6. Domino

6

DOMINO

I stare at my phone, rereading the last text message I sent Calista for the hundredth time. She never responded to let me know she made it home okay. I gave her the night to cool off since realizing I was a jerk to her yet again, but after not hearing from her all weekend, I’m worried.

When she said I wouldn't see her again after she sold me the property, everything in me revolted. I didn't realize how important Calista had become in such a short time. How could I go more than a few days without hearing her bubbly laugh or watching her green eyes sparkle with mischief? When I'm with her, the stress, frustration, and pressure of the world and everyone in it fade away until every single one of my senses is filled with Calista.

How am I supposed to just let her go?

She’s not yours and she never was, my unhelpful inner monologue points out. Dammit.

“Yo, Prez, got room for one more?” Jett asks, pulling me from my thoughts. I nod and tip my head at the bar stool next to me. “Two of whatever Domino is having,” he calls out to the bartender.

“What’s on your mind, Jett?”

“Funny, I was just going to ask you the same thing. You’ve been glued to your phone for the last hour.”

“Huh?” I grunt, struggling to peel my eyes away from the screen. Maybe if I stare at it just a little longer, I’ll manifest a text from Calista. That’s how that shit works, right?

“Exactly,” Jett replies, though I think I missed something. “I won’t pretend to know what you’re going through as the leader of this band of misfits and tattered souls, but I see it weighing on you. Just want you to know you have support. We wouldn’t have voted for you if we weren’t positive you were the best man for the job.”

The bartender sets down two bottles of beer and Jett and I tap them together before taking a swig. Guilt tugs at the corner of my mind knowing the reason for my distraction is a woman, not club business.

“Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown,” I settle on, quoting the one and only Shakespeare.

“What?” Jett replies, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Nothing. I'm just… A lot is going on. I'm being pulled in a lot of directions and each one seems more important than the last. It's difficult to prioritize what to do first when everything is on fire."

“Get some marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate,” Jett says with a smile. “Make s’mores until the flames die down and then fuckin’ rebuild. We’ve done it before.”

I grunt and take another sip of my beer. “We barely survived,” I say after I set my drink down. “We still haven’t fully recovered and the fuckin’ traitors who tried to destroy us in the first place are back in town. It’s only a matter of time before they do something drastic to get our attention.”

“But we did survive. We are surviving. We’re stronger because of all the shit we’ve been through, and every single day we live and breathe is like a knife twisting in Zeke’s gut.”

"Cheers to that," I reply, raising my drink. Jett chuckles and follows suit. "Thanks for the pep talk," I tell him truthfully. It's never a bad thing to hear your club has your back.

My phone beeps, letting me know I have an email. Not a text, which is disappointing, but I still have to do my job while I wait for Calista to come to her senses.

When I open the email, I’m confused and more than a little frustrated. It’s from Calista. She’s always texted me from the very first showing when I added my number to her phone. What is this formal, professional emailing bullshit?

Mr. Gabriel, I hope this email finds you well. I have another property lined up for you to look at. The place is available as soon as this afternoon, so let me know a time and date that works best for you.

She signed off with her full name and her office phone number. What the hell? I know I was a grumpy asshole during our last meeting, but I didn’t think I offended her to this degree.

I quickly type out a reply and hit send. You never answered my text.

“Everything okay?” Jett asks.

“Yeah,” I say unconvincingly. “It’s about another showing for a new clubhouse.”

“Ah, I see. I always blush and get flustered when thinking about new clubhouses,” he teases. I glare at him, but my wrath disappears as soon as I get another email from Calista.

Thank you for your concern. As you can see, I’m fine and ready to get back to work. I’m free anytime this week for a showing so let me know when you’re available.

Fuck this. I need to see her. I let her know I’d like to see the place this afternoon, as soon as possible. She sends me the address and I practically sprint out of the bar, not caring about Jett’s loud whistle as I mount my bike.

Calista said she’d meet me in an hour, which means she’s headed there now to do prep work. Good. I don’t know how much longer I can go without seeing her in person and confirming she’s okay. I’m probably just being irrational but I can’t seem to shake the thought that Calista is in danger somehow.

I lean into one turn and then another, my motorcycle and I moving as one down the winding roads. It’s a little cold out, but I don’t mind. The stinging wind against my skin suits me just fine.

The closer I get, the bigger the pit in my stomach grows. I have a sinking feeling I fucked up or something terrible happened. I squeeze the clutch and accelerate my speed, needing to get there faster. I’m annoyed I’m not there already.

Pulling up to the property, I'm so distracted I almost forget to shut off my bike before dismounting. The damn thing teeters to the side under my weight until I engage the kickstand. Calista isn't here yet, her ancient piece of shit car is nowhere in sight.

I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait. I start pacing back and forth, crossing and uncrossing my arms before shoving them in my pockets. This woman has me all wound up. My heart is racing while my head spins with possibilities of what happened over the weekend.

Nothing could prepare me for what I see when Calista pulls into the parking lot. She steps out of her vehicle and wraps her arms around her torso as if protecting herself… from me? Nothing is obviously wrong, and yet everything is off. The way she’s carrying herself, moving so delicately as if she’s sore.

I rush over to her and then stop abruptly, not sure what to say or how to help. I notice Calista has on a thick sweater with long sleeves as well as a silk scarf that doesn’t seem to match her style. I won’t claim to know anything about fashion, but it’s an odd combination for sure.

“Mr. Gabriel,” she says, her tone the same and yet totally off, like the rest of her.

“Domino,” I correct her, reaching out to take her purse and ever-present clipboard so she doesn’t have to carry anything. She seems so fragile, almost skittish, and so unlike the cheerful, energetic woman I’ve gotten to know over the last few weeks.

Calista is surprised that I'm offering to carry her things but lets me take the clipboard and giant bag she's always lugging around. The sleeves of her sweater ride up her arms, revealing angry, fingerprint-sized bruises on her wrist.

My goddamn heart stops and drops to the ground, shattering into a hundred thousand little pieces.

“Calista…” I murmur, though all I want to do is shout out a war cry to whoever hurt this precious woman.

She drops her arms to her sides and balls up the extra fabric of the sleeves in her hands, covering her arms completely and shielding herself from my view. My eyes focus on the silk scarf hanging precariously around her neck. I don’t even want to think about bruises being hidden underneath.

“Sorry,” she says, curling in on herself.

I swallow past the lump in my throat, knowing I need to speak. I need to say something, anything to get this woman to open up to me.

"There's nothing to apologize for," I finally say, keeping my voice even and calm. "Let's go inside, yeah?" I hold out a hand for her to take, unable to breathe until she slips her hand into mine.

I gently pull her closer, tucking Calista into my side and wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her as we make our way to the front door. My girl leans into me, letting me support her weight. She’s exhausted through and through. I feel her sadness and fear and want nothing more than to scoop her up and demand to know who did this to her so I can end them.

Calista pauses outside the entrance, grabbing the keys from the bag I'm holding and opening the door with trembling hands. Once inside, my first priority is finding somewhere to sit and talk. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that the front half of the building is a pub-style restaurant, which is the perfect setup without having to do much work. I don't care about any of that at the moment, however. I'm just thankful to see a booth in the corner of the room.

Leading Calista over to our seats, I move the table out to give us some more room before sitting down and motioning for her to do the same. She does, though her movements are stilted as if in pain. Jesus, it’s hard to watch, especially not knowing what the hell happened.

When she’s seated next to me, I take both of her hands in one of mine, then gently push her sleeves up so I can see the extent of her wounds. The bruises around her wrists and forearms look to be a few days old, which makes me wonder when exactly this happened. It’s only been three days since our last meeting.

"Baby," I murmur, carefully tracing the greenish-brown outlines fading into her natural skin tone. Calista is looking down at her lap, shame rippling off of her. I hate seeing her like this but I have to know everything. Slowly, I move my hand from her arms up to her face, giving her plenty of time to turn away or protest. Instead, she leans into my touch when I cup her cheek. "Do you trust me?" I ask, holding my breath as I wait for her answer.

Calista inhales sharply, her eyes closing while she breathes out in a controlled manner. Much like the first day we met, I watch as this woman does a mental reset and tries to gather her thoughts. This time, however, she can’t just paste on a professional smile. I sense her scrambling to come up with an explanation, but in the end, my girl decides to tell me the truth. I see it in her emerald irises when she finally opens her eyes and meets my gaze.

“I trust you,” she murmurs.

My hand slides from her cheek down to the scarf she has loosely tied around her neck. Calista freezes but doesn’t stop me. Gently, so damn gently, I remove the fabric. Rage fills my veins when I see her swollen neck, littered with bruises and deep red marks. Someone fucking strangled her and I wasn’t there to rescue her. Swallowing down my initial reaction to go on a rampage around the goddamn city and burn it all to the ground, I manage to keep my tone even when I ask her what happened.

Calista sighs and leans her head against my shoulder. I adjust her slightly so my arm is wrapped around her waist and she's curled up against my chest. My woman buries her face into my shirt like she's ashamed or possibly scared to tell me what I need to know.

“Remember the guys from the other day? The ones who rode by on bikes?”

Every muscle in my body tenses and my vision tunnels until all I see is red. She doesn’t need to see this side of me right now. Calista needs someone to listen, someone she can rely on, and most importantly, someone to make her feel safe and protect her.

“Yes,” I grunt, a little more harshly than I intended.

“After you left the last property,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, “they showed up. I tried locking them out but he got in first. The one with the eyepatch.”

“Jesus fucking…” I trail off, not wanting to get too carried away with how pissed off and guilty I feel. “How many of them? What did they say?”

“Only three,” she answers. Only three? I’m putting them all six feet under once I find them. “They asked what I knew about the Deviant Souls and what my relationship was with you. He said…” Calista tenses up and I hold her closer, absorbing her anxiety as best as I can. “He said your days are numbered and that the marks they left on me would be enough of a message.”

I can’t stop the murderous growl released from the depths of my chest. Calista shrinks in on herself and starts to pull away. I shove down my molten-hot anger and search deep in my soul for a feeling of peace and safety I can convey to my woman.

“I’m so sorry I put you through this,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you alone and vulnerable.”

“What? No, this isn’t your fault,” she reassures me.

I lean back slightly, just enough to cradle the side of Calista’s face, gently brushing my thumb against her cheek. “You’re under my protection,” I tell her. “Things with the club are far more unstable and dangerous than I thought. I never would have put you in this position if I knew…”

“Hey,” she whispers, placing the palm of her hand over my heart. “You’re not responsible for the actions of those monsters.”

Her kindness is confusing and overwhelming. I’m not the one who needs to be comforted right now, yet here she is, wanting to make sure I’m okay. “I should have warned you or never left you to begin with. I should have–”

“Domino,” she murmurs, that one word stopping me mid-sentence. I love the sound of my name on her lips. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I have questions, and I’m honestly not really sure what to do from here, but I’m not upset with you. I just… I feel stupid and helpless and like I already messed up this sale. And now it feels like I’m being sabotaged and–”

“I’ve got you,” I tell her softly as I wipe away the first of her tears. “I’m here now, baby girl. You’re not stupid and you’re not helpless. This has nothing to do with you and everything to do with unfinished club business.” Calista nods while I let out a cleansing breath and kiss the top of her head. “Do you believe that I’ll protect you?” She nods again, but I need more. “Give me your words, Calista. I want to hear it.”

“I trust you, Domino. I know you’ll protect me.”

“Good girl,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head again.

Calista shivers against me, her body subconsciously reacting to my praise. Fuck me, it’s so inappropriate at a time like this, but I want this woman, everything about her, forever. I want her by my side, in my bed, on the back of my bike, every-fucking-where, all the fucking time.

After a few moments of gently stroking my woman’s back and holding her against me, I peel her off and look into those endless green eyes of hers. “I’m going to take you back to my house for now until we can regroup and deal with the bastards who dared to lay a hand on you. You’ll have your own room and plenty of privacy. The last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” comes her quick reply.

I can’t stop myself from pressing my lips to her forehead and breathing her in. “Good. That’s good, beautiful girl,” I whisper.

Calista and I exit the booth and I make a few calls to organize some of the guys to pick up my spare set of keys and ride my bike back to my house. I’ll be driving Calista in her car. My poor girl is exhausted and I know I would be out of my mind with worry if she got behind the wheel.

I help her into the passenger’s seat and buckle her in. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes, giving me a heartbreakingly sweet smile. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispers.

“It’s my honor,” I say, matching her tone. I’ve never meant anything more in my life.