by Addison Jane
A couple of shirts.
A couple of pairs of pants.
Something warm.
I went down the list of things in my head as I reached for the handle.
“What are you doing?” Myth asked as he pushed my bedroom door closed behind him.
I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to see the look in his eyes that I’d been afraid of this whole fucking time.
“Lake… hey, stop!” He stepped forward, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and holding it frozen in the air as he pulled the tank top from my grip and tossed it over his shoulder.
I tore my hand away and stepped back, trying to put some distance between us, attempting to fight this unconscious habit my body had of wanting to be close to his. He kept coming forward, those stalking eyes watching me, the floorboards letting out a gentle creak as he moved like a cat on the prowl. His feet were light, his eyes focused and unwavering as he rounded me up.
I moved with him exactly like he wanted me to because honestly, I couldn’t look away. “I’m packing.”
“You’re running.”
Ouch.
“Move,” I rasped, trying to push past him, but his arm flew out, his palm hitting the wall with a hard bang causing my body to pull up sharp. Tears were burning at the back of my throat. I tried to swallow and wash them away as I finally looked up at him. “Please.”
“Because running has solved all your problems so far,” Myth answered sternly, dropping his arm and taking a step forward.
He reached out, but I slapped his hand away. “You don’t know me,” I whispered, trying to blink back the rush of emotions spreading over me, the familiar aches and pains surging through my body like an electrical current. I simply wanted to get out of there. This wasn’t the club’s problem, and I wouldn’t make them take the punishment for my poor choices.
Because that was exactly what got me here in the first place.
“I don’t know you?”
“No.”
“Leah Clarke,” he answered, the molten amber in his eyes holding me in this trance as they swirled with anger. “Senator’s daughter. Lost your mom to cancer. Two older brothers both in the UFC—”
“Stop!”
“Had a birthday party at your dad’s home in Connecticut. A man showed up with a gun.”
He wouldn’t give up. I should have known better than to think he wouldn’t take my protests as a challenge. Instead, he ignored my objection to his touch, one hand sliding up the side of my cheek and into my hair, sweeping it back from my face.
“Myth…” my voice cracked.
“You were shot five times and lived.”
Salty tears dripped down onto my lips, and I couldn’t help but lick them, collecting the bitter taste on the end of my tongue. “But five other people didn’t.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“Then why does it hurt so bad?” My shaky laughter was dark and heavy just like the feeling sitting in my chest.
Myth ducked his head a little, so I could catch his eyes from beneath his hooded brow. “Because the people with the biggest fucking hearts feel pain the strongest,” he shot back, not for a second giving me a chance to make excuses or wallow. “It’s not your fault they died. And it’s not your fault you lived. That blame should be on your dad’s shoulders.”
The spark in Myth’s eyes was lit at the mention of my father.
The idea of having to see that man again—the man who I somehow shared half my DNA with—was bringing back feelings I’d spent the past few years trying to numb. Red Riot was the perfect place to do just that by putting myself through fucking hell until I couldn’t feel anything else, and trying to help Kennedy and Brooklyn through it in an attempt to balance out my sins.
“I’m not letting you go fucking anywhere,” Myth announced with every ounce of confidence. “I know you’re scared of facing your past, but you aren’t facing it alone. You just gotta trust me.”
I did trust him.
I knew the kind of man Myth was, and it was everything I fucking needed in my life. It was different with him, he made it different. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. He called me on my shit, and my instant reaction was always to fight back. But I was starting to wonder if maybe that was the point.
“My mental state isn’t the only thing I’m worried about,” I admitted. “You know him, Myth. You know what he’ll turn this into. What he’ll do to the club,” I explained, the pitch of my voice going up and down. I couldn’t control it even if I tried.
It was like one part of me wanted to run, another part wanted to cry, and somewhere in the middle, there was the part which was kind of fucking glad it was over.
I didn’t have to lie to him anymore because, that alone, had been slowly wearing at my soul.
“You’re scared he’s gonna come for the club?” The corner of his mouth curled, then came the confident smirk and raised brow. “You learned nothing about these boys while you’ve been here?” His body forced my back against the wall, and he captured my hands, pinning them beside me, and honestly, it was probably a good thing because my legs felt so damn unsteady like they could collapse beneath me at any second.
They’d already tried several times.
He was right there, ready to catch me.
“He already destroyed me,” I insisted, my fight weakening for a moment as I just leaned into him, letting his storm swirl around me, knowing nothing could touch me there. He wouldn’t let it. “I can’t let him destroy you, too.”
I meant it.
It scared me.
Not my father, but the lengths he would go to make himself look like the hero. I could already see it in my head. I already knew the words he’d use, the twist he’d put on it.
“Let him try. I haven’t been whole for a long fucking time. And that’s the best part.” He laughed, crouching a little and hooking his hands under my thighs. My arms circled his neck as he lifted me off the floor, my legs hooking over his hips as he gently pressed my back to the wall. His lips caressed mine, a little less than a breath of air between us. “You can’t break the broken. So, I got nothing to fucking lose.”
This fucking man.
I pinched my lips together, wiggling them from side to side as I fought a smile. “That’s a great speech for a guy whose face is covered in blood from the large gash across his head.”
“Said you can’t break the broken,” he snorted, screwing up his nose. “But apparently, we can be cut open.”
I leaned forward, caressing his jaw and pressing my lips to his. I savored every short, sharp second, committing it to memory so I could pick it up again later. But for now, I just wanted to look after him like he’d looked after me more than a couple of times lately. My teeth bit down softly on his bottom lip as I pulled away, the rumbling growl in his throat sending a warm wave through me.
“Come on,” I whispered, finally letting go and leaning back to take another look at the wound. “I’ll patch you up.”
Luckily, Myth was a man who was rather familiar with bodily injuries, so he had a pretty well-stocked first-aid kit sitting under his bathroom sink.
I pulled it out, placing it on the vanity before grabbing his desk chair and rolling it into the bathroom. “Sit down.”
I silently hoped the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked because right now, the side of his face was streaked with blood, making it look like he’d been in a fight with a fucking grizzly bear. But that was the thing about head wounds—they bled. A lot.
“Are you qualified to do this?” Myth asked skeptically, standing in the doorway and raising his one good eyebrow.
“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to.”
“Comforting,” he deadpanned.
I couldn’t help but grin as I tapped the seat. “Scared I might hurt you?”
Apprehensively, he edged forward, his gaze narrowed as he slipped past me and dropped onto the chair. “More scared that you might accidentally slip and permanently disfigure me.”
“Realist.”
I ignored him and reached into the kit beside us, pulling out two medical gloves and slipping them with ease over my hands. Slowly, I moved forward, nudging his legs open with my knee so I could shuffle in closer.
“I knew you felt familiar,” he mused, his eyes watching me with this intense focus. “But we never actually met. You were kept away from fights and press events even when your brothers were in the ring.”
“Yeah,” I agreed with a heavy sigh, trying not to cringe as I took his head in my hands and gently tilted it back ever so slightly, so he was looking up at me. “Casen and Atlas were my father’s cash cows. And I was just there to round out the perfect little family. You know… successful father, dying mother, two strong brothers, and the spoiled baby sister. Be pretty. Be perfect. Smile and pretend.”
Both my brothers had been fighters, my father even managing them for a while.
It was a part of my world.
“I knew who you were the moment Kennedy called you Myth.” I laughed softly, tugging a couple of disinfectant wipes from their packet. “Reef ‘The Myth and Legend’ Carter.”
He huffed out a breath, rolling his eyes. “Now, it’s just Myth. I stopped fighting a long fucking time ago. But you already knew that, too.”
My smile grew a little bigger. It was true. I knew who he was, I knew his stats, I knew when he started fighting, and I knew why he stopped. It was one of the reasons I think I was so drawn to him. He almost killed a man and walked away from millions of dollars and the fight of a lifetime to protect his sister and keep her safe.
My father, on the other hand, would sell my soul to the highest bidder if he could make a couple of dollars. And if that didn’t tell you what kind of trash he was, then I’ll let you know right now he’s done far fucking worse.
Carefully, I washed the stream of dried blood from the side of his face and removed the layer that coated his eyelashes. “I apologize for this in advance,” I warned, plucking another wipe from the packet and running it directly along the side of the gash.
His entire body flinched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a deep growl rumbling in his throat.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I whispered, pulling back.
His hand moved quickly, his finger hooking through one of the belt loops in my shorts, keeping me captive. I froze, holding my breath as I watched the wave of pain roll over him, waiting until it was on its way out before I exhaled slowly.
“It’s okay,” he responded finally, the deep airy rasp of his voice stirring the butterflies in my stomach. “Keep going,” he growled.
He didn’t let me go as I worked my way around the edge of the cut, cleaning it the best I could without collecting and pulling away the blood clot that had finally stopped the stream of blood. “It doesn’t look too deep. I think some butterfly stitches might actually do it.”
“Thank fuck for that,” he cursed under his breath as I snatched a packet of butterfly strips and pulled them open. “I don’t…” He paused, shaking his head. “The fuck do I even call you now?”
“Laken,” I responded instantly. “I’m not Leah anymore. I haven’t been her for a long time.”
I didn’t want to go back to being Leah.
That part of my life was different.
She was different.
It was Laken who gave me the strength to carry on after the shit Leah had survived. Because Leah was strong, she could stand her ground and beat the shit out of anyone who came at her, but she was also broken beyond any kind of physical, emotional, or mental repair. She was broken to the point where trying to live a normal life may have killed her.
Leaning in closer, I poised the butterfly stitch on one side of the cut. Holding my breath, I quickly stretched the strip over and pressed the other side down, pulling the pieces of skin together.
His entire body stiffened in pain.
I cringed, deciding to rip off the Band-Aid so to speak and just go for it.
One after another I raced to put the strips in place.
Four to be exact.
“Done,” I announced, tugging the gloves off my hands with a snap and tossing them into the tiny wastebasket beside me.
Myth turned to the mirror, twisting his face at odd angles as he examined my handy work.
“Maybe you’ll have a little faith in me next time,” I teased.
His attention came back to me, his hands moving to the back of my thighs and tugging me a little closer. “Maybe it’s about time you had a little faith in yourself.”
My hands fell to rest on his pecs, my thumb gently grazing over the edge of his leather. “You know, in the morning things are gonna get crazy. The world is going to be wanting a story, and my father is going to be more than eager to give them one.”
“And the club and I will be waiting,” he acknowledged without flinching or giving me a sign he was worried. Maybe because he wasn’t. “Now, we need to go to sleep. My head is throbbing, and you need to rest that beautiful soul before the reaper tries to come for it in the morning.”
“I was always one of those girls who was adamant she didn’t need a knight in shining armor,” I mused thoughtfully.
“Lucky I’m not tryna be a knight in shining armor,” he announced, getting to his feet and leading me back into the bedroom. “I’m just the guy who’s going to hand you your sword.”
LAKEN
BANG.
My heart leaped up into my throat as the door slammed back against the wall. I pulled the sheet tight around me, feeling the cold air from the hall rush inside the room. It sent a shudder through me, and I realized just how empty the bed felt.
“You need to come downstairs. Now,” Shake ordered from the doorway, and I looked over, noticing Myth was already on his feet, pulling his jeans on.
I rolled over, feeling the empty space he’d left in the bed. It was still warm, and all I wanted to do was shuffle over and soak it all up.
Last night, I’d effectively given up the life I’d spent seven years creating trying to save Brook from that asshole who was attempting to do God knows what with her.
Now, I was right back in the depths of my own damn hell.
And this time, I’d dragged all these people with me.
Despite Myth’s theory, realistically, I needed to be ready for them to throw me out on my ass. And even though it would hurt like hell, I’d never blame them. Honestly, I’d throw me out too.
“Come on, Rocky.” Suddenly the warm blanket wrapped around me was pulled back, the cool air hitting my hot skin. I scrambled, grabbing at it, but Myth simply reached out and held my hands, holding them captive for a moment before tugging me up off the bed and pulling me in against his chest. The heat from his body instantly calmed me.
I think I was beginning to realize it was simply him.
Some people were always warm, it was one thing I remembered so vividly about my mom. The way her hands were never cold. Even in the depths of winter. Even when she was sitting in that dark, dank room getting her chemo. When she would reach for me, it was always a warm hand she would press against my cheek.
It was comforting.
And with the way Myth burned so hot, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to the flames and the way they whipped around me making me feel so damn safe and secure.
“Look at me,” Myth ordered, the words stern but held in a low whisper. Inhaling deeply, I finally looked up, my gaze meeting his, my focus on him. “I need to keep you safe. So, you need to trust me. And you need to listen to me.”
My head was already bobbing up and down, but it seemed to be in that moment, I was once again very aware of the fact things were about to change, and that big spotlight I’d spent the past seven years hiding from was about to be shone right in my damn eyes.
“Okay.” That was the only admission I could manage.
It wasn’t a very good one.
It didn’t say much, but obviously for him it was enough.
We both dressed and followed Shake out of the room, feeling like I was on my way toward the firing squad.
“Shotgun’s managed to keep the press out, but a parade of black Hummers with tinted windows has just shown up, and I’m gonna take one guess at who’s inside them,” Shake explained as we walked down the staircase.
My nose crinkled, and a shudder ran throughout my entire body. “My dad likes to make an entrance.”
Shake looked over his shoulder at me. I was surprised to see something other than anger burning in his eyes. They were soft, almost understanding. He wasn’t looking at me like I was the enemy, even though I’d just brought this whole fucking mess down on the club. “You don’t want him in here, we don’t let him in.”
He said it like it was so simple, and I’d made this shit way too complicated, but I knew it was only because Shake didn’t know my father.
Trenton Clarke didn’t take no for an answer. That man didn’t understand the fucking word. For him, no was simply a negotiation point before yes.
God, the man made me sick.
So why the fuck did the pain of what happened all those years ago still feel so goddamn raw, the scars that stained my stomach beginning to ache the closer I got to my past.
Tears prickled in my eyes, but I forced them back.
My dad, he could smell weakness and in seconds find a way to use it against you.
That’s why he was so good at his job.
That’s why everyone was so fucking scared of him.
Well, everyone except the men in this clubhouse, it seemed.
“I’d be happy to take one for the team and walk out there to tell him to fuck off,” Myth growled, clenching his fists at his sides, his knuckles cracking loudly. “Fucker.”
While others would step back from the heat his anger produced, knowing the kind of damage a man like him could do, all I felt was warmth. It radiated off him, and I leaned in closer, finding comfort in it like you would a fire in the middle of winter.
Reaching out, I brushed my fingers against the back of Myth’s hand. “Please don’t make me be the calm and levelheaded one today,” I whispered, looking at his stern face out of the corner of my eye. “Today’s gonna be a shitshow, and one of us needs to stop the other from punching my dad in the face on live television.”