Chapter 12

TWELVE

AELLA

I bought some comfortable clothes, a few pairs of jeans, shirts, and underthings. Hopefully, I'd gotten enough. But the most important thing I'd left the Oakwood Boutique with was a tingle in my lips where Miles had been.

"Want to get some lunch before we go back home?" Miles asks.

It's the second time someone has referred to the clubhouse as home. I never corrected them, nor do I dwell on the fact that I don't.

"Sure."

"We can go to the bar. Zeke will have burgers up and going by now," he says, turning the engine over.

"Oh, okay," I tell him. Burgers don't sound enticing, but I don't want to be a pain in the ass, either.

Says the prisoner to her captor.

I smirk inwardly. It's strange—I feel more free with them than I ever had back with Carter.

"What? Don't want burgers?" he asks, having picked up on my tone.

I grimace. "Not really. But I don't want to be picky, either."

He reaches over, grabbing for my hand. When I let him take it, he tugs me, settling me next to him again. He turns my chin toward him, and both our breathing changes. "What do you want to eat?"

I lick my lips. There's a tug toward him and a hunger in my stomach, and it's not for food. "Pizza," I blurt.

My body is flushed, and I feel as though I'll pass out from how turned on I am. The way he'd kissed me in the dressing room has me wondering why he doesn't kiss. Also, I wonder if I'm his first kiss.

"Pizza it is then, baby."

I register he hasn't called me princess since his comment earlier, and it has a twang in my chest. Even though I know he means it differently, I like to pretend he calls me that because I'm his princess.

Which is all kinds of stupid. I don't know him. I don't know his brother. What I know is that they're dangerous.

Maybe that's what I'm gravitationally attracted to. There's something to wanting a bad boy, right?

You're far too old to rebel now, Aella.

"What's got you smiling so big?" Miles asks as we approach a small Italian restaurant, Giovani's .

"Nothing. Just excited for carbs."

"Mhm." He huffs, knowing I'm lying but accepting the answer anyway .

Inside Giovani's is a mix of tan and burgundy, dark lighting, and plastic plants that hang everywhere. There's only one couple dining in, and they're sitting far in the back.

"Seat yourself. I'll be right with you," a server says in passing, headed to the table where an older couple sits together on the same side of a booth.

I eye them, looking over the lines on their faces and the smirks on their lips. To be that age and still so deeply in love is the goal, right? Yet, it seems more and more people remain alone these days. Whether by choice or fate.

Miles leads me to a table, and I slide across from him. I don't need to be face-to-face with him, or we'll end up locked together again.

Our server takes our drink orders, and then Miles orders a pizza with a side of garlic knots and a salad to share. The more we wait for the food, the larger the awkward silence between us gets.

"So, you and Braxton aren't blood brothers, are you?" I ask.

He sips his soda as he shakes his head tentatively. "No. How'd you know?"

I shrug. "You just don't look alike. I know some siblings don't look like siblings, but there's usually a resemblance somewhere. I've searched for it on both your faces and haven't seen it."

He nods. "Yeah. He's my brother in all other ways, though."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. I was just wondering, was all." I clear my throat, drinking a sip to coat my rapidly drying mouth.

"His father was one of us," Miles offers as the server sets down our salad and two sets of cutlery between us. She returns with bread and bread plates before he says another word. "Freddy Talero," he says, getting his fork from his napkin and stabbing lettuce with it.

"What happened to him?" I ask as I yank my utensils from the napkin they're wrapped in.

"I feel like it's Braxton's story. I don't know if I should…" He shoves a mouthful of salad doused with in-house dressing in his mouth, keeping it occupied while he decides.

"I'd never ask him, I don't think. Stuff like that is hard to dredge up, you know?"

He swallows and then sighs. "Dad got wind of Freddy beating Braxton. He was always angry, but as Braxton grew, it was more clear that he wasn't…"

"Normal?" I ask.

He scoffs. "What the fuck is normal?"

I shrug. "A social construct made up by the majority for those who are different to strive for? Something for those who don't fit the mold to feel more ostracized? But normal is unachievable. Not just for divergent peoples, either."

His eyes are on me, heavy and full of words he doesn't say. "It is, isn't it?"

"Anyhow, he was a pretty nasty man. Braxton came to live with us on Christmas when I turned eight. He was six. It took him a long time to get used to the change. God, he was covered in bruises when Dad found him." He shakes his head.

"Found him? Found him where?" My food is forgotten, and I'm leaning as far as I can over the table toward Miles.

"Dad got a call from Zeke. He'd found Braxton on the side of the road with his bags. Freddy kicked him out and said he couldn't do it anymore. He said he didn't have it in him to raise a freak. That Brax couldn't have been his." He rolls his eyes. "As if his alcoholic, abusive ass was the picture of perfection and good breeding."

A tear falls over my bottom lid and treks down my cheek. I swipe it away when the server returns with our pizza. Miles clears a spot for her to place it.

She eyes me and then looks at Miles. He shakes his head once as if to tell her it's not her business, and she moves along.

"I can't imagine that. I'm over here pitying myself for a father who never spent time with me, all while he was on the street at six years old?" I sniff and wipe my eyes.

Miles grabs my plate and dishes a slice of pizza onto it. "Well, what happened was for the best, Aella. He wouldn't have been okay there long term. I got a brother. Mom doted on him, you know? She loved each one of his quirks and never made him feel like he was anything but hers. Anything but perfect."

His tone tells me he doesn't want to talk about his mom, so I don't press him to.

My pizza is delicious, but the flavor is dull, with everything bouncing around in my head .

"Braxton's quirks, as you call them… What… Does he have a specific diagnosis?" I ask, dancing around the question so as not to upset Miles.

He shakes his head with a mouthful of pizza he's trying to chew. "No. Mom never wanted to put him through the testing. He was much more… He had many more struggles when he was younger than he does now. She worried it would bother him too much to go through it, and none of us cared what he does or doesn't have, you know?"

I nod along with his words, devouring my food as my mind works over the enigma of Braxton. He has his differences, but the man is a stunning creature. That's putting it lightly.

"Like the food?" Miles asks, and just like that, the subject drops.

I nod.

I sip my drink, eyeing Miles. He looks younger while he eats. It's almost as if his guard is down. "What happened to him, Braxton's dad?"

"He's dead." It's a simple answer, but the tone and delivery told another story. One that makes my stomach twist around the pizza that's digesting inside it.

"Oh," I say.

He nods.

My eyes drift toward the bathroom, and I decide to excuse myself from the heaviness weighing down our table for a moment. To breathe.

"I'll be right back; I'm going to use the restroom," I tell Miles, and he turns to point at the door I'd already found .

When I enter the bathroom, the flickering light above dances over the yellowing wall tiles surrounding two sinks and two red-painted stalls. The mirrors are old and dingy, and I take a moment to look into them. I don't see me, though. I see Braxton, small and cold.

I take a moment to let the emotion wash through me, tears falling for a boy who no longer is a boy, for the version of Brax who had been so wronged by the world I obliviously lived in.

I'm getting too close to them, and I know it, but it's like a runaway train that I don't know how to stop. Even if I did, I don't know that I would.

"Too bad, you know?" a man's voice says.

I gasp and turn around, eyes falling on a massive man, pudgy around the middle. He's bald, a terrifying tattoo of a half-skull across half of his face.

"I don't like to fuck them while they cry. Usually, that's Vito's thing. But orders are orders," he says.

"W—What?" I ask breathlessly, fear taking hold of me as I shift towards the door.

But he's quicker. He locks it, pushing me back towards the sinks. I stumble, slamming into them. "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

He's got leather covering him and a patch that says his name on his left breast. Jett.

He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and I know he's got to run in the same circle as Miles, a rival club, perhaps?

I don't know what to do, so I scream. "Help me! Somebody help!" It's the loudest I can yell, and I hope the proximity to the kitchen does not drown me out .

He's on me quickly, pressing his hand over my mouth. "Keep quiet, you dumb bitch! Or I'll fuck you with a gun to your pretty little head."

I whimper behind his meaty hand. It smells, and nausea waves through me.

Just do as he says. Stay alive.

Worry and panic are all I can feel, though. I can't control my breathing and racing heart. Am I going to lose my virginity to him ? I waited all this time, and it's going to be stolen?

I can't imagine living in a world where God would sit back and let this happen. But he does, doesn't he? He lets people get attacked every day—to what ends?

I don't know how the line of thinking will help anything, but it has me solvent, at least for now.

"Now," he says, grabbing my crotch forcefully. "You're going to let me fuck you, and you're going to be real quiet, and maybe I'll make it feel good for you, hm? Maybe I'll let you come, pretty girl."

I sob, tears sinking into his skin as he turns me around and slams my body into the cold tile.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask as he's pulling my pants down to my ankles. I hadn't bothered to get into new clothes at the store, so there weren't any panties to hold him back.

There are no barriers to protect me.

Not that they would.

"Because, bitch, an eye for an eye. Or, in this case, a pussy for a pussy. Your little boyfriend thinks he can go around fucking what doesn't belong to him? So, we're returning the favor. "

He turns to me, and the sink bends me in half, opening me to him further.

My tears are falling like a waterfall, unaided by anything but gravity.

His belt rattles, and I close my eyes and am ready for the pain.

But banging on the door startles the man.

"Help!" I shout, but he grabs me by the hair and slams my face into the mirror.

The world spins as I slide down the sink and to the floor. My hearing and vision go static as my stomach rolls. My bare ass on the cold floor is the only thing keeping me grounded.

Gunshots sound through the fuzz in my ears, and the man in leather pulls for his weapon as Miles bursts into the room with murder on his face.

He's faster than Jett, shooting him three times before Jett has his gun aimed. He falls to the floor.

My ears are ringing, and it takes a moment before I realize my screaming is the sound I'm hearing. I'm covered in Jett's blood and shaking.

"What the hell is going on in here?" Our server bursts in, taking one look at the scumbag on the ground as Miles covers me with his body, shielding me from view.

"I'll call Detective Hunt, shall I?" she asks.

Miles nods. "Tell him he knows where he can find me. I'm taking her home."

There's that word again. Home.

It's another construct I don't know that I'll ever achieve.

But the idea sure is nice.