CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LINDY

Goosebumps pop up over my skin as soon as I step into my darkened living room. The fall chill from outside has me viciously rubbing my bare arms to ward off the cold.

I should have worn a jacket over my tank top, but I figured I'd be in and out of the weather too quickly to need one. Besides, when I left the gym, my body was too hot from grinding all over Gideon's muscular body to need an extra layer.

I can't wait to pick up where we left off.

Smiling at the prospect, I enter the kitchen and pause. There's another bouquet of yellow daisies on the counter.

Would someone from the club let themselves into my home to drop them off?

That doesn't make sense since last time they left them on the porch mat.

I take one wary step forward when a hand covers my mouth and somebody slams me into the wall.

"You thought you could escape me so easily? You'll always be mine." The familiar voice of Dean rumbles in my ear and fear shoots down my spine.

Twisting, I try to gain enough purchase to injure him, but he tosses me into a kitchen chair first, then stalks forward.

In my head I'm screaming for help, letting someone know there's trouble. But my throat closes up. It's like my mouth is stuffed with cotton balls and nothing wants to come out.

"Think again, bitch. You're gonna pay for leaving me. And then you're gonna pay some more for letting that bastard fuck what's mine." Dean backhands me, and the spot throbs under the powerful force of his hand.

Whimpering, I cover the bruised cheek and stumble to my feet, forcing words past my tightening throat. "You need to leave before I call the cops."

He laughs—an evil, dark thing.

"The cops? Bitch, I am the cops. Who do you think is gonna help you?" He slaps my other cheek, whipping my head around and causing me to lunge into the table. Glass shatters as an empty tumbler crashes to the floor.

"You think your buddies can protect you from assaulting a woman in her own home? This is trespassing. Have you forgotten we're not in Everton? You have no authority here."

"I have all the authority, slut!" he shouts. "After your friend sicced her biker boyfriend on me, I wondered if they were harboring you. Then I saw you with that huge motherfucker at the Club Wolf fire, and I knew for sure. You're fucking him, aren't you?"

Ducking beneath the table, my hands skim the floor, searching for anything to use as a weapon, when I find a shard of broken glass. Wrapping it in my hand, I swallow the hiss of pain as it slices my palm.

Fight back, Lindy.

You don't have to take his bullshit anymore.

Levering to my feet, I swing around and plunge it into the first body part I reach. His arm. Dean yells in pain, blood streaking his forearm, and I race toward the front door, managing to rip it open before his hand catches my shirt.

We tumble onto the front porch and down the steps until we lay in a heap on the ground outside.

"You fucking cunt!" Slap. "You think you're stronger than me?" Slap. "Think you can beat me?"

Consciousness fades in and out as blood fills my mouth. My fingers scratch at his face as I try to gather enough force to roll him off me, but he's too heavy. And all he does is keep screaming in my face.

"You got lucky at Rust. I told Martha to…"

Martha? She's working with Dean? That would explain why I got sick. Why I haven't heard from her since that night.

Slap.

I almost laugh at his technique. Slaps, really? The most demeaning way to hurt someone.

I hate that the someone is me.

Clawing at his face, neck, anywhere I can reach, I try fighting him off, blocking a few swings of his arm.

Suddenly, the roar of a steel calvary pierces the fog surrounding me. Growls and shouts emanate in the air as the weight is lifted from my chest. Familiar men clothed in leather kneel around me, but I don't see the one I want through my swollen eye sockets.

Fox helps me to a sitting position, and that's when Dean and Gideon come into focus. Gideon is wailing on Dean with his fists, and I can't help a smirk.

Serves him right.

Violence in any form should frighten me, but it's obvious verbal threats don't matter to Dean or else he would have heeded Snow's warning from months ago. Instead, he broke into my cabin.

A physical beatdown is fucking justice in my mind.

"You should stop Gideon before he kills him." That's what I want to say, but I'm not sure if that's what comes out of my mouth because it's painful to talk.

Someone must understand though, or have the same thought, because Snow and Fox pull Gideon off Dean.

A cop car arrives with lights flashing, and I'm afraid it's one of Dean's friends here to arrest us, until Sheriff Lawson gets out and cuffs my ex.

An ambulance parks beside the cop car, and the EMTs split, one approaching me while the other goes to Dean.

Then the rest of the evening is a blur. Doctors and nurses poking and prodding. Caroline and Faith crying in the corner of my hospital room, being comforted by their men.

Throughout it all, Gideon is a constant by my side.

My face is sore as hell, I have a concussion from being knocked about, and stitches for the cut on my hand, but things could be worse.

Broken bones.

Dead.

"Are you up to talking with PD? An officer is waiting in the hall to get your statement," Gideon says, stroking my arm above the IV in my hand.

"Send them in. Might as well get it over with."

A Suitor's Crossing deputy enters the room as everyone but Gideon files out, and once his pen's poised above his little notebook, I relay what happened, including Dean's mention of Martha.

"You think she drugged you?" the deputy asks.

"I can't say for sure. Maybe my sickness really was a random stomach bug, but either way, it's odd. I'm not even sure how Dean and Martha know each other. They might have met once at a company party we attended as a couple…?" I shrug my shoulders, too tired to figure out how my former coworker fits into all of this.

"We'll certainly look into it, ma'am. Is there anything else we should know?"

Gideon pins the deputy with a hard stare. "Did your department receive the file on Dean's illegal actions while on duty in Everton?"

"Yes, Sheriff Lawson thanks the Reaper's Wolves for the information." The officer closes his notebook and clips the pen to his shirt pocket. "If that's all, I'll see myself out. If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch. Take care now."

Once Gideon and I are alone, I settle into the lumpy hospital pillow and turn my head to face him. "Did the doctor say how long I'd have to stay? We can monitor the concussion at home."

"They want to keep you for a 24-hour observation period. Just relax and rest. Enjoy the pain meds." His finger gently feathers down one swollen cheek.

Sighing, I close my eyes. "Damn Dean. This is the first time he actually put me in the hospital."

"It will be the last time, too," Gideon promises. "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner. Snow, Fox, and I got the alert of a security breach, but they went to check the southern property border while I was coming from Reaper's Revamp. McCoy Security didn't have cameras set up yet, so the guys had to manually track the intruder to your cabin."

"Well, even if they'd failed tracking school, I'm sure the ruckus Dean and I caused once outside would've drawn attention from the clubhouse. I should have aimed for his neck with that glass shard," I mutter. Although having Dean's death on my hands would suck—it'd ensure he haunted me forever when I want to forget about his existence.

"You still got him, though. I saw the gash. It was long and deep."

"A lot of good it did me." A brow raises as I point to my puffy face. I feel like an overfilled balloon about to burst.

"You slowed him down. That counts for a lot when seconds matter. How are you feeling otherwise?"

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor sounds in the background as I take stock of my mind and body. The adrenaline is gone, leaving a massive hangover. Physically, I'm weary and wounded, but emotionally?

Months ago, an altercation with Dean would have sent me spiraling into fear—triggering a fight or flight response—but aside from remnants of my earlier terror, I feel mostly fine. Victorious, even.

I fought back rather than letting fear immobilize me, and Dean is behind bars. It's possible he might get out on bail, but I don't think he's going to be able to weasel out of assault charges, breaking and entering, plus whatever dirt the MC dug up on him. He's getting locked away for good.

"Surprisingly okay," I admit, finally answering Gideon's question. Grabbing his hand, I bring it to my chest, right over my heart. "Dean doesn't have power over me any longer. He hasn't in a while, but today really helped it sink in. I'm not the same person I was when we were together. I've grown and become a stronger, more resilient version of myself. Thanks to therapy, the book club girls, and you."

"Don't give me too much credit. You were already strong as fuck when we met—getting away from Dean, trusting the MC, a bunch of strangers I might add, to protect you. I only played a small part in everything."

"No, you didn't. But I'll let you stay humble," I tease before covering a yawn. "Think you can fit in this bed with me? I wouldn't mind a warmer blanket." The one currently settled over my legs and belly isn't doing much to combat the icy air conditioning blowing overhead.

"I doubt it, but I'm willing to try." He carefully moves the IV line and cords out of the way then balances on the edge of the thin mattress. His heavy weight alleviates the last bit of stress bearing down on me as he gingerly spoons my back.

"You're the best comforter," I mumble, snuggling into his solid warmth.

"You're the best. Period, Lindy Girl. Now get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere."