by Jessica Ames
“Who gives a fuck who approves? You want a bike, fucking get one. Life’s short, baby. Don’t live in the shadow of what others want for you.”
I don’t miss how his use of the word ‘baby’ makes my stomach flip. The endearment comes out of nowhere and I find I like it.
“You think I should just get one, screw what my brother thinks?”
He shrugs. “I think you’re old enough to do whatever the fuck you want.”
His words strike a chord and I’m surprised by his outlook. I thought he would tell me it’s too dangerous, that riding is not for women, but Daimon surprises me at every turn.
He hands me the helmet and I frown at him.
“Where’s yours?”
“Ain’t got a spare with me, and you ain’t getting on the back without one.”
His words make the butterflies in my belly flutter against my abdomen, and they tear down a chunk of my walls. No one ever cared about making me safe apart from my brother.
I can’t stop the small lift of my lips as I dip my head to look at the straps. I try to ignore the heat fizzling between us as I pull on the helmet. I also try not to stare at him as he climbs on the back of his bike, his thick, jean-clad legs straddling the large tank.
He’s every woman’s fantasy, but he’s only doing this because I’m his club brother’s sister. There’s nothing else between us, right?
My body trembles as I move to the back. Like Levi’s bike, he has pillions either side, so I’m confident as I use his shoulders to steady myself as I swing my leg over the back. As soon as I sit down, I’m aware of how close I am to him and when his hand lands on my thigh, I nearly shoot off the seat.
“You need me to stop, tap my shoulder three times,” he tells me.
I nod, my tongue suddenly feeling too thick for my mouth.
This is going to be a long morning.
11
Daimon
I take Briella to a small diner in the centre of the borough. We run protection for them, at a cost, of course, so brothers eat free. Not that money is an issue; my main reason for choosing them is that they have the best pancakes in the area.
The place is decorated like one of those old nineteen-fifties diners you see in the States, with PVC covered booths and stainless-steel tables. I lead Briella over to a table at the back of the room and sit facing the door. She slides into the booth opposite me and tucks her hair behind her ears.
She’s nervous, I can tell, but it’s fucking endearing. I don’t know why I find it that way. I usually like my women bolshy, but it’s different with Briella. I like knowing I knock her off her axis. That I affect her, goes straight to my dick.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her, not bothering to pick up a menu. I know everything that is good to eat here.
She reaches for the menu. “What do you suggest?”
“Pancakes, babe. They’re amazing.”
“Then I guess I’ll have pancakes.” She smiles, tucking the menu back into the stand.
The waitress, Fern, doesn’t keep us waiting. She knows better. We’re treated like kings when we come in and we get a first-rate service, so our order is given within a few minutes of sitting.
If Briella notices this, she doesn’t comment, instead reaching for a paper napkin, which she starts to shred on the table. I watch her for a moment before I cover her hands with mine, stopping her. Her bright eyes widen as they raise to meet mine.
“It’s a pity this place doesn’t serve anything stronger than coffee,” she murmurs as her eyes go to the window. Her teeth capture her bottom lip, as if she realises she’s said too much.
I frown at her words, not liking the tone of them or the insinuation behind them. Drinking at breakfast time suggests a problem.
“You didn’t do enough drinking the other night?”
Pink rises in her cheeks as she recalls the evening I had to pull her ass out of a bar in the Sic Bastards’ patch.
“Like you don’t drink, hypocrite,” she mutters, a hint of petulance in her tone that has my mouth lifting at the corners. She goes to bratty kid in nought point five fucking seconds. It makes my dick hard as fuck when she pouts like that, and I hate myself for getting caught up in emotions I shouldn’t be feeling for a brother’s sister, especially one as young as Brie.
“I drink,” I say, “but I know when to stop.”
“So do I,” she snaps back, on the defensive. She might look like a kitten, but she definitely has claws. “Since when did you become a judgemental dick anyway? Oh, I forgot. It’s one set of rules for the Sons and another for everyone else, right?”
Her angry gaze goes back to the window. Briella never had a problem with the club, that I know of, but I don’t miss the bite as she says it. I don’t miss the torment in her eyes either, the fury mixed with something else I can’t name. I hate seeing that shit and I wonder how none of us saw it before now. How the fuck did we all miss it?
It’s there, clear as day.
“Ain’t judging,” but I am worried about her destructive behaviour. She’s definitely on a path of self-destruction. It’s a matter of what pressed that button to start with.
“Sounds like you are,” she mutters.
I’m stopped from responding as Fern returns with two cups of coffee. I watch as Brie dumps enough sugar in to rot her teeth and so much milk it’s practically white.
“Got enough sugar there?”
She gives me a smile that makes my fucking cock jump behind my zip. She might be the fucking death of me.
“I have a sweet tooth.”
Fuck me. I turn my attention to the window myself, just to avoid her gaze, which is making me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling.
“You want some?” she asks, holding the sugar out towards me.
I shake my head. She shrugs and dumps another load in the mug then stirs the steaming hot liquid slowly.
I watch her for a moment, before I say, “Your friend doesn’t think much of me, does she?”
Her attention snaps to my face and I don’t like what I see crawl over it. There’s definitely anxiety in her expression as she dips her head. I hate losing her eyes. I can’t tell what the hell she’s thinking when that happens.
“Layla’s just protective,” she mumbles, pushing the spoon around her coffee mug.
“She ain’t got reason to be. Ain’t going to hurt you, ever. You know that, right?”
Her gaze shifts anywhere but to me. I snag her arm.
“You know that, right?” I repeat, my words cracking out of me.
Her eyes raise and meet mine. I watch her throat work before she nods. “Yeah, Daimon. I know.” There’s a slight wariness in her tone that I don’t like.
I let her go and sink back into my chair, my thoughts racing. Does she really think I’d hurt her? Is that why she’s so on edge around the club? We’re a lot of things, none of them particularly good, but not one of us would ever hurt a woman. Ain’t how we play things. Women and kids are off limits, and we’d go to the end of the earth to protect the women in our club. We murdered Sin to protect Sasha and Lily-May, we destroyed Blackwood’s entire empire to keep Lucy safe. Whatever shit Briella is running from, we’ll take on too. I meant it when I told her she’s family. She’s part of this club and club takes care of its own. I just have to get her to come clean first, and that’s going to be a challenge on its own. She ain’t exactly keen on talking about herself and what the hell happened to her.
Could she have heard about the shit that went down lately? We keep that crap under wraps and the girls were told not to gossip about it in the aftermath. I can’t see Lucy or Sasha opening their mouths. I can’t imagine Levi sounding off either and telling Briella all our secrets, but it could explain why she seems so uncomfortable around them lately.
Or maybe it’s just me she’s weird around.
I push that aside. Something in my gut tells me this shit goes deeper than any of that.
“Brie, you’re family. Don’t forget that.
Your shit is our shit, and we’ll protect you from anything.”
It’s not discreet, but I’ve gone past that now. I want her to know she has support from the club, no matter what she’s wrapped up in. I want her to know that if she’s still in trouble she doesn’t have to face that alone. I want her to fucking open up and tell me what the hell is giving her nightmares. It can’t still be fear of her father. She’s been away from him for two years now, living with Levi, and she was getting her shit together, her life on track up until just before Sasha came home. Did she hear what happened between Sasha and Sin? No one has mentioned why he’s gone, or that he’s gone. He’s just not around. No one wants that fucker’s name on their tongues.
She spins the spoon in the mug. “You say that now.”
“I say that no matter what. You need help with anything you only have to ask.”
Desperation fills my words and I hate that it does, but I’m feeling pretty desperate right now.
She opens her mouth and before she can speak, Fern is at the side of our table with the food and I watch Brie shut down.
God-fucking-damn.
I glare at Fern, who scurries away as fast as she can. Smart girl. My mood is quickly deteriorating. I hate being in the dark.
I watch as Briella picks at the food before shoving a piece of pancake into her mouth.
“Why’d you join the club?” she asks after a moment.
Jesus. What a fucking question. I should tell her to mind her fucking business, as I would with anyone else, but Briella isn’t anyone else. I want her to know me, to understand me. I want to know everything about her too, but I don’t think she will trust me with that part of her yet.
“That’s a hell of a question, babe, with a lot of answers.” I scrub a hand over my face as I think about how to respond. I don’t care if she knows, but my past’s not something I’m proud of. “Dad was a nasty bastard. He’d hit my mum and me. Did it for years, until I grew up and got big enough to hit back.”
“We share that in common,” she mutters and my jaw grinds as I think about her being hurt by her father.
“Levi got you out.”
“Yeah, he did.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Did your mum ever get out?”
I nod. “Once Dad realised he couldn’t keep hurting us, he stopped. I would have eventually killed that fucker if he hadn’t.” I watch her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t give me one. She put up with a tormentor for years too. She, of all people, understands the situation I found myself in. She probably fantasised about killing her own father on many occasions. “Mum eventually divorced him. Ain’t seen that cunt in years. I was seventeen when I found the club. Sons changed my fucking world.”
“The same age I was when I found them too,” she comments and I like that we share that. “Do you like it?”
I lean back in the booth, my arm resting along the back. “The club gave me purpose, direction. I was a hangaround for a while, but as soon as I was able to, I patched in. This has been my family ever since.” I emphasise the point, hoping it will soon start to sink in. She’s ours. That ain’t changing.
She glances down at the table and sighs. “I’m not someone you need to save, Daimon. I’ve told you this before.”
I don’t bother to tell her I’m not trying to save her. What would be the point of lying?
“I wish you’d open up to me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Never is, darlin’, but you have shit going on, the club can help with that.”
She raises her eyes and for a moment I see the war raging in her gaze before she shuts it down.
“I open up, I can guarantee you’re not going to like what comes spilling out. You’ll see me differently, everyone will, and that can’t happen.”
“Brie—”
She snaps her head to me. “Stop it. Stop trying to fix me.” There’s anger in her voice, alongside desperation.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” She pushes abruptly to her feet, sloshing coffee over the table. “I’m broken beyond repair, and you can’t just click your fingers and expect all the pieces to go back together. This is real life. It doesn’t work that way.”
The pain in her voice is real and I’m barely holding onto my anger. What the fuck is going on with her?
My fingers close around her wrist, stopping her from slipping out of the booth. “What happened to you as a kid doesn’t define who you are. Your dad hurt you, but he doesn’t get to have any power over you still.”
Something flickers in her eyes and for a moment, I get the feeling neither of us are on the same page, but I have no idea what page she’s on.
“Leave it alone, Daimon.” She shakes her head, her eyes softening slightly. “I… I have to go.”
She pulls her arm away and before I can stop her she’s rushing out of the diner. Fuck.
12
Briella
My conversation with Daimon in the diner leaves me feeling wrung out. I don’t want him poking around my private business, trying to get to the bottom of my problems. I don’t want him trying to plaster over the cracks that are open wounds in my heart. I meant it when I told him I don’t need saving. I don’t need anything from the Sons.
I shouldn’t think that. The Sons have been good to me and Levi. They gave us a home, helped out while I was in school, took care of us both, but that all changed that night. Nothing was the same after it and it’ll never be the same again. Now, they are tainted, covered in the same filth as me. They went from being the guys that helped me to men who send a shiver of fear through me.
Daimon isn’t him, though. I have to remember that. Daimon has never been anything but good to me. He makes me feel things I don’t deserve. He makes me feel happy. I can’t remember the last time I was truly happy. Maybe the day Levi pulled me out of Dad’s house and saved me. I owe my brother everything, but he also brought me into his sphere, took me from one monster and introduced me to another.
The urge to drink myself into oblivion prickles through every cell in my body. It scratches at me, needing to be itched, but I can’t give into the desire. The need for my next fix is never far away, but it’s too early for the bars to be open yet and Layla will be home, so drinking at the flat is not an option—unless I want an inquisition.
I buy a small bottle of whiskey and find a bench in the nearest park. I don’t give a fuck how it looks, because the moment the alcohol touches my tongue, I feel my body soften and relax. I’ve never drank in the day like this and it scares me how far gone I am, how much I’ve come to rely on the numbing power of booze to get me through this nightmare. I’m spiralling. I need help. I know I do, but there’s no one who can understand the pain I live with daily, the fear I have every time I go to the clubhouse that he will be there, that smug look on his face as his eyes crawl over me, as if he owns me. He knows he stole something from me that night that I never gave, that he didn’t deserve. He stole a piece of me. The only saving grace I have is on the few occasions I’ve been to the clubhouse lately, he’s not been around and that allowed me to breathe easier. If I had my way, I’d never set foot on Sons territory again, but if I pull back too far my brother will work out something is going on, and he can never know how I was violated by someone I trusted. What would happen to Levi? No one leaves the Sons.
“Brie?”
At the sound of my name, my head snaps around and my stomach sinks the moment I see Sasha walking towards me, Lily-May skipping around the stroller as the little girl plays some imaginary game. I wish I had that innocence again, but now I know how dark the world can be. I’ve stared into the eyes of a monster and felt his coldness lick over my skin. I know the evil that exists.
Sasha is stunningly beautiful with short dark hair that reaches her chin. She’s every inch an old lady in her biker jacket and jeans. People say we look alike, but I don’t see the similarities, other than having the same hair colouring. Sasha is gorgeous. I’m… ordinary.
Discreetly, I put the bottle down at the side of me, trying to tuck it out of sight. The last thing I need is for her to tattle to Levi, but I know she sees it because her shrewd eyes narrow in on it before meeting my gaze.
She doesn’t say anything about it as she parks the stroller at the end of the bench and sits next to me. I don’t meet her eyes, humiliation at being caught rolling through me. Instead, I watch Lily, amazed by how much energy the little girl has. She was near death’s door before she had a desperately needed bone marrow transplant that was given to her by Fury—a man who scares me half to death. I’m not sure how I’d feel knowing I had pieces of him inside my body, but Lily seems to love him. Maybe he’s not as big and bad as he makes out.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt out, not able to stand the growing silence between us.
Sasha squints against the sun, which is starting to warm up as it rises higher on the horizon. Her eyes scan the grass and trees of the park as a couple of joggers move past the bench. Once they’re out of earshot, she speaks.
“I come here most days with Lil. She loves being outside and there isn’t enough room at the compound for her to do what she needs.”
There are a few parks within the Sons territory. It’s just my shitty luck Sasha uses this one, although I’m not sure why I’m surprised. We’re pretty close to their house.
“You want to tell me about the bottle?” she asks after a moment.
My stomach twists unpleasantly. It’s the last thing I want to talk about with her, with anyone. I want to keep my walls up, in place. It’s safer that way.
“Just a bad morning.”
I expect her to chastise me, but her lips lift at the corners. “Had a few of those myself over the years.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah, things with me and Ty weren’t always so good.”
Tyler is Ravage’s real name and Sasha is the only person in the entire club that would get away with calling him that. I don’t think I would have the guts to call him it to his face. He, like Fury, scares the shit out of me.
