by Nina Levine
Ricardo’s pupils dilate as he babbles through his stress. “Okay, I admit I knew what I was doing. But I had a good reason. You guys are open to good reasons, right? Like, if your sister was sick and you needed cash to pay for—”
I’m done. As far as I’m concerned, there are no good reasons to go against Storm. Grabbing him under his arms, I yank him up and shove him backwards so he hits the wall with a thud. A hard fucking thud that will shock him enough to rattle him further. Before he’s able to get his bearings, I move in and land a string of punches on his face and then his body, knocking him to the floor. Each punch grows more brutal than the one before it. By the time I’m finished with him, Ricardo will pray he never runs into me again. And he’ll sure as fuck never mess with the club again.
Devil’s voice cuts through my focus on beating the shit out of Ricardo. “Don’t go easy on him, brother. King will be pissed if you do.”
There’s no need to worry about me going easy on him. But then again, he hasn’t said that for my benefit, but rather for Ricardo’s. And it works. Within a second of those words leaving Devil’s mouth, Ricardo is begging me to stop.
“Please, man, I won’t do this shit again! I promise!” He loses his shit and attempts to get up, but I place my boot on his chest and press hard to keep him down.
The door to the bedroom opens and the music from downstairs floods the small space. A blonde girl practically falls into the room, slamming the door behind her. She comes to a halt when she spots us. Her gaze quickly flicks from me to Ricardo to Devil, at which point she narrows her eyes and stumbles forward towards us. “Devil?”
Fucking hell. She’s King’s daughter. The one he warned me off months ago at his other kid’s birthday party.
Zara.
“Fuck,” I mutter. This is a complication we don’t fucking need.
“Jesus, Zara,” Devil says as she trips and crashes into me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I catch her, stopping her fall. For my efforts, I’m rewarded with her throwing up all over me.
“Oh God, I feel so sick,” she mumbles, clutching my shirt and looking like she’s got more in her to share with me.
“No shit,” I say, trying to pry her fingers from my shirt. I’ve removed my foot from Ricardo, but not my attention. He’s taking the opportunity to get up, which I’ll deal with in a moment, but first I want to move Zara to sit on the bed so I can take my vomit-soaked shirt off. Vomit is the one thing I’m not good with; if I don’t get the smell away from me, I’m likely to fucking vomit right alongside her.
“You deal with her,” Devil says. “I’ll deal with Ricardo.”
I’m a hundred fucking percent sure I just got the shitty deal here.
Guiding Zara to the bed, I order, “Sit. And if you feel like chucking again, don’t fucking do it on me.”
She sits, staring up at me through bloodshot eyes. Her gaze drops to my shirt as I lift it over my head. “Sorry,” she says with regret.
I do my best to get the shirt off without dragging vomit through my hair but fail. Pissed off, I give up and just get the fucking thing off. Right as Zara bends over and throws up on my boots.
“For fuck’s sake,” I bark, throwing the shirt on the floor.
“Did you take anything?” Devil asks Zara from where he is with Ricardo who he’s knocked unconscious.
She lifts her head and slowly straightens. Frowning, she says, “Huh?”
I take hold of her face and angle it up. “Her eyes are shot. I wouldn’t be fucking surprised if she has.”
Smacking at my hand, she clues on to what Devil asked and says, “I haven’t.” When I keep my grip firm on her face, she grumbles, “You’re hurting me.”
I still don’t let her go. “You about done vomiting all the fuck over me?”
Pulling her face out of my hold, she hits me with a defiant glare, more with it than when she first entered the room. “I’m fine. I’m not gonna vomit again.”
I shake my head. “You are far from fine.”
As Zara and I glare at each other, Devil’s phone rings. He answers it and by the sounds of the conversation, it’s his old lady. I tune them both out and concentrate on figuring out how to clean myself up.
Stalking out of the room, I locate the bathroom down the hall and am thankful as fuck when I discover it’s empty. Shutting myself in there, I clean off my boots and throw my shirt in the bin. I’ll have to make a stop at my house on the way back to the warehouse to retrieve a new shirt. That fact pisses me off more than I already am. I don’t have time to be fucking about with this shit that Zara has caused.
She eyes me as I enter the room again. Standing, she turns her attention to Devil and says, “Don’t tell King about this. He doesn’t need to be worried anymore about me.”
I have no clue what she’s referring to because King keeps personal shit close to his chest, but I’m not on board with keeping anything from him. Not something like this, anyway. If he discovers we found his daughter in this state, there will be hell to pay. Besides, I’d want to know about this if it were my kid. Letting him know is the right thing to do.
“Not happening,” I say before Devil even has a chance to think about it.
Zara’s head snaps around to face me. “What?”
I pin my gaze to hers. My expression hard. “You heard me.”
“You don’t have to be a dick about this. I drank a little too much and vomited. That’s hardly something he has to know.”
“The fact you’re begging me not to tell him lets me know there’s more to this. I don’t know what you guys have got going on, but I’m betting this is more than you just getting drunk. I’m also betting your parents would want to know about it.”
Her lips flatten. “Surely your parents didn’t know about every time you got drunk when you were younger.”
Jesus, I can’t stand entitled little fucking princesses. “You wanna know the difference between us, Zara? My father didn’t give a flying fuck about me, and my mother had other shit to worry about.”
Devil steps in and takes charge of the situation, which is a good thing for Zara because at the rate she and I are going, I’ll be throwing her over my shoulder and taking her straight to her father.
“Right,” he commands, pointing at Zara, “You’re leaving here with Fury. You do whatever he tells you to do. You don’t cause a fucking scene and you don’t waste his time. And King will be informed about what’s happened tonight. End of story.” He turns to me. “Sorry, brother, Hailee needs me at home, otherwise I’d get Zara out of here. We’ll have to sort Ricardo out later.”
I nod. “All good. I’ll get her home. You take care of your family shit.”
“I can get myself home,” Zara says.
I look at her. Everything about her, from her tone to her body language, to the expression on her face screams the challenge she’s laying down. It’s a challenge I don’t have the time or patience for. Not tonight.
Curling my hand around her bicep, I say, “Not happening, princess. You’re with me, and if you so much as look at me the wrong fucking way, we’re gonna have trouble.”
With that, I drag her out of the house, ignoring her protests. She’s intent on fighting me, though, so by the time we get out to my ute, I’ve lost any patience I had left.
Yanking the passenger door open, I say, “Get in the car and stop fighting me. I’m just trying to get you home safely because King’ll have my ass if anything happens to you.”
After one last defiant glare shot my way, she finally does something I’ve told her to do and gets in the damn car.
We make the drive to her place in silence, and as we pull up outside, I realise how close she lives to me.
Killing the engine, I look at her. “You live with friends?” The only reason I’m asking is to suss out whether anyone will be home in case she needs help. Although she appears more sober since she threw up, I’m not convinced she’s okay.
“No, with Holly.” Her si
ster.
I exit the car so I can walk her in and make sure Holly knows what’s happened. By the time I’m around the car to her side, she’s halfway up the path to the front door. And by the way she’s stumbling, it’s clear she’s still not in a good state.
I catch up to her as she enters the house. Placing my hand to the door, stopping her from closing it, I say, “Holly home?”
“Why?”
“I want to speak with her.”
“She’s asleep.”
I jerk my chin at her. “Go wake her up.”
“I’m not waking her up.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Just—”
Holly comes into view behind Zara, groggy and annoyed. Her gaze is zeroed in on me. “What shit do you wanna tell me that can’t wait until tomorrow? And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” She looks between Zara and me. “Fuck, did you two—”
Zara’s lips flatten. “God, Holly, I don’t sleep with every guy I meet. He just gave me a lift home from a party. That’s all.”
Holly’s face remains impassive. “I never said you do, Zar. All I was gonna say is that if you did sleep with him, King would have a lot to say about that. And I was also going to suggest you both move to Alaska.”
Holly’s a straight shooter, a fact I like about her. I’ve spent some time with her when she’s been at the clubhouse working on Sarge’s bike with him. She says it like it is and I’m down with anyone who does that.
“Your sister was off her face tonight. You might wanna keep an eye on her,” I say, way past ready to leave.
Concern fills Holly’s features as she eyes Zara. “You got drunk again? That’s like three times this week.”
Zara hits me with a filthy look before saying to her sister, “I’ve been celebrating. It’s not every day you make it through your first year of uni.”
“Uh, you finished uni three weeks ago. Don’t give me that shit,” Holly says.
I step away from the door. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”
Holly nods. “Thanks, Fury. I appreciate you bringing her home and letting me know what happened.”
“Yeah.” With one last look at Zara, who is death-staring me, I leave them and make my way to my ute. Whatever Zara’s got going on that’s causing her to get shitfaced so often isn’t something I need to know anything about. Keep your personal shit personal.
2
Zara
* * *
Swallowing down two Advil, I begin my morning ritual. Advil for the headache, a shower to wash away last night’s grime, get dressed, tidy my room, avocado on toast for breakfast, and a prayer for peace sent to a God I’m struggling with at the moment. Not world peace, my own peace, because goodness knows I need some.
“Zara!” Holly bangs on my bedroom door. “You awake and up? It’s seven. I need you to take my parcel to the post office before work, remember?”
I take a deep breath and prepare for her.
My older sister is a hard-ass. A twenty-year-old hard-ass. I don’t even think she’s really twenty. She acts like a forty-year-old most of the time. How she came from Mum and Dad, I have no idea.
“Zara!” She opens my door and her eyes land on me. “Good, you’re up.” Without waiting for my response, she leaves.
Huh.
Not what I was expecting.
I thought she’d give me her opinion of the way I came home last night. I’m sure it’s coming at some point, though. I love her to death, but Holly always has an opinion.
Twenty minutes later, I’m showered, dressed, and ready for the day. Closing the bedroom door quietly behind me, I pad down the hall to the kitchen and make my breakfast, all the while wishing I’d gone easy on the booze last night. The headache I’ve woken with is killer. Worse than any I’ve had this week. Maybe it’s a culmination of three hard nights of drinking. Maybe, you need to ease up.
“Can you buy more avocadoes today? I need some for dinner,” Holly says, cutting in on my thoughts. A welcome intrusion.
“Yeah.” I meet her gaze. “Just text me anything else you want, but do it before about one because I’ll go to the supermarket after lunch.” After living together for six months, this is our routine now: I shop for our food, she cooks.
Holly frowns. “You’re not working today? For some reason, I thought you had a shift this morning.”
“I did, but Allen cancelled it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, Hols. Maybe you should ask him yourself if you’re so interested,” I snap before yanking the door open and retrieving a bottle of cold water from it.
“Zar,” she starts, her voice softer than I can recall in a long time. “Don’t be like that.”
Shit.
She didn’t deserve that.
I turn to face her. “Sorry.” I sigh. “It’s just that he’s cancelled a few of my shifts lately and I’m a little stressed about it.”
“Talk to him about it. Find out the reason rather than stressing.” She grabs her bag. “Okay, I’ve just gotta go change my tyre and then I’m leaving.”
I clean the kitchen after she leaves, thinking about how everything in my life feels like it’s changing rapidly. And about how a lot of it feels out of my control. Some days I don’t even recognise myself, because the girl I was a few months ago is gone and at this point, I don’t see her coming back any time soon. Not that I want that, but there are definitely parts of myself I miss.
Bang!
Bang!
I jump at the loud sound, my heart instantly racing, my palms sweating.
Was that a gun?
The knife in my hand clatters to the floor.
The room spins as I struggle to get my bearings.
He’s coming for me.
Oh God.
No.
No, no, no.
I can’t breathe.
My arm flings out as I grasp for the kitchen counter to hold me up.
Memories flash in my mind.
Bad memories.
Him.
I gasp for the air my lungs can’t seem to find.
I. Can’t. Breathe.
“Zara. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” A man’s voice sounds from far away. He tells me he has me, but he doesn’t. No one has me. And besides, he’s here for you. To hurt you. Not to save you.
“Zara!” Strong hands grip my biceps, fingers digging in hard.
I try to fight him off.
Arms thrashing.
Legs kicking.
He’s not going to get me again.
I’ll bite him if I have to.
I’ll do anything to stop him hurting me again.
“Fuck!” He curses as I sink my teeth into his arm, and when his voice finally filters through the bullshit in my head, I realise he isn’t here to hurt me.
King.
Oh God.
I gulp for breath and try to get my head together. My chest is so damn tight it feels like it might tear open. Like my galloping heart could burst right through my skin.
Fucking hell.
You’re safe.
Get. Your. Shit. Together.
It’s King, not him.
The air I’ve been desperately trying to suck in finally hits my lungs.
I sag against him and allow his arms to circle my body and pull me against him.
“Fuck,” he mutters harshly again as he cups the back of my head. His touch is soothing. Calming. And I find myself slowly releasing my panic.
Will this ever end?
Will I ever not be triggered by loud sounds?
Will I ever be normal again?
Stepping out of King’s hold, I apologise. “Sorry.” I mean it, but my apology is stilted because I also wish it never needed to be said.
His eyes flash with anger. “Don’t you ever apologise for that shit. Not fucking ever.”
I just want all of this to go away.
Reaching for my drink, I drain half the glass, avoiding King’s gaze. I know why he’s here and I honestly don’t know
if I’m ready for him.
He doesn’t waste any time. “Fury told me about last night.”
King is a man of very few words, but he never needs many to say what he wants to. Even when Mum and I fought over the things I did in my earlier teen years, he had a way of stepping in and helping us without joining in the arguments. He didn’t like to involve himself unless he felt it absolutely necessary, so the fact he’s involving himself in this says a lot. And while this may be the last conversation I want to be having right now, it means everything to me that he cares enough to have it.
But I’m pissed at Fury. I have no idea why a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about anything except fighting and fucking club whores would even bother to tell King about my drinking. Worrying about me is the last thing King needs on his plate. I’m not feeling any gratitude towards Fury for adding to King’s worries. And I’m definitely not feeling happy about having to even get into this with King. It’s too soon. The wall around my heart is too fragile, and I know it will shatter into a million pieces if he tries to break it down.
“There’s nothing to tell, King. I drank a little too much. End of story.” Please don’t make me talk about this.
His eyes search mine, and the disbelief I see in them tells me this won’t be the end of the story. “I think we both know this isn’t so much about the drinking as it is about what’s going on in your head.”
Again, he hasn’t said much, but he’s said everything. He’s gotten right to the point. We’ve never discussed the circumstances of my mugging two months ago or how I’ve coped with it. I know he took care of the guy who assaulted me, though. Of course he did; that’s what King does. He sorts out the people who fuck with those he loves, and that guy fucked with me bad.
My gaze drops because I’m unable to look at King while we’re talking about this. There’s too much shame surrounding this for me, which is dumb because I didn’t ask for what happened, but still, I feel shame and guilt over everything that happened that night.