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I barely got around the side of the building before my arm was seized in a tight grip.
Looking over, I saw Junior, the spitting image of a young Pops, of a young Grandpa.
"Ow," I hissed, trying to yank away, which only made him hold me tighter, tight enough that I knew there would be bruises later.
They'd gotten Junior.
My heart sank at that realization even if a part of me knew how impressionable the young people could be, how convincing the mob could be as well.
"Play along," he hissed under his breath, making my heart skip. "Play along," he repeated, voice tense, eyes begging me to understand as he practically dragged me forward into the back lot where the rear entrance to the bar was. "Look what I found. The traitorous bitch," he announced loudly.
And even if I was pretty sure it was all for show, my stomach clenched hard at the words coming out of the mouth of a young man I believed in so fiercely, who I'd once trusted with my life, if it came down to it.
There was a small gathering of men out back, four in total, who eyed me up and down with the disgust plain on their faces.
As Junior pulled me inside the building, I mentally jotted down their names.
Junior's fingertips felt like they pressed into bone as he yanked me inside the bar, making me stumble on my feet and gasp, a sound that drew the attention of Chewy and the others gathered around.
"Well well well, what do we have here?"
"I said I was coming today to pick up some of my clothes," I said, lowering my gaze even if it killed me to do it.
There was a perk to a patriarchal society that could be used to a woman's advantage in some situations. Namely, that some men thought of women as smaller, stupider, and less capable. So if you played your cards just right, you could undermine them, you could get them to believe you.
And then you could strike.
And I was going to strike.
I hadn't expressly said it, but Chewy was mine.
I was going to make that sonofabitch pay for what he'd done to me.
"Told you she'd come crawling back," Chewy said. "Stupid whore, thinking she could have her cake and eat it too."
"I just want my clothes," I claimed, making my voice shake, even if it made bile rise up my throat.
"Fine. Whatever. Take her down," Chewy said to Junior. "But keep an eye on her. Don't want her stealing shit."
Stealing shit.
I couldn't possibly steal anything.
It was all fucking mine to begin with.
Including the goddamn building they were standing in.
But I said nothing as Junior started to drag me along through the bar, then down the stairs to the basement, waiting for a second to make sure no one else followed, then releasing my arm.
I just barely resisted the urge to rub at the aching spot he'd left behind as I kept walking.
"Sorry," he whispered.
He didn't follow me all the way down, though, and it wasn't until I got there that I understood why.
Because there were Dutch, Grandpa, Munch, and Pops.
"Oh," I said, the rush of relief nearly bringing me to my knees. That I was right about at least them. That not everyone thought the worst of me.
"We don't have much time," Dutch said, voice low.
"I know," I agreed, going to grab a bag, and stuffing clothes in it, needing everything to look legit. "What's going on? Has everyone turned on me?" I asked, turning to look at them, seeing the answer on their faces.
"Yeah, kid," Grandpa said, voice apologetic. "I wasn't sure at first, but the longer you've been gone, the uglier the way they've been talking about you."
"Fucking Tank was saying how everyone should have run a train on you before they kicked you out," Dutch added, always brutally honest, even when it hurt.
And it did. That hurt. That hurt more than I ever could have prepared myself for.
See, I could have accepted them being pissed about my relationship with Fallon. I even understood that to a certain degree—though being around Fallon's people, and seeing them blindly accept me and our situation on his word was really starting to make me see how much I'd been settling for crumbs from my men all my life. I could even see why they would consider me disloyal for what I'd done. I might even be able to excuse them wanting me gone.
But to be so vile as to say they should gang-rape me before they sent me on my way?
Yeah, that was painful enough to knock the air out of me.
I'd worked so hard for those men. To provide for them. To give them a good life. I'd suffered so much in the process.
And that was how they wanted to repay me.
