by Lane Hart
“I know that! That’s exactly what he told me too. I was angry at him because I thought you were too young to go off on your own. That’s why, at first, I thought that if I finally gave in and slept with you, that you would change your mind and decide not to go. But afterward, I couldn’t be the one to hold you back. I wanted you to do what made you happy, even if it meant leaving me. So, when you asked me what you should do, I lied.”
Out of everything he just said, one thing stands out. “You only slept with me to convince me to stay?”
“No! That’s not…I wanted you! Not just that night, but for years. I finally let myself give in, even though I knew it was wrong, not just because I was hoping you would want to stay but because I wasn’t supposed to want you! We were family, and I had known you since you were a kid.”
“I was thirteen when we first met, not a kid,” I remind him.
“You were a kid to me then. I was sixteen, old enough to drive and sleep with a different woman every night, while you were still sleeping with fucking teddy bears.”
“I would’ve slept with you back then,” I remark.
“Don’t say that. Jesus Christ, that’s fucked up, Zoe!” Winston exclaims, scrubbing his palms down his face.
“It’s the truth, unlike half the shit that’s coming out of your mouth.”
“Everything I’ve told you today is true,” he mutters.
“So, I’m supposed to believe that you were lying ten years ago, but not lying now?”
“Yes!”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”
“Fine. Whatever,” Winston grumbles when he pulls out his phone. “I need to make a fucking call and then I’ll take you home.”
“Okay,” I agree with a sigh as I rest my head back on the seat.
“Get everyone to the table for a meeting, prez,” Winston says into the phone as he looks out the window at the cars rushing past us. “I think I’ve found one of our suspects. Long story, but I even have a name—Joey Simpson. Yeah, we need everyone there so we can figure out how to bring him in. I’m an hour away so I’ll be there as soon as I can. See ya.”
Winston doesn’t say a word to me about his call before he shifts the car into drive and clutches the steering wheel to get us back on the road.
“So, the guy with the tattoo on his arm is a suspect?” I ask, just because the silence is deafening. Later, I’ll need time to think about everything Winston just told me, but not right now while I’m sitting beside him.
“Yes.”
Great, we’re back to one-word responses again.
“What did he do?” I prod.
“He was one of four men who kidnapped several girls, held them prisoner, and repeatedly raped them.”
“Oh, wow,” I say with a shiver.
“I’ve had nightmares about that happening to you because I didn’t know where you were or if you were safe.”
“You could’ve called,” I point out.
“I did call and text you, over and over again, but you wouldn’t ever answer me!” Winston exclaims.
“I was angry at you and didn’t want to talk to you back then right after it all happened. But maybe I would’ve answered if you had tried later on.”
“Forgive me for thinking that you would eventually come home, so we could talk,” he huffs.
I don’t respond to that because I don’t want to admit it was too hard to think about seeing him, knowing he didn’t feel the same way about me.
Now, he’s saying he did and I’m so fucking confused.
I’m so lost in my head, I don’t even remember the trip home, but sooner than expected, we’re pulling up in our parents’ driveaway.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” I agree, momentarily disappointed he’s not coming in with me now. But then I remember he has a Savage Kings meeting to get to.
“Lock up,” he tells me before I shut the car door, as if that wasn’t a given.
When I’m inside the cool, silent house full of memories, I collapse onto the sofa with my stupid purse full of porno DVDs in my lap.
I wish there was a way to know for sure that what Winston told me today was true, that he cared about me the way I always wanted and didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to miss out on my dream of traveling the world and becoming a model. Not that my career turned out very well, but at least I did what I set out to do.
Then I remember Winston saying something about going to my father the morning before my party. Grabbing my phone from my purse, I call my father. He doesn’t answer, of course, because he’s on vacation. I should feel guilty for bothering him and Debra, but I need answers that can’t wait.
I sit in the quiet house, thinking, unmoving, until my phone finally rings in my palm.
“Hey, Dad,” I answer.
“Hi, honey. Everything okay?”
“Ah, yeah. Of course. How’s the trip going?”
“It’s wonderful, just wonderful. The weather is perfect. Deb says hi.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I tell him sincerely. “But, um, the reason I called, I just had something I wanted to ask you really fast.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Do you remember back when I was getting ready to leave for Paris?”
“I’m old but not senile yet,” he says with a chuckle. “Yes, I remember.”
“Did Winston come to your office and talk to you about me?”
“Ah, yeah, I seem to recall him barging in just before your party. It was one of the only times I remember him ever raising his voice at me. But I couldn’t be angry with him, not when he was just looking out for you.”
“He was?”
“Yes. I remember he demanded that I tell you that you couldn’t go on the trip. I’m surprised he didn’t show up at your party and raise hell about you being too young to leave on your own.”
“He didn’t,” I say softly. I went to him, I think to myself, since I’ve never told our parents I went to see Winston that night and stayed with him.
“Probably because what I said got through to him,” my father says.
“And what did you say to him?”
“Oh, I don’t remember everything we discussed, but I do remember telling him that sometimes when you love someone, you have to support them, even when it means letting them go off to chase their dreams.”
Holy shit.
So maybe it is possible Winston lied to me…because he loved me?
“Honey? You still there? I think our call got dropped,” I hear him tell Deb.
“I-I’m still here,” I say. “Thanks for talking to me, Dad. I’ll let you get back to your vacation.”
“All right. Talk to you soon!” he says before he ends the call, leaving me confused, happy, and incredibly sad, all at the same time.
Chapter Thirteen
Winston
* * *
“Thank you all for coming in on short notice this afternoon,” Roman says once everyone is seated at the Savage Kings’ table. “Now, I’ll turn it over to Winston, who has some big news to share with us.”
“Let me guess,” Cannon speaks up. “He’s getting a personality transplant?”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, flashing him my middle finger. “This is serious.”
“Everything is always serious for you,” Cannon mutters. “Do you even know how to relax?”
“Well, this time it is serious,” I assure him. “Later, I’ll relax by fucking you up.”
“Winston,” Roman warns.
“It’s his fault for starting shit,” I say, pointing a finger at the surfer boy. “But you’re right. This is important and nothing to joke about. Today, I found the man with the dagger tattoo on his arm…”
“You found one of Tessa’s kidnappers?” Verek asks. “Is he fucking dead?”
“No. I wish, but not yet,” I tell him. “We were in a place with what I suspect were several armed witnesses up in Bolivia, North Carolina.” I
withhold the fact Zoe was there and there was no fucking way I would get into a shootout when she could possibly get hurt.
“Where’s that?” Conrad asks.
“About an hour north of us,” I respond. “It’s a small, rural town. Not much in it but fields and farms.”
“So, what was the tattoo guy doing there? Hiding out?” Hugo asks.
“No. He didn’t appear to be hiding or very shy. He was working at a shady porno studio…”
“What the hell were—” Cannon starts to ask, and I hold up my palm to stop him.
“What I was doing there doesn’t matter. It was him. I’m ninety-nine percent certain. Danny sent me the images of the tattoo again to compare and I think it’s a match. The guy’s name is Joey Simpson and he got the dagger tat from an Anthony over at Damaged Ink in Shallotte.”
“Shallotte?” Verek repeats. “That’s where the storage facilities are!”
“I know,” I tell him. “Which is why I think it has to be him.”
“So, what’s the plan, prez?” Verek asks. “We gonna hit these fuckers tonight?”
“No,” Roman says. “Not yet. We need to do more intel to figure out if anyone else at the porn studio was involved or not. If they weren’t, then we can’t go in there and kill them all.”
“We can’t?” Marcus asks with an exaggerated pout.
“No, we can’t. We’re only going to take out the men responsible. And I need time to inform the original Savage Kings chapter before we come up in their territory taking people out.”
“How long is that going to fucking take?” Verek asks. “What if the fucker runs?”
“It takes as long as it takes, brother,” Roman says, narrowing his eyes in warning at him. “We have to do this smart so there’s no blowback on us. You know I want revenge for Tessa and those women as much as you do. Hearing her screams at night…”
“Tessa’s still having nightmares?” Verek asks.
“Of course she’s still having nightmares!” Roman exclaims. “Do you think the memories of the shit that happened to her have just faded away after three months?”
“No, but I could try…”
“She’s not your concern!” Roman grits out. “Don’t make me tell you that again.”
Verek doesn’t respond, but I can tell by the hard, stubborn set in his jaw and brown eyes that he’s not backing off from Tessa, no matter what our president tells him, which means shit is probably going to hit the fan in the club soon.
“Anyway,” Roman remarks. “If none of the other men at the facility were involved in the kidnappings, then we’ll take Simpson alive and get the other names out of him, however long it takes. I’m working on getting a site ready where we can hold him securely. As soon as I have more details about when we go up north, I’ll let everyone know. Come prepared, locked and loaded. It could get messy. Until then, we’re adjourned.”
After Roman slams down the gavel and some of the men get up to leave, I ask him, “You got a plan for where Charlotte and Tessa will stay when this all goes down?”
“I’m working on that too. Why?”
“Do you think Zoe could stay with them? She was with me today when we were there, and they know everything about her…”
“Jesus! Zoe’s going into porn?” Roman asks.
“Fuck no!” I tell him. “She may have been thinking about it, but there’s no damn way I would let her do that.”
“How are things going with her otherwise? ‘Brother and sisterly’ since she’s been in town, or are you trying your best to get in her panties?”
“I…what…that is so messed up, Roman!” I stammer.
“You’re still a grumpy bastard, so I’m going to hazard a guess and say nothing’s happened…yet.”
“No, it hasn’t,” I tell him. “And it may never happen because I don’t think she can forgive me for hurting her.”
“You don’t know that,” Roman says. “There’s a thin line between love and hate, and you’re still straddling it. If she didn’t care about you, she wouldn’t be holding a grudge after all this time. Keep apologizing and I bet she’ll come around eventually.”
“You think?” I ask hopefully before it hits me that with everything I told her today, I never actually apologized.
“Yeah, you shouldn’t give up on her just yet,” he says with a pat on my shoulder.
“I don’t think I could even if I tried.”
Chapter Fourteen
Zoe
* * *
For the first time in years, my heart is racing and it’s full of…hope. I think I have butterflies too, waiting for Winston to come home, reminding me of the days when I was a naïve teenager who had a crush on her hot, older stepbrother.
Over the past few days, I’ve been so angry with only one goal—to make Winston want me and refuse to ever give in to him. Now though? I’m not sure how to act around him. I’m back to not knowing what will happen when he comes home.
The uneasiness has me craving my favorite comfort food: cinnamon Pop-Tarts. Luckily, my dad still has the same craving for junk food because there’s a box in their cabinet.
I’ve just popped one of my small indulgences into the toaster when the side door opens and Winston walks in. His eyes search the living room, looking for me, before he wanders over to where I’m standing in the kitchen.
“Hey. There you are.”
“Hey,” I reply with my back to the corner of the cabinets. My fingers grab the hem of my t-shirt, pulling on it nervously, unsure what to say to him. “How did your meeting go?”
“Good. Well, as good as it could for what we’re about to do.”
“Go after the bad guy?”
“Something like that,” he says with a heavy exhale.
I’m finally starting to see Winston’s motorcycle club isn’t like the ones I’ve met before. They’re the good guys, which is a huge relief. Winston would never share me with his brothers like the other MC guys did to me. He really does care about me, I think.
There are several awkward moments of silence where we just stare at each other across the room before Winston breaks it and comes toward me. “Look,” he starts. “The day you left, I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry for not telling you the truth about how I felt. I was young and stupid. At twenty-one, I didn’t think I was ready for a relationship, especially one with you that would’ve required coming clean to our parents, you know? But then, as soon as you were gone, I knew I had fucked up and that it was too late. So, the truth is, I’ve been a miserable son of a bitch since you left.”
“Y-you have?” I ask in surprise.
“Yeah, I have,” he says as he comes a few steps closer. “Fuck, it’s kind of a relief to finally admit that shit.”
I’m struggling with how to respond to his incredibly sweet honesty when the toaster suddenly pops up, interrupting the silence, making me jump in surprise.
Apparently, I’m not the only one who was startled. One second, Winston is standing five feet away and the next, he’s grabbing me and throwing me down on the tile. Somehow, I don’t even feel a thing, not with his arms underneath me, lowering me gently before his right hand reaches for the gun in the back of his jeans. My breath catches at the sudden change of position. And with our chests pressed together tightly, I can actually feel his heart thumping out of control.
When I’m able to speak again, I whisper, “Before you shoot a hole through the toaster, can I get my Pop-Tart out of it?”
“Holy shit,” Winston mutters as his tense body relaxes on top of mine. He rests his forehead on the cool tile beside my head. “It was just the toaster.”
“Yep.”
“Sorry.” He shoves the gun back into his jeans and gets on his hands and knees to lift his heavy weight off me. “Guess I’m a little on edge after earlier.”
“I noticed,” I reply softly, biting back my smile at his overreaction, dragging me to the floor as he tried to protect me from what he thought was a threat. It wouldn’t be right
to laugh at him for doing something so heroic, even if all he saved me from were a few unhealthy carbs.
“Fuck,” Winston grumbles before he sits back on his knees that are still straddling me, stretching his jeans to the max over his thick thighs. He raises his hands and scrubs his palms over his face. When he lowers his hands to his hips, he asks, “Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I answer, missing the weight of him on me, so I add, “Well, there may be a knot on the back of my head.”
“Shit. Let me see,” Winston says and leans his torso forward, putting his chest to mine again so he can shove his fingers through my hair. “I don’t feel any knots…”
“Keep looking.” He slides the other hand underneath my head, lifting it enough for my mouth to easily brush over his, making his body freeze. “My head’s fine,” I tell him with another kiss.
“Good.” He sighs in relief before his lips press down on mine and his tongue swipes over my parted lips, demanding entry. As soon as I let him in, though, he pulls away to look down at me, our faces only an inch or two apart.
“What are we doing here, Zoe?” Winston asks.
“I think it’s called…kissing,” I say, demonstrating the action again.
“I’m being serious,” he says.
“I am too,” I tell him as I slip my hands up under his t-shirt to get to his warm abs that are even harder and more chiseled than before. That small touch is all it takes for him to start getting harder a little lower, right on top of my stomach.
When I pop the button on his jeans, Winston groans and presses himself down onto me. “I thought you said you were never gonna fuck me again.”
“I did,” I respond as I lower the zipper on his jeans. “But then you apologized and said you were in love with me. So, I forgive you.” I give his bulge a squeeze through his jeans, making his eyes slam shut as he curses.
When his dark gaze locks with mine again, he says, “Once won’t be enough for me this time.”
“Me either,” I keep massaging him teasingly through the denim while my pussy clenches and weeps, wanting to have him inside of me as many times as possible. “Good thing I’m staying here for a few more days.”