Chapter Nine

Cutter

The dim light in the room throws shadows across Kyle's face, making his expression unreadable. I stand my ground but can't help shuffling slightly from one foot to another, a nervous tick that betrays my usual composure. I'm used to being the one others fear, the unpredictable storm of violence and mayhem. But it's different here, alone with Kyle, the president of my MC. My palms itch with a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

He doesn't say anything for what feels like hours. He just stares with those piercing eyes that have more authority than any gavel or badge I've ever encountered. In his gaze, an intensity sees through the layers of bravado and the scars of countless fights. Sometimes, I think he knows me better than I know myself.

"Sit down, Cutter," he finally says, motioning toward the chair opposite him. His voice is too calm, setting off alarms in my head.

I comply, the leather creaking under my weight, but I can't shake the feeling of being a mouse scrutinized by a hawk. Kyle rests his elbows on the table, his fingers laced together as if in prayer, but I know better. He's calculating, always calculating.

"Something on your mind, Prez?" I manage to keep my tone steady despite the unease coiling in my gut.

Kyle's scrutiny doesn't waver, though his lips twitch in something that might pass for a smile. "Cutter, you're a good soldier," he starts, and I brace myself for the ‘but' that always follows such praise.

My reputation within the MC is built on blood and bone, doing the dirty work without flinching. But Kyle is the mastermind, the keeper of our creed, and his word is law. It isn't the prospect of violence that has me on edge—it's disappointing him. Because despite everything, his approval means something. It means maybe I belong somewhere, after all.

Kyle cocks his head to the side, his gaze sharpening in a way that feels like he's reading the darkest parts of my soul. "I'm going to ask you to do something that might not come easy, Cutter."

I lean forward, ready for orders that usually mean someone's about to bleed. But this time, his next words slice through my expectations.

"Elaine… I don't want you to hurt her."

My brow furrows, and for a moment, I'm a kid again, lost without a map. "Why?" The word comes out rough, like gravel grinding underfoot.

Elaine's face flashes in my mind—the woman who ratted us out. My hands itch with the need to mete out justice. It's what I do and what I am.

"Kyle, she—" I stop myself, confusion knotting my insides. Betrayal is a sin punishable by pain in our world—a lesson taught in blood. Elaine's betrayal sits on my tongue, heavy as lead, but Kyle's unspoken command weighs even heavier.

Kyle's stare holds me captive, and there is nowhere to hide. "I see your demons, Cutter," he says, his voice low, threading through the tense air between us. "But it isn't too late for you. You don't have to be this man, the one you think you're destined to be. There's a chance for you yet… to be better."

His words hit me like a gut punch, knocking the wind out of my sails. I've always seen myself as the sharp edge of our club's knife, nothing more. But Kyle sees something else, something I can't fathom.

"Better?" The word tastes foreign on my tongue. "But she betrayed us, Kyle. She betrayed you." My voice splinters, rough with disbelief and an edge of desperation. "She has to pay. That's the code. Our way."

There's a fury that courses through my veins, the kind that is fueled by loyalty and a lifetime of being tossed aside. It demands retribution, a balancing of the scales, and Elaine's deception weighs heavily on the side of vengeance. But Kyle's command is a shackle I can't break, even if every fiber of my being screams for justice.

Kyle shakes his head, a slow, deliberate motion that cuts through me. "I talked to Elaine," he murmurs, and I can't help but flinch at her name. "Whatever she told Carlotta, isn't anything that couldn't have been dug up with a simple internet search."

"Internet?" I echo.

"Yep. Annette's big move back to Becca Falls? All over social media, man. The firm threw a party so grand that it was begging for attention." He leans back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight—a sound that usually signals the end of someone's good standing within the club. But now, it feels like the prelude to something else.

Something unnerving.

"Elaine's remorseful, Cutter. She's scared out of her mind, knowing she crossed us." His eyes search mine, seeking what? Understanding? Redemption? "And maybe, just maybe, she's the one who could help you face down those demons you keep locked up."

"Help me?" I splutter, incredulity lacing my tone. My hand unconsciously grazes the scar on my arm, a physical reminder of battles fought outside and within.

"Then what am I supposed to do with her, huh? If not make her pay?" I demand, the question clawing its way out of my throat.

Kyle's smile is a rare sight. It doesn't belong in our world of chrome, leather, blood, and vengeance. Yet there it is, softening the hard lines of his face. "That's still up to you, brother. But look at her. Really look. She's damaged. Can't you see that? You, of all people, should understand what it's like to be broken."

"Broken," I repeat, the word echoing hollowly.

Broken like the homes I'd been thrown out of, broken like every promise ever made to me.

"Damaged goods, then," he murmurs.

I push off the chair, its legs scraping against the wooden floor with a sound that seems too loud in the silence that's settled between Kyle and me. My boots are heavy on the floor as I leave the room we call church, a place hallowed by loyalty and blood oaths rather than prayers.

The hallway outside is dim, the walls lined with faded posters of rallies past and glory days that seem like they're from another lifetime. I feel the weight of Kyle's words pressing down on me as I pass each door, the idea of redemption like a foreign object lodged in my chest.

As I reach the door at the end of the hall, my hand hesitates on the knob. What am I doing? The question ricochets around my skull, but it's too late to turn back now. I twist the handle and step inside into the stale air of a room that feels more like a cage than any kind of sanctuary.

Elaine is sitting on the edge of an old cot, her hands clasped together as if she's trying to hold herself together. The moment I enter, her head snaps up, those hazel eyes—wide and brimming with something akin to recognition—lock onto mine.

There's no fight in them. Not a trace. It's just like when I'd first found her. She'd been cornered then, too, by a life that had dealt her a crap hand. Fear is etched into every line of her face, and it strikes me that she's as much a prisoner of her own making as she is of ours.

She doesn't stand, scream, or plead. She waits, trapped by the invisible chains of her guilt and the very real ones of our retribution. And for a moment, amid the quiet dread hanging in the air, I see her, not as the traitor who sold us out, but as someone who's already been through hell in her own way.

"Elaine," I say, my voice steadier than I feel. But before I can gauge her reaction, I'm already thinking about Kyle's words, wondering what comes next.

I take a deep breath, the weight of the decision pressing down on me like a lead vest. The air in this room is stale and tastes like old fears and desperation. I'm ready to speak to give her the words that might set her free when she shatters the silence.

"Please," Elaine chokes out between sobs, her voice cracking under the strain. "I'll do anything, anything. Just… please show mercy."

Her tears, genuine and raw, slice through my resolve. She's begging for her life with the intensity of someone who has tasted death's cold breath. And as she pleads, something inside me shifts uncomfortably.

Maybe it's the way Kyle looked at me earlier and saw right through the hard shell I've built around myself. Or maybe it's the fact that Elaine, in all her brokenness, is a mirror reflecting the parts of me I've fought so hard to bury.

An idea worms its way into my thoughts, unbidden yet persistent. If I do what Kyle asks and let Elaine go, perhaps the MacKenny brothers will finally see me as one of their own. Maybe they'll give me that nod of approval I've craved since I was nothing more than a kid bouncing from one foster home to the next, never belonging anywhere.

My chest tightens at the thought—a home. A real one, where my place isn't up for debate and not just waiting for the day when someone decides I'm too much trouble and tosses me aside. No more being the stray dog always left out in the rain.

"Elaine," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, my mind racing with possibilities of brotherhood and acceptance. "You hear me?"

She nods frantically, her eyes searching mine for a hint of the fate that awaits her. And in those hazel depths, I see the chance to rewrite my story—one where I'm not the outcast or the psycho but a man with a family and a place to call home.

Staring down at Elaine, I can't help but let the corners of my mouth twitch upward. It's a strange sight, me grinning like a loon while she sits on the edge of the cot her face slick with tears and fear.

"Maybe you don't gotta be scared," I murmur, more to myself than to her.

I never had a steady girl or thought I needed one. But as I look at her, something stirs—a longing for something permanent, someone who might understand the chaos that whirls inside me. The idea tastes new and unfamiliar but not entirely unwelcome. Maybe she could be that. Maybe she could be my anchor in this relentless storm.

The smile that splits my face feels alien—the grin of a madman finding an unexpected treasure in a pile of trash. Confusion knits my brow when her sobs grow louder, her body shaking as if trying to dispel the terror that holds her captive.

"Hey, hey… what's with the waterworks?" I ask, my tone softer than I intend. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

Her words come out in a rush, a desperate plea that clings to the still air between us. "Please… I'll do anything. Just don't kill me. I'll stay here with you or go anywhere you want. Just please…"

It's raw, the way she throws herself at my mercy. It carves through the tough hide I've built around myself, reaching the boy who was always left behind, who knows what it's like to beg for scraps of affection. I offer her the only thing I have—the promise of safety, even though violence is all I've ever known.

"Look, no one's dying today," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "I'll take you home if that's what you want."

"Home?" Her voice cracks, the word a fragile thing in her mouth. "No! I mean, anywhere but there. Anywhere with you."

She doesn't want to die. And hell, maybe I don't want to be the one to pull the trigger today. Not when there's a chance the MacKennys might see me differently after this—someone worth keeping around.

"All right, all right," I whisper, a plan forming. "We'll figure something out. You got my word."

A word I'm not sure is worth much, but it's all I got. And right now, it's all she's clinging to.

I let out a bark of laughter, the sound sour even to my ears. But then I see the stark terror in her eyes, and nothing is funny about that. She's serious, she's damn serious. My chuckle dies in my throat like an engine sputtering out.

"Hey," I say, softer now. I crouch in front of her, trying to seem less like the looming reaper she thinks I am. My hands find her knees, a gentle weight meant to steady rather than frighten. "You're safe, Elaine. You hear me?"

The door creaks, and I snap my gaze up. Logan's silhouette fills the doorway, his presence like a storm cloud on a clear day.

"Whatcha doin', Cutter?" His voice is gravel, suspicion laced through each word. "She ratted us out."

"Didn't rat much," I tell him, repeating the gospel according to Kyle. "Just stuff any jerk with a laptop could've dug up on Facebook or the internet. We're cool."

Logan's eyebrow shoots up, a silent question hanging between us. His eyes flick from me to the trembling figure on the cot.

"Besides," I continue, feeling the weight of my next words, "we had a thing once." I try to make it sound casual like it's enough of a reason. "Maybe she could be my steady, you know?"

There's a challenge in Logan's stare, but I hold it. This is my play now, my chance for something resembling redemption or maybe just a shot at not being alone.

Elaine's face goes from a mask of terror to one of bewildered shock, her eyes darting between Logan and me as if trying to find the safer bet in a game where all the odds are stacked against her. For a moment, she looks like a cornered animal, wild-eyed and desperate, but when my words sink in—no death sentence hanging over her head—her features soften. It's a subtle shift, like the sun peeking out from behind storm clouds, and her hands, trembling and uncertain, cover mine.

"Please," she whispers, so faint it's almost lost under the weight of Logan's skeptical gaze. Her fingers squeeze, nails pressing into my skin in a silent plea for affirmation.

I'm not used to being someone's lifeline rather than their end. It's unfamiliar territory, but it sparks something in me, a flicker of power that isn't laced with fear. She believes me, and I'm her salvation in this mess we're both tangled up in. That thought alone swells in my chest, filling spaces I didn't know were hollow.

All I have to do is sell it to Logan now. He's standing there with his arms crossed, his jaw set hard enough to grind stones to dust. He's a skeptic, always has been, but I've got an ace up my sleeve. The unspoken brotherhood, the loyalty we bleed for . He can't just shrug that off.

"Logan," I say, steady and sure, my hands still under Elaine's. "She's not a threat to us, man. Dead, she's just another problem we gotta hide. Alive? She might just owe us more than we could ever beat out of her."

I watch the gears turn behind his eyes, calculating the risks and rewards. There's a long pause, thick enough to choke on before he finally nods, curt and noncommittal. Logan's nod is the silent verdict I've been straining for, and the weight of impending violence lifts off my shoulders. It's like that first gulp of air after a dive too deep, too long underwater. Elaine's grip on my hands tightens, her nails digging into my skin, a silent plea and a thank you wrapped in fear.

"Look after her," Logan grunts, turning on his heel.

"Will do," I call after him, but he's already melting into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Elaine and me in the dimly lit room. The buzz of a solitary bulb overhead fills the silence between us.

I stand up slowly, towering over her small frame. Her eyes, wide and shimmering with unshed tears, follow my every move. Something about her gaze and vulnerability ignites a strange warmth in me—a twisted sense of protectiveness that's both alien and exhilarating.

"Let's get outta here," I murmur, offering her a hand up.

She hesitates as if contemplating the sincerity of my offer, then places her trembling hand in mine. As I pull her to her feet, there's a moment where our proximity blurs the lines of the captor and the captive, the protector and the endangered.

"Thank you," she whispers, a hint of disbelief coloring her tone.

"Nothing to thank me for yet," I say, my voice gentler than I intend it to be. "We're not out of the woods. But you're safe. For now."

I can see the questions dancing behind her eyes, but she bites them back, nodding instead.

As we step out of the room, I can't help but feel the shift in the air and within me. Maybe this is the crossroad where I start carving a different path for myself, where I'm not just the muscle or the madness waiting to be unleashed.

But as we walk through the clubhouse's empty halls, my mind drifts to the future that has yet to unfold. Kyle believes in redemption, in second chances, and maybe, just maybe, I could buy into that fairy tale. If I play my cards right and keep Elaine close, I might cement my place in the MacKenny family.

Home.

A permanent spot at the table. No more looking over my shoulder, worrying about being tossed aside like yesterday's trash. She could be my ace, my shield against the solitude I've known all too well.

And yet, as I glance down at Elaine, her steps hesitant beside me, I can't shake the darker undercurrents that swirl beneath the surface of my thoughts. There's one last job that needs doing, one last dance with the devil before I can claim any semblance of peace—Carlotta, the lawyer who thinks she holds our reins. She's got to go. Once she's out of the picture, once her blood is a memory on my hands, that's when I'll truly be free to build something new.

Yeah, it's twisted, but that's the price of admission to a life without chains. I'm a psycho, born and bred for chaos. But perhaps, I can mold and shape it into something that resembles a future worth claiming.

For now, I'll play the savior to Elaine and let the darkness wait for its turn.

It is patient—always has been.