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“What deal?”
Shit.
I didn't want to share that part. It was risky. For everyone involved.
“Summer,” Reign said, and my eyes snapped to him. “You need to be honest with me.”
Right.
Okay.
“My dad is an importer,” I supplied, shrugging.
“An importer?”
“Yes. As in... shipping containers.”
There was a pause, Reign looking at me with drawn-in brows. Then, not more than a few seconds later, the recognition hit. “Shipping containers?” he asked and I nodded. “For the girls? V wanted to import girls in your dad's containers.”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“And then?” Reign prompted, looking at me.
“And then I saw my dad on the video and... I don't know. I don't know what got into me. I freaked. I begged him not to take the deal. No matter what they did to me. I told him not to do it. Because those girls would suffer worse. I wasn't worth hundreds of them. I begged him, Reign,” I said, my voice thick with the memory.
Reign nodded, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair. “I'm guessing that didn't go over well.”
“I'd never been hit before,” I admitted. “Not once. Ever. Not even kids on a playground. No boyfriend raised a hand to me...”
“Fuckin' better not have.”
“So I just... I had no idea what I got myself into. And V was... pissed.”
Reign's naturally hard face softened. “Talk to me,” he urged. “Shit can't stay bottled up. Tell me. I can take it.”
And then I did, my words half-running together, tumbling over each other for a chance to leak out of my system. I had never been a gusher, but I was gushing. Bursting at the seams to tell someone my story. To tell someone how it felt to have a fist collide with my jaw, eye socket, nose. How boots to the belly, to the ribs, felt. What it was like to have handfuls of my hair torn from my scalp. To be left on a cold basement floor afterward, bleeding everywhere, too sore to more, too stunned to cry. How it felt to be dragged back up a few hours later by one of my attackers who seemed to take a sick pleasure in jostling me every which way, getting off on my gasps and yelps. So much so that I bit hard enough into my lip to break it open, trying to keep the noises inside.
“Babe...” Reign's voice said, quietly. So quietly. His hand reached out, brushing over my cheek and it was then I realized I was crying. Not just crying, purging it all. For the first time. Before I could even react, Reign's arms went out, wrapping around my back, pulling me to his chest and holding me there.
Holding me.
Big, bad, scary biker dude with the guns and illicitly obtained money... was holding me.
And I was sinking into it. Into him.
My arms went around his back, holding on. My face was buried against his chest, warm, naked, smelling like soap and just... man. I took a shaky breath.
“Fuckers gotta pay.”
Surprised, I jerked in his arms, but he just squeezed me tighter.
“What?”
“Those bastards who hit and kicked and taunted you... the fucker who ordered it and watched it... they gotta pay.”
“It's over,” I said, in the strange position of feeling like I needed to comfort him.
“It will never be over. That's the problem. You'll live with this on your soul for the rest of your life. Wakin' up screaming 'cause you feel guilty. This will be a part of you now. And they need to fucking pay for that.”
“Reign...”
His body tightened, his arms releasing me enough to look down at me. “They're gonna pay, babe. You ain't gotta know nothing about it. But they're gonna pay.”
“I can't ask you to...”
“You're not asking me. Still doing it.”
“He's dangerous.”
“I'm fucking dangerous,” Reign said, a fierceness overtaking his features and I didn't doubt that was true.
There was no reasoning with him.
“You can't put your people in danger because of me.”
“I ain't putting any of my men in danger. This is between me and V.”
“Reign...”
“Like when you say my name, babe,” he said, surprising me enough to shut my mouth. “Like it a whole lot which is why you're gonna step out of my arms and go plant your ass on my bed. And I'm gonna plant my ass on the couch.”
“What?” I asked, feeling his fingers trace across my back in small shapes. And it felt good. Oh, my god did it feel good. Good enough that I almost asked why he wasn't going to bed with me. Almost.
“Gonna take ya if you don't get away from me. Don't want to fuck up your head any more than it already is. So I'm gonna let you go and you're gonna go in the bedroom and I'm gonna stay out here.”
Wait. What?
He was going to take me?
As in... to bed? As in... sleep with me? Because I wasn't entirely opposed to that idea. To feel a touch on my skin that didn't want to hurt me. To feel pleasure at a man's hands instead of pain. I wanted that.
But also... fuck up my head any more than it already is?
My head was not fucked up.
In fact, I was pretty damn proud of how well I was holding myself together.
His arms slipped off of me, then reached to grab my arms, pulling them from around his back and dropping them. “Go,” he said, nodding his chin toward the bedroom. When I didn't immediately step away, his brow quirked up. “Fucking go, Summer.”
So I went.
The whole way to the bedroom, my belly flip-flopping at the sound of my name on his lips. I closed the door, throwing myself down on the bed, putting a hand to my racing heart, trying to sort through things.
Reign wanted to go to some sort of underground criminal war with V.
He wouldn't listen to reason about it.
And I had spilled my guts to him. And then I cried.
I fucking... cried.
I never cried in front of a man before. Not in my life. Never. Not once. And I cried in front of him. And then he wiped the tears and he...
