So, not sorry. What did I expect? That he’d show an ounce of remorse for leaving me here to potentially get killed? A man who was supposed to be protecting me? I was wearing his ring. We were supposed to set ourselves up for forever. He didn’tjust run out on that. He dumped it all on me. Brought the can of gasoline and burned everything down and wasn’t even present.
It’s not surprising. James has never been present for anything a day in his life.
“I’m sorry,” Wizard mutters. He’s the last one who should be apologizing. He swipes his hand over his face. It’s more than a product of exhaustion. “I really don’t want to turn into an asshole. I don’t want to say horrible things. I don’t want to rage. I don’t want to be bitter and mean and ugly.”
Shock steamrolls straight into me. “You couldn’t be any of those things if you tried!” I find his hand and wrap my fingers around it. I clench tightly. My stomach feels funny. So does my chest. Of course my body does. This isn’t the kind of regular day to day situation that anyone knows how to deal with.
Something funny passes over Wizard’s face when I let his hand go. A shadow followed by a complex hurricane of emotion that he can’t hide. I might not understand all of it, but I get it.
“This is fucked up,” I hiss. “Seriously fucked. You’re allowed to feel any way that you want to about James, or about this, or even about me.”
He literally rocks back before he recovers and squares his shoulders, pulling them into himself in his plain black t-shirt. His muscles contract, moving like swaying waves under the cotton. For just a second, I allow my eyes to trace the contours of him. I still do double takes when I see him. It’s hard to believe how much he’s changed since high school. He’s bigger than James now. Taller and sturdier, even though James was never a slouch about going to the gym.
Impulsively, I turn into him and throw my arms around his shoulders. He stands, stock-still, before his arm lifts woodenly. His palm splays out against my lower back, covering so much real estate so effortlessly.
“Thank you.” I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve told him already. “You’re an incredible man. This is just shit.”
“It is.” His voice rumbles up his chest. His breath tickles my forehead. I feel even smaller pressed up against him. I pull back into my own space. My heart is beating funny. Stress. Anxiety. A whole lot ofhow much worse can this getpanic. I ignore all of that and force a hopeful expression. At the moment, it probably looks one step above bleak as all hell. “I could use some battery acid coffee right about now.”
It might be the only thing that gets me through the next couple of hours.
Well, that andWizard.
Chapter 5
Wizard
The kitchen isn’t hushed when we walk in, but the levity that usually buoys this place is missing. It’s very early, but the guys have brushed off their red-eyed haze with some of Odin’s stiff coffee. I don’t know who went for doughnuts and breakfast sandwiches, but boxes are mounded high on the massive kitchen table. It has more than a dozen chairs surrounding it, boardroom style, and nearly the whole table is cluttered with boxes and bags and littered with different colored mugs.
Tyrant is drinking from one with a bigBadass Bikersplashed across the side. The women like to buy us things like that when they find them.
Raiden stands when we walk in. He offers his hand to Esme. “Hey. I’m Raiden.” He motions to the rest of the guys at the table. “Tyrant is our Prez, that’s Odin, and this is Lynette—the club’s lawyer, and Bullet.”
I’m so thankful that it’s not the whole club assembled here. They would have, despite the early hour, if Tyrant called church. My guess is that he didn’t want to overwhelm Esme or call anything until he talked to both of us and knew the facts, but there will for sure be a meeting later, with the officers.
I’m glad Bullet came in with Lynette. He probably drove her here, but he’s also holding their baby boy. He’s still so small, wrapped up in a bear onesie complete with little ears onthe sherpa hood. He’s fast asleep in Bullet’s arms, oblivious to everything going on.
Esme immediately softens when she glimpses the baby.
I get a big old rock in my stomach to add to all the knots.
I steer Esme over to the coffeemaker on the counter. I could use a cup myself. I grab Esme a white mug with a picture of a classic motorcycle on the front and I take an oversized blue one with an engine and flames.
The coffee looks like tar, so thick that even when Esme adds cream and sugar, it still maintains its near black hue.
I drink mine that way. I’ll pad it with a doughnut that will no doubt taste like ash, but hopefully the dough will stop my guts from rotting out.
I steer Esme to the table. The guys are huddled around one end, Bullet and Lynette beside each other. I debate sitting across from Esme so I can watch her face, but seat her beside Odin and drop down in the other chair. They’re so close together that our elbows nearly hit each other’s, and our thighs almost brush. The hair on my arms stands on end. I discreetly move my chair an inch to give her space. And to stop myself from bursting into a ball of flames. No one needs that right now. Not on top of everything else.
As soon as we’re seated, Tyrant clears his throat. He’s a big man, but not intimidating at all, due to the fact that he looks like a fucking model. I’ve seen him do some rank shit over the years to protect us, and he’s had awful things done to him—by the hand of his own father. He can give as good as he gets and stand strong when the ground starts shifting.
Esme glances around the table and melts into her chair, not out of fear, but because she seems comfortable with the guys. The only slightly scary looking one is Odin, but only because he wears an eye patch. He’s actually a big teddy bear.
“Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” Tyrant addresses me but also sweeps his gaze to Esme. “I know a little, but I’d like to hear the whole thing, or as much as you both know.”
I glance at Esme. She turns to me immediately, a question on her face. I nod and start from the time she got to the phone call, to my brother’s callous attitude when I tracked him down and made him take my call. I know who he owes the debt to, but I leave out all the parts of the conversation where he was belligerent. I certainly don’t repeat the terrible things he said about Esme when I told him that the relationship was, without a doubt, over. Maybe she should have told him herself, but I needed to protect Esme. She didn’t need a single other word from my useless brother bouncing around in her brain, making her feel guilty for something that wasn’t ever her fault.
After I’m finished, Tyrant turns to Lynette. “No one is delivering money anywhere,” he says. “That’s not safe. We could wire it?”
