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1
Munsey
I’ve been avoiding this place like the fucking plague for months. The place I used to call home. Being a member of the RBMC and hanging out at the clubhouse used to be a dream. Now, it’s my nightmare.
Mason told me they rebuilt after the fire and made the compound bigger and better. We have a small set of apartments in the back for the women the Royal Harlots help. It’s pretty much a safe haven for former addicts and women escaping from abusive relationships.
We have a separate building for the guys who want to be close to the clubhouse but not live there full-time. A place for families. Fuck, it’s like our own village, all thanks to insurance money and men who are willing to pick up a hammer and nails.
I’m welcome back anytime I am ready. But how do I face it? How do I accept the fact that I couldn’t save them?
“You could just come inside.”
Taylor Cross.
Carson and Lina took her in when they found her beaten and bruised, begging for food at the grocery store. The club became her family. Protected her at all costs. Hell, I killed for her. And I can’t help but wonder if her piece-of-shit mom and pedophile stepdad were somehow involved in the attack on the clubhouse.
She leans forward, slipping her fingers through the chain link fence. They brush against mine, and I don’t have the strength to pull away.
“Why are you here?”
The question comes out rude, which isn’t necessarily my intention. Taylor is the last person I want to be rude to. She’s the only person who seems to truly understand what I’m going through.
“Unlike you, I actually feel at peace here.”
“I feel at peace here.” I lie.
“We both know that isn’t true.”
I glance over at her, taking in her soft blonde hair and ocean eyes. The tattoos on her arms make her appear much older than nineteen. She’s a fucking kid, but she’s witnessed more than most adults. Survived it all. I shouldn’t want her, but I do. My feelings for her cause a storm of emotions inside me. With everything I’m already dealing with, I can’t deal with her right now.
“What the fuck do you want from me, Taylor? For me to admit I still have nightmares about what happened? That I still blame myself? Well, there you go. I admit it. Happy?”
This isn’t me. At least it’s not who I used to be. I was always laughing and joking around. Didn’t have a fucking care in the world. I was a patched member of the RBMC and afraid of nothing and no one. I was the one who was feared.
“I miss you, Christian,” she says quietly, using my first name. She’s the only one who does.
“You don’t miss me, little girl. You don’t even know me.”
“We both know that isn’t true either.” She smirks.
“You think because you slept in my hospital bed a few nights that you mean something to me? It meant nothing. When I look at you, all I think about is the possibility that had Carson and Lina not taken you in, they’d still be alive.”
She flinches at my words, tears filling her eyes. Snatching her hands away from the fence, she backs away and walks toward the clubhouse, not turning back.
Another lie. It did mean something, although I’m not sure what.
More than anything, I think about how perfectly she fit curled against me. How her scent and touch soothed away the nightmares. And how I lost count of how many times I wish I’d fucked her.
2
Taylor
He’s still running. Well, running might not be the appropriate word. He talks to the guys still. Phones into church so that he still has a vote. And I know that because Mason busted me trying to eavesdrop.
But he isn’t here. He hasn’t stepped foot inside the compound since they got it rebuilt. Almost a year has passed, and he still hates himself for what happened.
I want to know who attacked them just as much as they do. I finally had a home. People who cared about me. Whoever is behind the attack is responsible for their deaths.
