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He doesn’t speak as he takes that in. My legs are so tired that I sink onto the sofa, letting my body relax as I take my weight off my feet. I don’t want to have this conversation. What I want to do is sleep, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. Rage doesn’t look remotely like he’s going to let this go.
“Weirder things have happened.
“My father has no idea I’m here. If he sees me again, he’s as likely to put a bullet in me as your club is.”
The back of my neck feels tightly knotted. If I was at home now, I’d have a bath in my jacuzzi tub. The pressure of the jets would be amazing against my soreness, but the small glimpse I got of the bathroom didn’t reveal a tub, just a shower cubicle.
Rage drops his hands to his hips. “I need you to be honest with me. I can’t help you otherwise.”
I glare at him. “You’re not helping me at all. What’s the plan here, Rage? Lock me up in here until the baby’s born and then what? Kill me? Or do you plan on sending parts of me back to my father now?”
His jaw flexes, his eyes flashing angrily. “Ain’t our style to hurt innocents, Skye. Are you innocent?”
I blow out a breath, trying to keep my composure. “Do you honestly believe I came to spy on your club?”
There’s a pause and my paper-thin nerves almost lose control before I can calm myself. If he does think I’m a spy, I’m screwed. How on earth am I meant to convince him I don’t have anything to do with my father’s business?
“I don’t know what to think,” he admits, leaning back against the wall behind him. “You come here telling me you’re pregnant and asking for money, even though I know you ain’t poor. Then you give me some story about being locked up by your family and your dad controlling your life. He controlling you being here?”
I hate that he’s using my words against me. “No! He doesn’t know I’m here. No one does.”
“If you want my help, you gotta start being honest with me.”
The glare I give him is glacial, but he doesn’t react—not that I expect him to. He’s cold as ice. “I have been honest with you.”
“Skye—”
“I have,” I interrupt before he can deny me. “I’m not involved in my father’s business or even his world. My dad is a misogynist whose whole organisation is patriarchal. I don’t have a penis, so I’m not invited to the table, which, to be honest, I’m fucking grateful for.”
I sag back against the cushions of the couch, wondering if he will say anything if I curl up and sleep. My eyes are gritty, and my body craves rest.
“You really aren’t involved in anything? Not even the legit shit?”
My smile is thin and unamused. “Not even the legit shit.”
I feel the weight of his stare. It’s as if he’s trying to penetrate through my brain and see the lies he thinks are buried there. “Tell me about them locking you up.”
I don’t want to revisit what I did, but I don’t think there’s a choice if I’m going to get him to trust me. “I tried to run,” I say. “I didn’t want to be around that life anymore. I was done sitting at home, waiting for a call to say my dad was dead because of—”
I break off, wincing.
“Because of my club?”
“Yeah.”
His face contorts into an angry snarl. “Everything that’s happening to the Pioneers, they brought on themselves, Skye. Everything.”
I don’t know how I manage, but I get to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. I may not agree with how my father does business, but I refuse to accept that he is completely at fault here. “Oh, and because your club has clean hands, right? I mean, it’s not like we were burying men every week, is it? Do you know how many times we heard that a burial had to happen with a closed casket because of the brutality of…” I swallow down my words as they crack. “We’ve lost so many too, so don’t sit there and preach at me as if you’re so holy. Your club is as dirty as my father’s organisation.”
He rounds the bed, coming straight for me. I can’t help but backpedal, trying to avoid the onslaught of anger radiating from him. I didn’t just touch a nerve, I set it alight.
I swallow my terror as he gets in my face. “We’re fuckin’ dirty? Is that a joke? Your father is an animal, and the best thing that could happen to him is a bullet, but even that would be too fucking quick and easy. My club is going to pull him apart piece by piece for what he’s done.”
I don’t breathe, trying to calm my wildly fluttering heart rate. “Your club killed friends of mine.”
“Your father murdered a pregnant woman,” he counters.
I don’t know if it’s the ground that shifts or if my legs forget how to work, but I stumble, horror hammering into my chest. “What are you talking about?”
