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"Fine," I grit out. "Tell him if he mentions her name, looks at her, touches her—if he has anything to do with her, he's dead."
"Not telling him that, and neither are you." He jabs his finger into the center of my chest. "Do you understand me?" I narrow my eyes, but don't give him the confirmation he wants. He's not my Prez. I don't owe him shit. He must realize that too because he sighs, then shouts for Kennedy over his shoulder. She hesitantly makes her way toward us, her eyes finding mine, then dropping. She steps beside me but stays as far away as she can. "I don't want this bullshit in my club." He waves his finger between us.
"Spence–"
"I should fucking fire you for this." Guilt twists my stomach. It's not an emotion I feel often, so when it's there, I know I've really fucked up.
"I'm sorry," she says quickly, her voice bordering on hysterical. "Please don't fire me. Please. I need this job—Ian—please, Spence." Her chin trembles, and that's what does me in.
"It's my fault," I say, and they both snap their heads to me, looking shocked. What? Can't a guy take the blame without everyone freaking out? "She did nothing wrong. Don't fire her." Her throat bobs and she quickly averts her eyes, looking at the floor.
"I'm sorry, Spence," she croaks, her voice thick. There's a beat of silence. If he's about to fire her for this, I will fucking kill him. But he clears his throat and glances at me before putting his hand on her shoulder. My eyes zero in on it, but I force myself not to react.
Punching Archer was one thing...punching Spencer would definitely get me killed.
But if he doesn't take his hand away soon, I might just fucking risk it.
"I'm trusting you, Kennedy," he says. "Please don't make me regret this." She lifts her teary eyes to him, then nods.
"You won't," she blurts. "Thank you–" He doesn't let her finish groveling. He turns on his heel mid-sentence and walks back into the office, telling everyone but Nessa to fuck off.
"Kenny," I say as I turn toward her. She holds her hand up.
"Don't," she says. "That was fucked up and you know it. I don't know what your deal is, but you can't go around punching people in the face–"
"I won't go around punching people in the face," I say. "Just him." She takes a deep breath.
"Why? What has he ever done to you? You haven't said two words to each other." She gives me an exasperated look—it's one I've seen a lot, but it hurts coming from her.
"You've slept together," I say. Her mouth opens, then closes. "He's touched you. Kissed you. Been inside you." My body vibrates more with each word.
I really should've just shot him.
"How do you know that?" she breathes, her eyes wide.
I didn't know for sure, but she just confirmed it. It makes my heart dip.
"Doesn't take a rocket scientist, babe," I say as I side-step her. "Gotta ride out with your boyfriend. Unless you need to ride him first?" Her face falls, her shoulders slumping with it, and I immediately wish I could take the words back.
Elaine always said I hurt people when I'm hurting. When my heart hurts, I use words to hurt people. When my body hurts, I use my fists. But no matter what, I want them to hurt worse than I am.
That's where she was wrong, though.
No amount of pain I could ever inflict on anyone could let them feel what I feel every day. The moment she died was the moment a piece of me died too, and I'll never get it back. It was the sane part of my mind that died, and until Kennedy said my real name, I thought Elaine had killed my heart, too.
It was still in there, beating silently and painfully. But when Kennedy said my name, it started to beat for her.
I hope Elaine can forgive me for that.
Kiwi
Iglance at Archer riding beside me. I fucking hate him. I haven't said more than a few words to the prick, but I fucking despise him. If he was dangling off the edge of a cliff with sharks swimming below, I'd dance on his fucking fingers.
I. Hate. Him.
He pulls off to the side of the road and parks. I pull up behind him, cut my engine, and take a deep breath.
I promised Kennedy I wouldn't hurt him. If she was anyone else—and I literally mean anyone else—I would break that promise in a fucking heartbeat. But I can't and won't do that to her. So, I stare at the tall, tattooed fuck as he swings his leg off his bike and rests his helmet on the seat.
