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Goosebumps break out over my flesh and Josiah rubs his hands up and down my naked arms as he continues. “She crumbled under the weight of it all. I thought I was saving her by getting rid of them, and it didn’t work out that way. I just put her in an even worse situation, and… it stole her from me.”
“Josiah…”
“I don’t expect you to justify it for me or tell me it’s okay, but I want you to understand what actually happened. I didn’t just slaughter my parents because they grounded me. I thought I was doing the right thing.” He inhales deeply and exhales down my back. “Our dad was a member of the MC. The old Pres told me if I joined the club he’d keep me out of trouble. I don’t know how he managed it, but he kept his end of the bargain. He helped me build this place. It’s why they call me Skids, because pallets were always coming here with stuff to make this a safehouse. I saved myself, and killed my sister.”
“No.” I turn around so I can face him. Hearing the story has calmed most of my worries. I can’t say I’m okay with it, but I can empathize with the helpless feeling he may have been experiencing. My legs slip around his waist and my hands cup his cheeks, forcing him to finally make eye contact with me.
“Don’t justify it back to me. I’ve dealt with the guilt. I don’t-” His speech stops when I put my finger over his lips.
“You begged me to talk, now shush and listen.”
His eyes blaze, but he nods his head and keeps his mouth shut.
“I can’t tell you it’s okay, but I don’t hate you. I knew. It was the whole… tongue thing that made me sick.” I shudder and close my eyes. “That was too much for me. I thought I could take it, but I don’t think I’m cut out for violence.”
“That’s okay, baby.” Josiah pets my hair and kisses my face. “You don’t have to be. I’ll handle everything.”
Chapter Thirty
Skids
Tucking the blankets in around Phoebe’s shoulders, I kiss her forehead and smooth her wet hair back. “Just rest, baby. I’ll get everything done downstairs and bring up lunch for you after. You don’t have to leave the bed for anything. Let me take care of you.”
She nods her head and snuggles under the covers. I pull the bedroom door shut behind me and let out a sigh. Holy shit, this day has been insane from the fucking start. I fucked this all up. If nothing else, I can always count on myself to fuck up. I’m content, at least for now, that Phoebe isn’t going to leave. I’ll work on that later, but for the moment I have to deal with Tony and Reaper.
I’m greeted by puddles of blood when I reach the garage. Reaper gives me a malicious smile when I enter and points at Tony’s bloody chest. “I got bored.”
“I can tell.” Not only does he have a nail going through his tongue and the bottom of his mouth, he now has gouges and slices through his chest. It’s a good thing Phoebe tapped out. She definitely wouldn’t have taken this well. “Since I’m not going to get any information from him, I say we just end this and get him the fuck outta here.”
“How’s your lass?”
I don’t like him asking about her, but I have to trust him. He’s already here. “She’ll be fine. The violence freaked her out.” That’s a bit of an understatement, but good enough.
Reaper eyeballs me, sizing me up, probably judging me for what Tony so gracefully revealed about my past. “Pres’ll want to know she’s awrite,” he says after his perusal is complete.
“Yeah, I’ll call him when you’re finished finger painting, boy-scout. He’s barely breathing already.”
“Aye. Sorry bout that.” He doesn’t appear sorry, but I’d guess he rarely is.
“Yeah, well don’t let me interrupt. It looks like you’ve got it handled.” I had so many plans I intended to carry out once I got the bastard in front of me, but now that he’s here and he sent Phoebe into a spiral, the anger has been drained out of me.
“I need this,” Reaper says, drawing the edge of his knife over Tony’s chest. “I feel like a prisoner sometimes.”
“Yeah. I bet you do.” I’ve looked into Reaper’s past. I had to when he started hanging around the club. The life he lived in Scotland is very different from the one he lives now, and I can see why he might feel imprisoned by Pres.
Reaper smiles again, and I’m starting to understand the appeal of having him as a bodyguard for Pres. He’s definitely crazy, but anyone that doesn’t know his loyalty would be pissing their pants at the sight of that smile. “Aye, you’re good with tech.”
“I am.”
“Suppose you know all about me then.” He’s aggravated by that, if the increased flow of blood pouring off Tony is any indication.
“I know enough.” I know that the Grim Reaper that now wears a Kings patch was born as Camron in Glasgow, Scotland. He joined a gang of criminals over there not entirely unlike our club, and made a name for himself- Marbhtach. It carries the same goddamn connotation as what we call him: ‘Don’t fuck with me. I’ll kill you’.
I don’t know how he found himself in that situation, but I know he had the name by the time he was seventeen, so he likely grew up a murderer. Not that it’s any of my business. What I needed to find was the only thing of importance when it came to letting him in the club, and it was the easiest to find. Reaper is loyal. I think Pres should have stuck with the name Guard Dog, though. It fits him better.
“Emily’s doing okay,” I announce, hoping to get a reaction. I’ve been tracking her phone because everyone’s so concerned about Emily potentially contacting Reaper. “In case you’ve been wondering but can’t ask.”
“It does’nae matter, does it? Emily is safe. I did what was asked of me. Now she’s back where she belongs, with her mother.” He doesn’t sound bitter or upset by that at all, and I think that’s good. It means Pres can relax some. Reaper doesn’t seem to have any interest in his daughter. I’ve been trying to tell Pres that any man with half a brain wouldn’t fuck with his underage daughter, but he’s a little paranoid himself.
