by Nina Levine
I pull my wrist from his hold and bury my gaze in the file. I’ll read it all right. I’ll memorise the shit out of it, because if I know my husband, I know there’ll likely be a pop fucking quiz on it later. And not passing his damn quiz is something I don’t want to do. Not when he’s on edge like this.
15
Gunnar
Christ, this is fucked up. I don’t know why I hadn’t clued on to the fact Chelsea and her fucking husband would be travelling with her father this week. I’d assumed that because she works, she wouldn’t be on this trip. If there’s one fucking thing Chelsea’s taught me, it’s that I should never fucking assume anything.
We picked up her parents after leaving her place and then drove to the hotel we’re staying at tonight. Hearst’s security guy who I’m with is a fucking dick. He seems pissed that Griff and I are here. It’s the only thing we have in common. If I make it through this week without punching him, it’ll be a fucking miracle.
“Tom and I will watch from the stage while Novak gives his speech,” the dickhead says to Griff and me before the dinner starts. “You two keep watch from the door.”
Griff nods. He’s just as annoyed to be on this trip as I am. Not that he’s said it, but I know his tells after working closely with him for years.
“You doing okay?” Griff asks after they leave us.
I run my gaze over the crowd filling the room. “Don’t worry about me, brother. I can handle these assholes.”
“It’s not them I’m worried about.”
I look at him. He’s watching me closely; he knows the deal here. “Yeah, me either,” I admit. There’s no point trying to fool Griff.
“You think you’ll last the week?”
“I’ll do my fucking best.”
I catch sight of Chelsea and Hearst walking our way and wish I fucking didn’t. That long red dress she’s wearing that hugs her tits and waist sends me close to the edge of insanity. It’s Hearst’s hand in hers, though, that pushes me right to the edge. The motherfucker holds her like he fucking owns her.
His eyes meet mine, and I don’t miss the smug look of satisfaction. He might not have wanted me here, but he’s sure as fuck making the most of it.
Chelsea doesn’t look at me or acknowledge me in any way as they glide past us. She hasn’t made eye contact with me since I arrived at her place earlier today. It pisses me off that she ignores me, and then that fucking pisses me off too.
We said we were fucking done. I need to get myself on fucking board with that.
Novak and his wife walk past, drawing my attention from their daughter. Griff moves next to me after Novak enters the room. “I’m gonna keep an eye on things outside.”
I nod, and we move into our positions. I haven’t seen anyone suspect looking yet, but assholes can hide in suits, behind smiles, so who the fuck knows who’s already here.
Three hours pass without incident. Three long fucking hours where I wonder how I’ll get through more of these events. I struggle to keep my eyes off Chelsea. Every time I think I’m good, there she fucking is, popping up talking to another person here. She’s got this schmoozing thing mastered. It’s no wonder her father uses her at these things.
When it’s time for them to leave, Griff and I follow them to the lifts, staying at the back of the group and keeping an eye out for threats.
Hearst places his hand to the small of Chelsea’s back and guides her into the lift. Watching the two of them together tonight has been hell. They’re sickeningly fucking sweet with each other, something the public laps up.
“I’ll go up with them. You stay with Novak,” Griff says. He’s a smart fucking man.
Chelsea’s eyes finally meet mine as the lift door closes, and I’m fucking annoyed with myself for feeling something when they do.
How fucking long will it take to stop wanting her?
We’re up early the next morning and on the road by 7:00 a.m. Novak has appearances throughout the day on the Sunshine Coast, and then this afternoon, we’re heading up to Gympie for a dinner tonight.
We make it through the day without any problems and check into the Gympie motel just before 3:00 p.m. Novak and Hearst hole up in a room together. I overhear Hearst telling Chelsea they aren’t to be interrupted under any circumstance as they have a lot of stuff to go over. She appears to barely pay any attention to him. She then disappears into the room next door.
Hearst’s security guys stay outside the motel rooms while Griff and I check the outside perimeter of the motel. We’ve been out here for an hour when he says, “I’ve gotta make a call. I’ll be back soon.”
He leaves me with my thoughts, which I’m trying like fuck to ignore. It’s a good thing this week is heavy on activity; it’ll help keep me focussed on something other than those thoughts.
I’m in the middle of telling myself to shut my damn brain off when Chelsea exits the motel and walks in the opposite direction of where I am. She’s wearing her running clothes, and I’m fucking wondering who approved her to go running when her husband seems dead fucking set on keeping eyes on the family at all times. The fact no one is with her forces me to check in on her, something I’d rather not fucking do.
“Chelsea,” I call as I head in her direction.
She stops but doesn’t turn to look at me. Not straight away. I’m halfway to her when she finally turns.
“Where are you going?” I ask when I reach her.
“For a run.”
“Hearst know about this?”
She scowls. “I’m not asking him. You heard him. He doesn’t want to be interrupted.”
I have no fucking clue why she’s scowling at me all pissed off when all I did was ask her a question. “Yeah, but you can bet your ass he wouldn’t want you out here by yourself.”
“Well that’s too fucking bad for him.”
I work my jaw. “What’s with the attitude, Mayfair? I’m just trying to do my fucking job here.”
She looks away for a moment before bringing her eyes back to mine. “You need to go home, Mason.”
I agree with her, but it pisses me off that she thinks I can just do that. If it wasn’t for her fucking father and husband, I wouldn’t have to be here in the first place. “Trust me, I fucking wish I could, but I can’t. So how about you do me a fucking favour and go back inside?”
Her glare could kill a man. “For fuck’s sake, fine,” she snaps before stalking away from me, back into the motel.
I watch her go, trying like fuck to keep my eyes off her ass and failing.
It’s going to be a long fucking week.
16
Chelsea
I slam the door to my room behind me as I stalk in after leaving Mason. My body is filled with angry energy that I need to get out, and he’s just killed my attempt at that. I know he’s just doing his job, but still, I’m annoyed with him for stopping me.
Really, though, I’m pissed off with Joe and just taking it out on Mason. It’s safer to take it out on him; Joe is far too unpredictable to keep arguing with.
Stripping out of my running gear, I find my swimmers. I’ll do laps of the pool instead.
Ten minutes later, I’m in the pool and finally able to zone out and just focus on physical activity.
I don’t know how long I’ve been swimming when I look up and find Joe standing at the end of the pool watching me. Stopping, I pull off my goggles and look at him, waiting for him to speak.
“You need to get ready for dinner. We have to leave in forty minutes.” His body language and tone let me know how unimpressed he is to find me out here.
I nod and lift myself out of the pool, ignoring the way Joe’s eyes rake over my body. He doesn’t make a move to walk with me, and when I’m almost at the pool gate, he says, “We won’t be having a repeat of last night, Chelsea.”
I miss taking a breath as my feet slow.
I refused to fuck him last night and he wasn’t happy about it.
Glancing back at him, I say, “Are you go
ing to be nice to me tonight?” The fire I’m playing with is far too hot, but damn if I’m going to let him force me into this. Sex has been the one area in our relationship that he hasn’t truly forced yet. Sure, I’ve slept with him when I didn’t want to, but we’ve never had non-consensual sex. However, I’m no fool. Joe’s edgy at the moment, and I sense he’s close to breaking point with me. I’m worried the bedroom might be the place that happens, so I’m staying vigilant and trying not to show my fear. The minute he sees that is the minute every last scrap of power transfers to him.
He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he closes the distance between us and says, “You’re my wife and I expect you to act like one.”
I bite my tongue. Like, literally bite it. That doesn’t work, though. “And you’re a fucking asshole. Honestly, this marriage could have gone in a whole different direction. You could have played nice and I would have too, and we could have had all the sex you ever wanted.”
His eyes flash with fury. “That would never have happened. Not when you still want that fucking biker.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t still want that biker if my husband had made me fall in love with him.”
“You’re playing a dangerous fucking game here, Chelsea.”
“I know. And maybe I’ll keep playing it because either way, I’m screwed.”
His jaw clenches. “You need to go and get ready.”
“Yeah, I do.”
I turn and continue to our room, taking deep, steadying breaths as I walk. God knows I need them after that. I try hard not to show my fear of Joe, but my husband scares me more than I care to admit.
After growing up with a father who hit me, I swore I’d never be with a man like him, and yet here I am. Living with a monster who I know I haven’t fully met. I might tell Joe I’ll keep playing this dangerous game, but deep down, in the places I’ve relegated my terror to, I falter every time he comes near.
My husband does not love me, and in my darkest moments when I allow myself to acknowledge it, I’m terrified of what the monster might do.
The next two days pass by in a blur of engagements. They also pass by with me in a state of “what the hell is my life.” Between my husband’s moods and Mason’s hostility that I can feel even though we’re barely near each other, I’m all over the place, flustered and annoyed. Dad’s the only one actually being nice to me, which only serves to confuse me more. It’s like the universe took all my manifesting I’ve been doing for months and decided to send me a big “fuck you” instead. Like it decided I need to walk across fire some more before it decides which way my life should go.
Thursday rolls around and I wake up exhausted.
Physically and mentally.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
Joe’s nowhere to be seen, which pleases me and gives me some much-needed breathing space.
I take a long shower before dressing and doing my make-up and hair. Joe returns to the room as I’m finishing up with my hair. We’ve not spoken a great deal since Monday afternoon by the pool. We also haven’t had sex. That actually keeps me on edge rather than making me happy. Joe acting not like Joe causes me alarm. I’m waiting for the penny to drop as to why he’s acting this way.
“Change of plans for today,” he says. “We’ve cancelled lunch so your father and I can take care of something. You and your mother will meet us in Rockhampton this afternoon.”
Today is shaping up to be my favourite day this week. “Okay.”
I continue fiddling with my hair.
“One other thing,” he says, and I still, knowing by the commanding tone of his voice that I’m not going to like it. “Things are going so well that your father’s moving up the timeline for the start of his campaign.”
“And?” I hold my breath. It’s what he’s not saying that is important here.
The penny finally drops as he says, “He wants you full-time on this.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me, Chelsea.”
“You’re serious?”
He looks at me like he has very little patience left for me. “I’m always serious. You should know that by now.”
I feel like I’m trying desperately to suck air in through a straw. Like I can’t get the oxygen I need fast enough. He’s telling me I have to quit my job, and I know that neither he nor my father will accept anything less than my compliance. They’ll threaten Mason and his club. Their winning card for every game we play that they refuse to lose.
I press my lips together hard as I allow my hatred to consume me.
It rages through me like a savage storm.
Howling, gusting, violent.
“I fucking hate you. I’ll give you what you want because you’ll only threaten Mason and the club again if I don’t, but just know that this changes everything between us. Everything.”
“This changes nothing between us, Chelsea. Don’t be dramatic.”
My anger seeps from my chest to my veins, to my muscles, to my bones. It fills every inch of me so deeply I won’t ever be able to rid myself of it. I want to lash out. I want to pummel my fists into his face and his chest and his entire fucking body. How anyone can be so cruel and controlling is beyond me.
“It does, Joe. Every-fucking-thing.” I grab my purse and phone and stalk to the door.
“Where are you going?”
I look back at him. “Out. I need to get as far away from you as possible.”
“Chelsea,” he starts, but I cut him off.
“No. Fuck you. I’m going out, and you’re not fucking stopping me. I’ll see you in Rockhampton this afternoon.”
With that, I yank the door open and exit in a furious rush of energy.
I fucking hate him.
I’ve never fucking hated anyone like I hate him.
I blindly run past the cars parked in the motel car park, my mind in such a mess that I pay no attention to anyone or anything. It’s not until I reach the road outside the motel and run smack bang into a hard chest that my awareness of the world around me returns.
Strong hands grip my biceps and steady me at the same time Mason’s deep voice rumbles, “The fuck are you going in such a hurry?”
I look up at him, struggling to push my asshole husband and what he’s forcing me to do from my brain. Yanking out of his hold, I try to move past him.
“I asked you a fucking question, Chelsea. I expect a fucking answer.”
I spin to face him, angered that he sounds just like Joe with his goddamn expectations. “You wanna talk to me like that, Mason, you can shove your fucking expectations. You’re not getting an answer.”
His eyes darken and he comes closer to me. “What the fuck has gotten into you?”
I throw up my arms. “All of you! You’ve all gotten into me.” I push him away because he’s too fucking close. “So do me a favour and leave me the hell alone!”
His hand flicks out and he snaps it around my wrist as I attempt to walk away from him. Leaning in close, he says, “Leaving you the hell alone is exactly what I want to do, Mayfair. Un-fucking-fortunately I’m fucking stuck here, and if I don’t keep you safe, my club’ll have my ass. So get yours the fuck back inside and give me a fucking break for once.”
I glare at him, anger and hate rolling through me. “I can’t believe I ever loved you.”
His lips smash together and his breaths come harder as he stares at me. “That fucking makes two of us.”
He releases me and steps away, watching me with a hard look that roars just how much he wants me out of his sight. I hate that he’s looking at me like that, and I hate the fact I hate it.
“I should just let them do what they want to you and your club,” I snap before marching back into the motel.
My husband is standing on the road watching every step I take his way. His pissed-off body language and expression make it clear he watched my encounter with Mason. I don’t care, though. I don’t care about anything right now except showing him how fucking upset
I am with his order to quit my job.
It’s a long day. Maybe the longest day of my life. Actually, no, that was my wedding day. I never want to re-live either of them.
Joe is nowhere to be seen when I arrive in Rockhampton. Neither is Mason, who left with Dad and Joe this morning. I spent the day with my mother who prattled on about some charity gala she’s helping organise and a party she wants me to help her plan when we get back home. I struggle to keep up with the conversation. I want to ask her how the hell she can stay married to a man like my father. I haven’t spoken to him yet about my job, but I know he’s behind this decision to force me to resign. I’ve seen his latest approval ratings and they’ve improved greatly this week. It seems the public likes a close-knit family like ours. Except we aren’t and never will be. If I had my way, I’d tear us apart today. I’d scatter us far and wide and never look back. But I can’t do that because that would be signing Mason’s future away, and as much as I tell myself I hate Mason, I don’t, and I could never allow my father to do the things to him that he’s threatened.
So here I am, stuck. However, something deep inside me snapped this morning, shifting my perspective. Joe might have finally crushed my spirit, but in its place is a furious need to show them they don’t fully control me. I might have to play nice most of the time, but not all the fucking time.
After I dump my suitcase in the hotel room, I head back outside to Griff, who drove Mum and I here. He’s leaning against the wall of the hotel corridor, on the phone. He ends his call as soon as he sees me. “You good?” he asks.
“Yeah, are you free to drive me to the hairdresser?”
He pushes off the wall. “Sure. Now?”
I nod, and we head down to the hotel car park. Griff opens the back door of the Range Rover to let me in. I really like Griff; I always have. I met him a few times while I was with Mason, and he might give off a vibe that says “careful with me,” but he’s always been a gentleman to me. People assume bikers don’t have that in them, but I’d choose any of the Storm men as friends over most of the men I meet in my life. They might be rough around the edges and foul-mouthed, but I trust them a hell of a lot more than I trust my father and his people.
