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The tension in the room grows even heavier, and I slide my gaze in Howler’s direction, wondering how he will handle this. “I can’t let you take her.”
His words do alleviate a little of my doubts, but not enough. I know how useful I am to his club, to him.
The woman claiming to be my sister pulls her mouth into a tight line as her entire body becomes steel. “I don’t need your permission, and neither does she. She’s not a prisoner here, right?”
Howler grinds his jaw because he, like I, knows the truth. I am a prisoner, though I have been too blind to see that. My throat clogs as tears burn my eyes. I don’t know who is on my side, and the only person I trust right now is myself.
“That bloodshed you don’t want is a hair trigger from happening,” Howler warns, addressing Kane even though his eyes remain locked on the woman.
Her eyes turn to mine, softening as she implores me. “You don’t have to stay here. If they’re keeping you against your will—”
“Don’t get in the middle of this,” Howler says, but he doesn’t deny that I’m being kept here with no choice.
I was happy to follow their rules, but what would have happened if I had tried to leave? Would they have dragged me back into the clubhouse? From the moment I came here, I have been locked in a room, only allowed out with an escort. Iama prisoner, despite the fact I’ve not allowed myself to believe this. Somehow, I convinced myself this was okay, that it was my dues I had to pay because of my father, but all my freedoms have been taken from me since the moment I arrived. I was so scared, so grateful for the help, that I didn’t challenge this.
What a naïve little idiot I am.
My heart pounds as every single detail of the past three weeks collides through my brain, challenging my perception of everything. It all begins to feel sinister, and I can hardly breathe as I realise whatever I’ve opened myself up to. I am the daughter of an extremely powerful man and I willingly put myself in the hands of his enemies. Of course, they locked me up—I’m the perfect leverage.
I stumble back, using the nearest table to steady myself. It feels as if there is a hand wrapped around my throat, choking the life out of me. I wanted to believe so desperately that I had finally found my place. I wanted to believe that in a world where I was just a pawn, I had found people who cared about me.
Then I had found love in Rage
Every word, every action made within these walls is a double-edged sword. I am a lamb, and they have led me to the slaughter. Like an empty-headed fool, I’ve lined up, waiting my turn to have my throat slit.
Is Rage possessive because he wants me and our child, or because I help his club get one over on my father?
Pain spears through me and I hug my stomach tighter, not to protect my baby but because it churns like violent waves at sea.
Everything is a lie.
All of this has been one elaborate game that I’ve played without knowing the rules. My father kept me in the dark, allowed me to become someone who could be manipulated so easily. I hate him most of all for that. He protected me from nothing and left me open to everything.
I pull my hand free of Pia’s, ignoring the confusion on her face as I step back from her too. She’s not my friend either. She’s Howler’s wife, and her loyalties lie with him.
A sob bubbles up my throat and I have to swallow it down before I suffocate on it. When I look around the room, all I see is jailers, people who want to keep me in my place.
You’re acting crazy…
I ignore that voice. It has lied to me so many times, I no longer believe it.
Rage wants you…
I lick my lips, whimpering at the thought of how he made love to me last night. He had been tender and sweet, a change from his usual need to take me hard, but in the morning, he was gone. No note. He didn’t even bother to wake me to tell me he was leaving.
Because he doesn’t care. If he cared, he would have woke me before sneaking out of the bed like I’m nothing more than a booty call to him.
He needed me to believe he wants me, so I didn’t fight against being locked in that room.
My thoughts are coming thick and fast, and I want to fist my hands over my ears to block them out. Is any of this real?
Rage doesn’t love me, and he doesn’t care about me or our child.
I know that’s not true even as I think it, but it swamps me, leaving a dark ugliness in its wake.
Like my father, like Tommy, Rage’s first and only loyalty is to this dark underworld he thrives to be a part of. If he truly cared, he would never have allowed me to be treated this way.
Sweat collects on the back of my neck and my pulse pounds in my ears as the foundations of everything I thought I was building crumble around me.
