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But at the same time, I can live a life of contentment alone only to be visited by the man who has claimed me as his own and be happy enough.
I would take that life, a life of contentment, over anything that Dutch had planned for me. I know what life can be like on the other side. I know how painful and empty it can be, and I would take this over that. I would fight for this.
“What do you want?” I finally ask.
Dutch places his palms on the armrests of the chair and pushes down as he rises to his feet. Slowly, he begins moving through the house, walking toward me. I stand still and firm, squaring my shoulders as I wait for him to finish his approach.
“I want you to pay for what he’s done,” he announces. “But I cannot do that yet. Just think of this as a friendly reminder and warning. Next time I’m in your living room, I will not walk out of here without you.”
Then, without allowing me to respond, though I’m not sure what I would even say at this point, he walks past me and out of the front door. I watch him, jumping when he slams the door behind him.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath, then let it out slowly before I reopen them, walk to the door, and lock it behind him. I make a mental note to first get a key to this house, then secondly, to get a gun.
I’ll be damned if Dutch ever comes back here and tries to take me. I’ll kill him or at least die trying. Once I’ve calmed down, I decide to forego food and get dressed to go to this party. If Reese is going to come and get me, I might as well look good when I go down there and demand my keys and gun.
I still don’t have a lot of clothes, but Itch practically forced me into buying a little black dress, and tonight, I’ll be debuting it.
The dress is tight, short, and sleeveless. I feel like it shows off way too much, so it’s not anything I would typically wear, but I’m going down to that clubhouse, and I need to make an impression. I just hope it’s one he’ll like.
I shouldn’t care if what I wear pleases a man. In my mind, I know that I am not supposed to cater to Itch. I am not supposed to live to please him, but at the same time, that is all I know.
It’s all I’ve been taught.
And it’s the only option I have to possibly keep him.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ITCH
“These assholes knowexactly what the fuck is happening,” Agony growls as we climb into the car with Roadkill.
They kept us here for days. I can’t bitch because they plied us with booze and bitches, although Agony is the only one who partook in the bitches part. I possibly would have,maybe, except that fucking cunt Tempt called me every goddamn five minutes complaining about something.
“I am so over this bitch, these goddamn people, and the whole fucking thing,” I grunt as Agony slams the door closed. Roadkill shifts the car intoReverse, and we leave.
“None of that shit made me feel warm and fuzzy,” Roadkill grunts. “Five days of that was ridiculous.”
“What do we tell Legacy?” Agony asks.
I think about that question. We could tell him the truth, or we could lie. I want to lie. But the fact is that he needs to know everything, even though he pretty much knows it all anyway, even if we haven’t said exactly what we’ve done.
“We tell him we’re ready to be done with this shit. We want to go legit,” I blurt out. “Because that shit, they were testing us. Next time, they won’t let us go, I guarantee it.”
It doesn’t take us long to get back to the clubhouse. It’s getting late, and there are cars parked in the gravel lot. Glancing around, I let out a sigh. This is not what I wanted to come back to.
A lot of cars.
Fuck.
Roadkill pulls up to his spot and shifts the car intoPark, killing the engine. We open the doors, climb out, and head toward the door. Before Agony opens the door, he turns his head to look over his shoulder at us.
“We call church tomorrow and tell everyone what happened and exactly what we want to do,” he states.
It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and I can’t even say no to that, because I feel the same fucking way. Jerking my chin toward him, I silently agree, and I’m sure that Roadkill does as well.
When Agony opens the door, the sounds of deep bass rock, clinking glasses, pool table balls slamming against one another, laughter, and shouts fill the air. We move through the door and separate. I head straight for the bar, but before I get there, a hand wraps around my bicep.
Stopping in my tracks, I look down at the hand then slowly slide my gaze up her arm until I reach her face. I’m surprised to see that it’s Tempt standing in front of me. She’s wearing what looks like a bikini top with an extremely short skirt, and when my gaze flicks down to her feet, I’m surprised to see that this supposed pregnant woman is wearing extremely high heels.
