Chapter 21

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

DILLION

“You sure this is what you want?” Rim asks as he pulls the car into my driveway. I assume that one of the men from Humble’s club moved my car from the bar to here. I should thank Rim, but I decide against it, because…

“How long was I gone?” I ask, staring at the front door of my house.

He doesn’t say anything immediately. I don’t look over at him. I can’t take my eyes off my home… or rather, my brother’s home. I’m selling it. There is no way I can continue to live here.

Not that I ever really was comfortable living here to begin with. This is my brother’s home. Not mine. Nothing about Pineville is mine, and I’m not even sure why I thought I could make it here. That I could be part of this world.

Even though I’m sure that all the men who took me will die, I’m still not comfortable living here. If they knew where I worked, they absolutely knew where I lived, too. And if any of them weren’t caught, does that mean that they’ll be after me eventually?

Because at the end of the day, as much as I want to be special for my secret lover, for Humble, I was lied to about everything. Nothing in my life is real, and I don’t belong.

Someone thinking that they own me isn’t the same as belonging.

And I don’t want to be a possession.

I was born into a life where the men thought of me as nothing more than property. It’s not what I want for my future. It’s never been what I wanted.

“You were gone for almost a week.”

Wow. It’s amazing what you can live off, or rather what you can live without for almost a week. I don’t remember getting any food while I was away, and in the recesses of my mind, I recall some water, but that’s about it. And even the water seems like a hazy dream.

“Okay,” I breathe.

“Dillion,” Rim calls out.

I turn toward him. He’s watching me, his eyes focused on mine. It doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable or anything like that, but I can tell he’s thinking about the fact that I want to be here and not with Humble.

He’s judging me, and that’s fine. He can judge away.

I don’t care.

“Rim?” I say when he doesn’t continue.

He dips his chin once, then lets out a heavy sigh. “You sure this is what you want? I’ll send a prospect over to watch your place.”

“You don’t have to,” I say.

He snorts. “Clink would have my balls if I didn’t. But, babe,” he murmurs, “you may want to show up to the clubhouse just to talk to him.”

Pushing the door open, I unfold from the car and stand up straight then look at him in the front seat. I’m glad that he isn’t getting out to walk me to the front door. I don’t want anyone with me. I want to do this on my own. There’s no reason for anyone else to be with me.

I’m here on my own.

“Okay,” I say, although I don’t mean the word.

I move away from the car and head into the house. Closing the door behind me, I flip the lock closed so I’m locked inside. Then I take one step, then another, and then another before I pause.

The house is quiet. I suck in a breath, holding it for just a moment before I let it out slowly. I’m alone. Then my body begins to tremble… because I’m alone. I pinch my eyes closed, and my knees go out from beneath me as I sink down, my ass slamming down against the carpeted living room floor.

Bringing my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins, I rest my cheek against my knee and breathe. I’m not sure what to do. I’ve never felt this uneasy in what is considered my own space before.

Forcing myself to take calming breaths, I try to keep from having a full-blown panic attack. I know this is close, though. So damn close. In and out. In and out. I try to keep myself calm.

I was kidnapped, though.

Kidnapped .

I was taken, my body, mind, and soul completely stripped of my own control. It’s a million times worse than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Sure, they didn’t do anything to me, even though they promised they would in the near future, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still feel violated.

I do.

Very much so.

Forcing my eyes open, I lift my head and rest my chin on top of my knees. As I stare across the room, my gaze moves across the space.

There isn’t much here that’s actually mine.

The only thing in this house that is mine is the headboard, mattress, and sheets. Everything else I haven’t had the money to replace, and I didn’t have the money to replace those either. I just did it because I couldn’t imagine what my brother did on that mattress and on those sheets. Nothing could have sanitized them.

Chewing on the corner of my bottom lip, I inhale and exhale slowly before I push myself up to standing.

“I cannot stay here and be a crybaby,” I announce to nobody but myself.

Instead of going to the kitchen to get something to eat, I decide I need a shower. If Rim is right and I was gone over a week, my food and water memories may be hazy, but my shower isn’t. And if it was, I can smell myself… so that’s gross as hell anyway.

I shuffle toward the bathroom, then open the door and avoid the mirror as I make my way to the shower. Starting the water, I strip out of my clothes, but I don’t leave them on the floor the way I normally would.

I throw them in the trash can—including my bra and panties.

I never want to see them again.

The water rushes from the showerhead, and the bathroom fills with steam. I’m glad for it. I don’t want to see myself in any kind of reflection anywhere. In fact, I think I’ll be fine with never seeing my reflection again.

I step into the shower and let out a heavy sigh as soon as the hot water stings my skin. I welcome the sensation. My skin burns as the water pelts my flesh. I know I’m going to be red and throbbing when I’m finished, but I don’t care.

I shower the feelings, the aches, and the fear away.

Hopefully, I’ll emerge as someone changed, different maybe. Stronger hopefully. The entire time I shower, I think. I devise a plan as I shampoo my hair. I make a mental list of how to make that plan happen while my conditioner sets and soaks into my hair.

By the time I’m finished, I know what I need to do. My heart and body be damned. I don’t know what is reality and what isn’t anyway. So I need to go along with my original plan—sell this house and bounce.

Leaving everything and everyone behind me.

Living a life of peaceful solitude until the day I die.

CLINK

I’m not sure how long I sleep. It could be an hour, it could be a day, but when I wake up, I don’t feel like I’m on death's door any longer. Blinking, I’m not sure what’s woken me. As I stare at the ceiling, I try to come up with the will to stand from the bed, but I can’t. Then I hear a knock.

Pushing up onto my elbows, I realize that must be what woke me. “Come on in,” I call out.

I don’t know what I expect, but it isn’t Spencer. I suck in a breath as she marches toward me. She is pissed. Before she says a single word, she stops beside my bed, her eyes narrowed and glaring at me, one hand on her cocked hip.

“What the fuck?” she snaps.

Arching a brow, I watch her and don’t say anything. I’m not sure what the fuck I can say.

“What the fuck?” she demands again.

“What?” I ask.

She shakes her head and presses her lips together. Then I watch as a single tear slides down her cheek. “I could have lost you,” she whimpers.

Fuck.

“Spencer,” I murmur.

“If you hadn’t almost died, I would kill you,” she hisses.

I groan in an effort to hide my laugh. She sinks down on the side of the bed, reaching out. I feel her hand take mine. “Please, don’t ever do this to me again. I seriously cannot take it.”

Squeezing her hand in mine, I clear my throat. “I’m sorry.” I have no idea what the fuck to say to her. There’s nothing I can do about what happened, and I can’t promise that it won’t happen again.

“I love you, Humble. I can’t do this life without you. Don’t make me.”

I open my mouth to respond, although I have no idea what I’m going to say. But before a single word comes out, there is another knock on my door. I have no damn clue who is on the other side, but I definitely don't expect the doctor. My lips twitch into a smirk.

“Good to see you, Doc,” I murmur as he moves into my room. Spencer lets out a heavy sigh, then releases my hand and without a word, she slips out of the room. I feel guilty that I’ve upset her so much, but this is my life. It’s her man’s life, too. And the risk is part of the job.

He’s all business.

Not a member of the Dark Horse, not even a member of an MC, but he’s a relative of String's and reluctantly comes down here when we’re healing from some kind of trouble, like now.

With a grunt, he jerks his chin toward my shirt. “Let’s see it. I’m assuming you aren’t going to have your sutures checked, so I’m going to make sure you boys aren’t infected. Really, you should have someone on call for this. I feel like I’m here more than I’m at my own practice.”

My lips twitch into a smile. “You’re probably not wrong,” I mutter. “Any idea who we could get that we could actually trust?” I ask as he tugs the chair from the corner to the side of my bed.

I watch as he sinks down into the chair’s cushion. Then he leans over and tugs the dressing off my waist. I hiss, clenching my jaw tightly and gnashing my teeth together as he pokes around at my wound.

“It looks good. I’m going to clean and redress it, but you’re almost done with this shit. I’ll come back in a few days and check on all of you. How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Sore,” I immediately reply.

“I would fucking say so. You were an eighth of an inch from death,” he murmurs.

A few moments later, he’s cleaned me up, cleaned himself up, and he’s gone. He does tell me not to stay in bed all day and that I need to move around and get some fresh air. I don’t ask him if that moving around can include sex. I decide I don’t give a fuck what he might say. I’m fucking my woman the moment I lay eyes on her again.

Forcing myself to my feet, I groan as I shuffle toward the door. Doc is right. I need to keep moving. I’ve been locked up in a car for hours and then slept for fuck knows how long. I need to move.

After tidying up and throwing on a pair of athletic shorts and a tank, I move toward the bar. I need some water, maybe some coffee, and definitely some goddamn food. Moving slowly, I am frustrated with myself for being so fucking weak. I never imagined something like a stab wound would make me feel this way.

The bar is fairly quiet. A few guys are around—a couple playing pool, a few sitting at the bar, and then several sitting at the tables that are in the bar floor area. Bypassing all of them, I head straight for the kitchen.

The smell of coffee slams into my senses, and I let out a sigh of relief. One of the three things I need is within arm's reach. Making myself a cup, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and walk over to the counter, placing my two drinks down before I go in search of food.

The door to the kitchen opens, and I freeze. There, standing in the doorway, a saving grace. It’s Shawn standing in front of me with one of her infamous pink bakery boxes. My eyes flick from her face to the box, and I swear to fuck I growl in hunger like a wild animal.

“I figured you’d all be tired and hungry,” she says, her voice oddly soft and almost wounded.

She makes her way toward me and places the box on the laminate countertop before she opens it and flips the lid back, exposing the sweet-smelling treats. As much as I want to, I don’t look down at them yet.

Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around her bicep and gently squeeze it to gain her attention, then release my grasp on her. Shawn turns her head slowly, lifting her gaze before her eyes find mine.

She presses her lips together and rolls them a few times before she lets out a long sigh. But she doesn’t say anything. It’s almost as if she’s lost inside of her own head. There’s something going on with her, and as much as I want to ignore it because it ain’t my place, I can’t.

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “It’s stupid,” she whispers.

“Stupid?” I ask. “I doubt that shit.”

Shawn turns her back to me, her eyes watering as she does. “I almost lost my husband,” she whispers. “I almost lost the men in my family. I don’t like anything about this.”

“Shit ain’t easy, babe,” I murmur. “This life isn’t for everyone. But you’re strong as fuck.”

“I own a vegan-ish, all-natural organic bakery, Clink. Strong doesn’t really fit my persona here.”

I snort, clearing my throat as I move toward her slightly. “Strong is who and what you are, Shawn. King would never be with some weak-ass bitch. You’re the mother to his children. You’re his wife, his old lady. You are the fucking definition of strength.”

She presses her lips together, lifting her hand to wipe the few fallen tears away. She inhales a deep breath then lets it out slowly.

“Okay,” she says.

I don’t think she believes me, but she will eventually because it’s the fucking truth. Every single old lady in this club is strong as fuck. Including my own. I almost ask Shawn where my woman is, but I decide against it. She needs this moment, and I can find Dillion on my own. I know my brothers got her to safety.

Shawn and I stay in the kitchen, both of us eating a blueberry muffin, then I try a chocolate donut, and finally I have four crepes. I’m stuffed but, at the same time, unsatisfied.

Drinking my coffee, then my water, I find that I still feel dissatisfied, and I realize it’s got nothing to do with food and everything to do with Dillion.

I need my woman.

The door to the kitchen opens again, and I’m not sure who I expect to see, but it isn’t Atomic. His gaze finds mine, his attention sharp and his jaw set.

“Fucking church. Now,” he clips.

Fuck. Me.

Guess I won’t be going to find Dillion anytime soon now.