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Zander ‘Torment’ Dunaway was the club’s private psychologist. Not only did the brother cater to the club exclusively, but he was also one of the city’s top shrinks in hisfield. Along with Malice, who occasionally used the office next to his for helping children, Torment preferred helping adults who suffered from a variety of issues, from marital problems to anxiety. The man was in high demand and highly sought after. And it just so happened that he knew everything there was to know about me. There was no hiding from him.
“How is Largo?”
Rubbing my hands down my face, I muttered, “Don’t know. Montana has cut off all contact between us.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“How do you think? I fucking hate it. She is my wife. I just got her back and the fucking club is keeping us apart.”
“Why?”
I knew what he wanted me to say. He wanted me to admit what I’d done that night in our home. The night I almost killed my wife in a fit of anger, and if it hadn’t been for Malice, Montana and Shame, I might have. Just thinking about what I’d almost done set my teeth on edge. Never in my life would I have ever thought of harming a hair on Largo’s head. And yet, I had. Torment showed me the damage I caused. The dark bruises around her neck from my own hands.
“In my estimation, when a person bottles up all their feelings and emotions, eventually they will spill over and the consequences of that can be catastrophic. While I know you feel strongly for Largo, can you honestly sit there and tell me that your wife is safe in your presence?”
“No,” I whispered, leaning forward, raking my hands through my hair. “I hate myself for what I did to her. I’ve never hurt her like that before.”
“That’s not entirely true, Mercy.”
Looking up at him, I asked. “What do you mean?”
“What did you allow the club to do when she returned?”
Shit. Why was he bringing that crap up?
Leaning back, I rested my arm on the back of the couch, taking a deep breath and replied nonchalantly, “She ran. You know the club rules.”
“Yes, I do, but I also know that rules are made to be broken. Largo isn’t some wayward woman, Mercy. She is your wife. The mother of your daughter. Knowing now why she ran, are you telling me if you had known the truth before, you would still allow the club to punish her like they did?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you protect her?”
And that right there was the million-dollar question.
I saw the indecision in Montana’s eyes.
I heard my brothers’ disgust and cries for me to stop it all.
Yet, I ignored them.
Why?
Why did I allow the club to punish the love of my life? Even thinking back to that time, I knew it was wrong. That she didn’t deserve the punishment she received.
I could have stopped it all.
Instead, I allowed the club to cut my wife.
Why?
Why did I do that?
“Anger and hurt are fickle feelings, Mercy. They affect everyone differently. Most people let those feelings run their course before common sense takes hold, allowing them to move forward. For some reason, you allowed those feelings to take root. Those feelings are still there deep within you. That is why you are here, sitting on my couch. Out of all the brothers in the club, you are generally the easiest one. The logical one. However, for some unknown reason, when it comes to Largo, you ignore your true nature. How does it make you feel knowing that Cynic raped your wife?”
Clenching my fist tightly, I sneered, “I want to fucking kill him all over again.”
“Dead is dead, Mercy. Even you know that. You got your revenge. Why are you still holding onto that anger?”
