubt made prospects wet themselves.
I merely crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. I propped my boots up on the table, crossing one foot over the other ankle. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m alive,” I pointed out.
He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed the pain in my ass that means you’re alive.” He shook his head. “What is it with you and Lucy? You both got a pact to get murdered by South American crime lords?”
Lucky leaned forward. “You see, brother, it’s like this. Some women, best friends and such, you know, when they spend a lot of time together, their… cycles link up.” He screwed up his nose. The man who’d killed and tortured the people who raped his wife was grossed out by periods. “But that’s ordinary women. We know these are not ordinary women, so that’s their version of that.” He held up his hands as if he’d solved the whole thing.
I tried to stifle my giggle, but it didn’t work. Luke grinned and squeezed my hand.
Cade leaned forward on his hands. “You think this is funny, Rosie?”
“No, but Lucky is,” I countered.
“This is serious.”
I glared. “I’m aware. I’m not asking you to help.”
“Don’t be fuckin’ dense. We’re helping,” Steg’s throaty voice said instead of Cade. “That’s not a question. First time you pulled a knife on one of our gun runners ’cause he insulted your shoes, I knew this day would come. Knew that the biggest battle we fought would not be because of your brother, or even Gage. It would be ’cause of you. We’re ready, girl. No doubt about that.”
“These are serious bad guys,” I whispered.
Gage grinned. “So are we.”
One Week Later
We declared war.
But the funny thing about war was it wasn’t like the movies, where men shouting cries for family and country run toward the enemy, weapons raised, faces painted blue.
It was far more boring than that.
Keltan and the crew in LA gathered intel.
Luke pressed his contacts at the NSA for any high-profile Venezuelan nationals vacationing in the US of A.
There were no more drive-by shootings, explosions, not even a threatening note. An amateur would’ve thought they—whoever they were, exactly—had given up.
This was not our first rodeo.
“Migel Fernandez,” Wire said, standing in front of a large screen, pointing to the image of a tanned, suave and—by the look of his suit—extremely rich man.
He wasn’t unattractive, in that silver fox type of way. Trim, nice hair that had lashings of salt in the pepper, strong jaw. Not bad, if you ignored the fact that his suit was paid for by the trafficking, abuse, and torture of human beings.
“Businessman, very rarely seen in public. And when he is, he has a bigger entourage than the president,” he continued, images covering the screen. They looked like grainy satellite images of a sprawling compound in the middle of the jungle, men in black, blurry but obviously security, scattered about the place.
“Not much is known about him officially,” Wire continued. “Lot of legitimate businesses that keep up appearances. Clean, on the surface. Unofficially, he’s one of the biggest players peddling human flesh. He specializes in attractive, young Americans. Preferably virgins, because they’re worth more, you see. But he’s not picky. He can cater to any taste, any kink. Nothing’s off-limits.” Wire screwed up his face. “Nothing.”
His haunted eyes told me he’d seen something that he didn’t even want to put on the screens in front of some of the most unshakeable men on the planet.
“He has contacts—customers, actually—in most governments around the world. Diplomatic immunity here in the States. Enough manpower to populate the army of a small country. Holds grudges. Is well known for exterminating anyone who crosses him, along with their entire family and known accomplices.”
Cade looked to me blandly. “And that’s who you’ve pissed off.”
I shrugged. “Go big or go home, right?”
I saw Cade’s face morph and his fists clench as he struggled not to yell at me. I could almost hear him counting it down in his head.
“This isn’t Rosie’s fault,” Luke cut in from his place beside me. Which was where he’d been. Constantly.
It would’ve been annoying if I thought he was shadowing me because he thought I needed a knight. But it wasn’t that. He knew I had a sword of my own. He just wanted to be near me, give me his sword too.
He’d braved the looks and glares and pointed comments whenever we were at the club. Most of them came from Cade.
Actually, all of them came from Cade.
We’d had conversations, and Cade hadn’t shot him, which was his version of approval, but that didn’t mean an almost thirty-year grudge would be settled in a handful of months. Cade wasn’t wired that way.
Neither was Luke. But he was trying.
Cade settled his glare on Luke. “Rosie running off to Venezuela, putting her nose in shit where it didn’t belong—like she always does—and deciding to throw stones at the biggest player in the human trafficking game without thinking he’s gonna throw stones back isn’t her fuckin’ fault?” Cade questioned.
Luke’s hand flexed on mine. “She was doin’ the right thing.”
Cade continued to stare. “The right thing would’ve been not fuckin’ leavin’ in the first place,” he clipped. “I’m sure I’ve got you to thank for that one, so maybe it isn’t Rosie’s fault. Maybe it’s yours. You wanted to destroy the club but it wasn’t working the regular way, so you decided to try it different. Fuck my sister—”
“Stop,” I hissed, slamming my hand down on the table.
Lucky jumped beside me, not expecting it. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, placing his hand on his heart like an old lady might when someone cursed in front of her.
“Enough,” I said quietly. “You continue that train of thought, you won’t have a sister to push away anymore.”
Cade’s eyes flickered. “You haven’t considered it?”
I tilted my head. “What? That Luke did some roundabout thing to push me away on the off chance I’d run, and gambled that it would be to Venezuela, where I would happen to stumble upon a human trafficking ring and decide to arm up?” I continued to glare at my brother. “And then he decided to quit the force he loved so much, move to LA to work with Keltan so he could organize Lucy to get stabbed so I would come home and somehow have the Venezuelan bigwigs try to shoot me on the street months later, all so he could destroy the club?” I asked, my tone dripping in sarcasm. “No, I haven’t considered it, because I’m not that fucking insane, but now I know you’re that fucking narcissistic. Could he not be here, standing up to the big, bad and all-powerful Cade because he, oh, I don’t know, fucking loves me!” I shouted. “All you see is what you want to see. If you knew what Luke’s done for this club—”
Luke squeezed my hand. “Baby,” he murmured in my ear. “Easy. Don’t say shit you’re gonna regret
.”
I glared at him, hating that he was stopping my roll. Hating that he was right.
“There’s a reason I left last year. A real reason,” I clarified to the table. I eyed Lucky, who looked like he was going to start rattling off past transgressions. “Not because I felt like following Thirty Seconds to Mars across Eastern Europe. Not because I wanted to walk the El Camino, or party with some guy whose name I didn’t remember,” I said before he could. And maybe so I could put off saying the real reason I left. “I remember the name of this guy.”
Lucky grinned. “Here we go.”
I smiled back. Or attempted to. Then I sucked in a breath and looked above Cade’s eyebrows as I spoke to the table. “His name was Kevin. We dated. I dumped him because I didn’t like the way he spoke to me. Both with his words and his fists.”
The second I finished my sentence, Lucky’s grin disappeared. It would’ve been comical if the tone in the room allowed for it.
It did not.
Luke squeezed my hand.
I smiled weakly at him.
“Rosie—” Cade bit out, his form marble.
“Please, Cade, and all other furious males in the room—AKA every male in the room. Please do not interrupt story time,” I requested. “There’s plenty of time for yelling or breaking the furniture after I’m done.” I went for airy because I didn’t quite think I’d make it through otherwise. I knew I wouldn’t make it through without Luke beside me.
“I didn’t tell you because A, you had enough going on at the time, and B, because I handled it.” I paused. “Or at least I believed I did. After I shot Devon, I came home. Kevin was there. Long story short, he was not happy about the breakup, or the very real castration threat I’d left hanging over his balls. He did not communicate this with words. He, to put it not quite delicately, beat the shit out of me.”
Cade hissed out unintelligible words.
Lucky brought his fist down on the table so hard the wood cracked.
Steg hadn’t moved a muscle, his eyes hard and shimmering.
“I’m just gonna preface the next part of the story by saying he did not rape me,” I said, deciding not to tell them everything. I could tell my girlfriends; they could heal. These men couldn’t, despite how strong they were, knowing that would leave a mark, so I protected them from that.
Luke squeezed my hand tighter that time, then brought it up so he could press his lips to it.
“He handcuffed me to the bed. With less-than-noble intentions. Before he could consummate those intentions, Luke arrived.” That time I squeezed. “And he killed him.”
The room paused. Everything. For a second, no one seemed to breathe, and a collection of eyes went to Luke. For the first time not in hatred or anger.
“Let’s be clear here and say that he didn’t technically need to kill him,” I continued. “I’d managed to get him off me and chewing on his tongue. Luke could’ve done the ‘cop’ thing. Shot him in the leg. Restrained him. Cuffed him. Read him his rights. But he didn’t. Because of me. He sacrificed everything he stood for because of me.”
I looked around the room. At the men I grew up with. Who I considered family. My eyes lingered on Steg before landing on Cade.
“I’m not asking you to sacrifice everything you believe in,” I whispered. “I’m not even asking you to kill for me. The opposite, in fact. I’m just asking you to do something for me. Let me be happy. Let me live with the man I love without the fear that the family I love will kill him. Because to be clear, ending this, ending him, that’s me gone. One bullet will end two lives.”
There was silence at the table for a long time.
The longest.
“Where’d you bury him?” Gage asked conversationally.
“Quarry that got shut down a few years ago, twenty minutes south,” Luke answered.
Gage nodded. “Nice.”
I stifled my grin.
“He hit you and you didn’t come to us?” Cade asked quietly. Only I could hear the hurt in his tone.
I softened my gaze. “I didn’t need to,” I said. “I know this club, know you. You’ve been determined to shield me from the worst of the worst, from all my Fuck-Ups. And I’ll love you for that. Among other reasons, like your great taste in wives and cute kids. But I didn’t need that shield that night. Luke was there. Luke’s always been there.”
My eyes moved to Luke, who was staring at me intently. “I’ll always be here, babe,” he promised.
There was a long pause at the table as everyone digested my words.
“Fuckin’ hell, can we stop with the sappy shit?” Gage boomed. “We’ve established that Rosie is a badass bitch, so is it really a surprise that she’s in love with a badass motherfucker too?” he asked the table.
I grinned.
“Can we please get back to figuring out how I’m going to get my killing in this year?” he continued.
The air around the table softened.
So did Cade’s gaze, for a moment at least. Then it hardened again.
“Yeah, let’s get to the killing.”
Chapter Twenty-One
One Week Later
We were staying at Luke’s house because Gage was at mine.
He’d offered to take back his old room at the clubhouse, but I knew no amount of disinfectant would clean out whatever had gone on there.
That and I was afraid.
Afraid of my own house.
The memories, the demons lurking there from that night. What happened. I was terrified that if I went back in there, it would all come back. He would come back: his touch, the invasion of my body. And I’d be reminded of just how easy it was.
I couldn’t. And it made me realize that this was something I was going to live with for the rest of my life. It didn’t make me weak; it would make me stronger. One day. And I knew Luke was right, I did have to talk about what happened. Staying silent, blaming myself when none of what happened to me was my fault, that was weak.
So I’d talk.
Eventually.
But right then, we were about to go out to dinner for Luke’s parents’ anniversary. We’d already done the official dinner with the parents a few days after we’d temporarily moved back to Amber.
I’d been nervous. Very nervous. It was funny, I never thought I’d care so much about something like that. But I cared about Luke more than anything. And he’d given everything to fit in with my family. I was terrified that I couldn’t do the same, that his family wouldn’t want me with him.
That couldn’t have been further from the truth. His father had answered the door with a huge grin, taking me into his smoke-scented embrace.
“Ah, I’m so glad my boy’s finally come to his senses,” he chuckled as soon as he’d let me go.
I smiled. “I think it was me who had to come to my senses,” I replied, glancing up at Luke.
Bill’s eyes twinkled.
“Doesn’t matter how you got here. Just matters that you’re here.” He looked at his son. “Finally.”
And it went like that. I was welcomed. Into a slightly more conventional family than my own, but no less loving.
I wasn’t nervous now. I was getting dressed, slipping into my brightest red dress.
It hugged in all the right places, though a little tight maybe. It was true what they said, happiness in relationships made you put on weight.
Luke hadn’t gained a pound, the prick.
Then again, he was insane enough to go running. Every morning. Even on the weekends. To be fair, he made sure I’d gotten my workout before he left most mornings.
I didn’t mind it, the fact that the zipper was a little more difficult to deal with. I remembered back when I first got home, when my clothes hung off me, when I lost all the curves I’d been so proud of. When I didn’t recognize myself.
I looked in the mirror, running my fingers through my curls, letting them tumble wild down my back. My face was full, no gaunt cheekbones to be seen, which meant I had to contour again
. Any use of more cosmetics was welcome to me. My eyes seemed brighter, more vibrant. I touched up my bright red lipstick.
Then I looked down, at the mingling of my numerous cosmetics products with Luke’s lone tube of deodorant and bottle of aftershave. He didn’t even gel his hair and it looked that good, the prick.
A glint of silver peeked out from behind my Chanel perfume. I was a magpie, so I was attracted to the shiny thing, my red-tipped fingernails fastening on it.
The steel was cold on my hands and the feeling crept into my fingers, upward so it was everywhere all at once. I fingered the lettering, seeing my warped reflection in the silver.
“Babe, are you ready to go?”
I turned. Luke was dressed all in black, slacks but no suit jacket. Black shirt, open collar.
Black.
What he was now.
And he looked good.
I’d never loved him more. Or hated myself, just in that moment.
“Babe?” he repeated, face contorted in worry. It changed when I turned and he saw what I had clutched in my hands.
“You don’t wear this anymore,” I whispered. “Because of me.”
His eyes hardened. “No—”
“And you’re not who you’re meant to me because of me,” I continued before he could speak. “You talk about killing people and you scare nurses and you don’t care because I made you different. I fucked up. Biggest one of them all. Because I forgot who you are, who you’re meant to be. The good person. The good man. I know I’m not bad or evil, but I’m not that good either. I’m somewhere in between.”
“Rosie,” he whispered.
“There are two kinds of people in this world, people who make mistakes and people who have regrets,” I continued to babble. “The people who have regrets are the ones too afraid to do something as daring as live so instead they collect what-ifs like stamps, bundle them up and inspect them in the winter of their life.” I paused. “Then there’re the others, the ones who are too daring, who live maybe a little too much. Collecting mistakes and experiences and watching them on repeat with a smile on their face. Fuck-Ups may be hard to live with sometimes, but at least it means you’ve done something. Moved. It’s no secret which camp I hitch my wagon to. What’ll yours be?” I said it in a rush, a confidence radiating from my voice as faux as my fur.