AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So, what do I do? I drink another fuckin’ beer because I can. It pisses Mickey off. His under-breath complaints are evidence enough.
Smirking wickedly against the lip of my Bud bottle, I explain, “You could tell Prez to mind his own fuckin’ business, and you could just go home.” I gesture toward the front doors with a flick of my chin, hoping he’ll take the bait and get lost. I’d rather do this alone—wallow in my own hell, without company.
Shaking his head as if I’ve lost my mind, Mickey rolls his eyes. “I like my body parts right where they are.” He pats his flat stomach and dick as if those are the most important parts.
“Then report back I’m A-Okay.” Fingers fanned out, I form an okay sign and look at him through the hole, my elbow perched on the bar.
My brother delivers an amused smile. “Right.” He snickers. “’Cause that’s not a lie or anything.”
“I’m good.” I waggle my brows for show. The last thing I want is a fucking babysitter having to put their life on hold because of me. If I could drink at home, I would. But then I’d have to face Kit and show her who I really am. I’d have to explain what’s happening. I’d rather carve my heart out with a dull spoon than pull her through the depths of my darkness. Especially after what she’s been through.
What can I say? I’m a weak bastard.
I didn’t even have the courage to tell her Niki died. She found out through Bink. When she asked about what happened, because Kit knew I was there, I lied. Told her I found her dying on the floor in the clubhouse. She cried so fuckin’ hard, it tore me in two to watch her break down on our couch. Like I was gonna tell her what really went down. Not likely. Big doesn’t even know. And it’s gonna stay that way. Forever. Ya hear me? For…ever.
“Ya know, you’re gonna have to come clean sometime.” Mickey motions to my line of beers.
Giving zero fucks, I finish one and crack open another. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch my brother watch me as I relax my throat and down this motherfucker in record time. It sloshes in my gut, makin’ we wanna wretch. I burp and pound my chest to give it space to settle. The alcohol will soak in soon enough. Once I can barely walk, I’ll have a few hours of solace, if you could call it that. Watching your woman sleep like some goddamn creeper lurking in the night, unable to touch her, kiss her, or say what you wanna say, ain’t the best, but it suffices. It’s all I’ve got.
I’ll take what I can. Even if it’s nothing more than stolen moments of time.
When I close my eyes again and focus on what matters most—seeing Kit… I wait for Niki to emerge. For her ghostly fingers to send shivers down my spine. For her mouth to wrap around my cock, making it painfully hard, even though there’s nothing touching him. I wait for her to call me every name under the sun for not loving her. For not saving her. For being the biggest piece of shit before she gets on her knees and rubs her bloodied tits against my shin.
When she doesn’t surface, and I’m finally at peace, at least for a little while, I slide off the stool and leave. I don’t wait for Mickey. I say nothing. On a mission to do what I’ve done every night for weeks, I stumble through the clubhouse to the backdoor. The night air invigorates me as I navigate through the back grass, onto the pavement, and past the concrete wall that separates the front of the compound from the back estates.
Using the railing, I drunkenly lumber up my front steps and open the door, making as little sound as possible. I kick off my boots by the couch and leave them, along with most of my clothes, to pick up in the morning. The last thing I wanna do is wake my love.
On the way to see her, I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom to piss, wash my hands, and brush my fuzzy teeth before I sneak into our bedroom and snick the door shut in my wake.
Padding my way to our bed, careful not to trip over any of Chibs’ bones, I glance over to Kit’s side of the mattress. It’s vacant, as is the spot where our dog sleeps.
What the fuck?
“Love?!” I call out to her, my voice hoarse.
Silence.
Dammit.
Flicking on every light in every room, I search the house. In our spare bedroom, her clothes are gone from the closet. Not a single note is to be found. The shower and under the bathroom sink is void of all female shit—like she was never here.
Freaking the hell out, the organ in my chest pummels my sternum in a vicious boxing match as air pumps in and out of my lungs. Sweat blooms across my entire body as I frantically search for any clues she might have left. Afraid I’ll miss something, I tear open every drawer and cupboard, leaving them wide open as I move on to the next.
In our bedroom, I dump all my clothes onto the floor and rip shirts from their hangers. Bed pillows hit the wall before they, too, join the mess. Our comforter goes next, into a heap on the floor. Gripping the edge of the mattress, I grunt as I flip it off the box spring. It lands in front of the open door, its corner caught on top of our nightstand. Our lamp slides to the edge and hangs there for a beat before crashing onto the carpet.
“Where did you go?” I sigh in misery, still coming up empty.
Climbing over the disaster, I stumble into the hallway and use the wall for support as I make my way into the living room. I find my phone discarded on the couch.
Desperation clogs my throat as I fumble with the screen to check her location. It’s gone. Our tether was there this afternoon when I checked to make sure she was safe at Loretta’s for her weekly therapy session. It was there when they went to lunch with White Boy and Deke at the bakery in town. White Boy even texted to say she ate a giant salad and a chocolate croissant. I was relieved she indulged. Kit’s appetite has been a rollercoaster as of late. Some days, she eats like she should, while others, she barely touches her dinner. I’ve been keeping an eye on it, worried she’ll lose the progress she’s made.
When she drove home today, her dot moved. I watched as I always do every time she leaves, afraid something will happen if I’m not there to protect her. As if my brothers can’t take care of my precious cargo.
When I’m working, I keep the app open so I can see everything in real-time—for peace of mind. Adam, who now has a desk in the corner of my office, likes I keep tabs on his mom, too. It’s a joint effort. ’Cause we give a shit.
Running out of options, I connect a call and pace the living room.
It rings, and it rings, and it goddamn rings. She doesn’t pick up.
