Steel sighs, long and deep. That acrid sound of air rushing out of his lungs seems to sum up the entire feeling of the room. No one says anything. The room is entirely silent, except for the muffled, hoarse gasps torn from Gage’s throat.
I force myself to look at him, my brother, and when I see his face, my stomach bottoms out. The abject misery on display there, the sheer confusion and horror and sickening guilt lies thick as tar on his face.
“I don’t know what this means for our new chapter,” Steel begins. “We still haven’t ironed out all the details. The best we can hope for, at this point, is that this doesn’t trigger a war. I entered into these negotiations to keep us all safe. Our women and our children and the people of the town we call home. I did it to keep our club together, to keep us in business so that we can continue to be a club. This was a safeguard for all of us, and honestly, though I fucking hate to admit it, it does extend our influence, having a second chapter. I never wanted it. Wanted this to be a place people could call home, not a group of assholes who beat women.”
The entire room draws in a collective breath, our hearts beating loud, pounding out in unison. I feel like we’re all one entity, banded together by the bonds of brotherhood, a family thicker than blood.
“I’ll contact Viking myself. The best I can hope for is that he agrees to our laws of punishment and that since Gage has wronged Ami and she can’t physically do the job herself, she’ll appoint someone—her father or one of her brothers—to right the wrong.”
Gage forces his spine straight, beside Wing, who hasn’t moved away. He stares at the bastard and it’s clear he feels sorry for him, as sorry as the rest of us do.
“I didn’t touch her, Prez,” he repeats. “I can’t remember a fuckin’ thing from last night, but I swear to any fucking god out there, I didn’t touch her.” He studies his hands and everyone in the room notices that there are no bruises or scrapes on his knuckles. Then again, he’s a big, tough man and Ami’s small and soft, and it might not take much to batter her.
Steel makes a noise deep in his throat and it cuts through the room, cuts through us all. “I believe you, brother,” he finally grinds out in a low tone, carefully controlled, but seething with barely repressed rage. “But we’ve got no evidence as to who did it, if it wasn’t you. I’m gonna ask you, as a member of this club, though it’s completely unjust, to prevent a war by letting me negotiate this with Viking.”
“You want me to confess?” Gage asks, his voice breaking.
Steel shakes his head. “No. Just that she got hurt, when our club should have been protecting her.”
Gage’s shoulders heave and he seems to deflate, draw into himself and disappear right in front of us. My hands clench into fists at my sides. I want to find whoever did this, because I don’t believe Gage did it for a second, and put the bastard in the ground. Worse, I want to march into that back room and grab that little bitch by the throat and shake the truth out of her. Clearly, she accused Gage, and I have no idea why she’d lie.
I’m about to voice my thoughts, that this girl just wanted out of the marriage, that she thinks she can escape this way, or that maybe she wants a fucking war, maybe her father wants a war, and this was all a set up, but Gage lets out a low groan.
“Yes, Prez. Do it. I’ll take whatever they see fit to hand out. I didn’t do this to her, but I’m her husband by law and I didn’t keep her safe.”
Though absolutely none of us feel like justice has been served and we’re about to be treated to a hell of a lot worse coming up—and that’s the best case scenario—Steel dismisses us and we file out of the room.
I’m damn thankful that Edge and Steel went first, and by the time I get out into the hall, Leena and her oldest sister are waiting between our Prez and VP. Steph seems genuinely happy and relieved to see Wing. He sets his hand at the small of her back and guides her down the hall, towards the exit.
I don’t have anything that I can say that will make Leena feel better about finding her sister in that condition. I’m the one who is relieved when she falls into step beside me. She holds her head high. She doesn’t ask to be consoled, for me to try and fail with useless words. She doesn’t ask for gentleness or the reassurance of my touch.
I feel ragged as I mount up on my bike. I make sure Leena is seated and safe before I take us home. I’m careful, keeping the speed to a minimum, when what I really want to do is drop Leena off at home and tear out of town, my bike open full throttle, screaming my rage to the skies.
Instead, I force myself to act like a civilized human being. If not for Leena’s sake, then for Abby’s. I have to tend to her. I change her diaper three times a day, or at least check it. I didn’t have a chance to give her breakfast yet either. It’s the mundane tasks born of love, caring for a being who relies on me for absolutely everything, that keeps me grounded.
I help Leena off my bike, and even though it’s rude, I stride past her into the house. She follows behind me, trailing in the wake of my silence. I hear her stop in the living room, but I keep going until I find Abby still in the bedroom, fast asleep on the bed. I stroke her head until she wakes up, pushing herself into an upright position.
I check her diaper, which after the literal shitshow of the night before, is still clean and dry. After I help her downfrom the bed and set her up in her wheelchair, she follows me, panting and eager, into the kitchen, where I spoon beef flavored dog stew from a can into her dish. She loves the shit, even if I think it smells awful. I do give her those even smellier dog crumbles at night and sometimes treats here and there. Her favorite are these sweet potato chews, which smell the worst of all of the shit she eats.
It’s not often that the lack of sleep catches up with me, but the past two nights spent staring at the ceiling have been nothing short of exhausting. I feel achy and my stomach spins violently, threatening to purge itself of my dinner last night, just at the thought of the shame and horror in Gage’s eyes. At the farce of justice that he’s gonna have to endure, because I know to the core of me, he didn’t do this. We all do and seeing my brother so torn up is like having my own body shredded.
I lean my arms on the counter and dip my head low, pulling gulps of air into my fiery burning lungs. It feels like they’ve been soaked in gasoline and that all it will take is a single spark of that impotent rage burning in my gut to ignite me completely.
This is my club. Mine. And we are not fucking going down like this.
Chapter 12
Leena
When I get brave enough to tear myself from my frozen, statue-like stance at the door, I pad softly to the kitchen, where I hear dishes scraping.
My palms are soaking and my heart is thudding so hard, it’s painful. I don’t know what I could possibly say to Wraith. He seemed so closed off after his meeting and on the way home, he was completely shut down. Whatever happened in there—whatever really happened with my sister—he’s completely different than he was yesterday, when he found me in the hallway, when he brought me back here, when he bloodied my brother to defend my honor. He was kind, and through his dark, dry humor, his vulnerability peeked through.
I feel like I’ve lost that, the only ally I might have had in all of this.
I shouldn’t feel the distance yawning between us like a terrible chasm, my hands on the cliff edge above it, struggling to hold on, to keep from falling, but I do. There was a tentative thread holding us together and it’s perilously close to snapping.
I find him in the kitchen, his boots spread wide, his stance one of coiled raw power and authority, but there’s a desperate sadness in the way his head is bent between his arms, which strain from his shoulders, every muscle flexing below thatsoft leather that I know is as comfortable and safe to him as a second skin.
