Slay (Storm MC #4)

by Nina Levine

  “Good,” I murmured.

  “You calmed down enough to discuss Phil Deacon?”

  “Yeah, what the fuck’s he up to now?”

  “Ben’s been investigating, and has confirmed Phil’s definitely putting a bid in for the Hurley job. Ben’s also been able to confirm Phil’s got you in his sights.”

  I frowned. “How so?”

  “Not sure yet, but he’s told his men anything goes.”

  “Yeah, I bet he has. Keep Ben on him.” I stared at him for a moment. “This is gonna be a fucking cock fight, isn’t it?”

  He grimaced. “Yeah.”

  Just what we fucking need.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Layla

  “Have you heard from him?” Jess asked while she straightened the bottles of alcohol on the shelf behind the bar.

  I watched her from the bar stool I’d sat my ass on fifteen minutes ago. Weariness had claimed me and it was only four in the afternoon. How the hell was I going to make it through the night? “No,” I answered her and did my best to ignore the ache in my heart.

  She jerked her head around to look at me. “Shit, what’s it been now? Like, five days?”

  “Jess, I know you’re obsessively compulsive about those labels facing out but even you’ve taken this too far. This is the third time you’ve done it today and the day’s hardly even begun,” I said, distracting her.

  Glaring at me, she muttered, “Shut up. We hardly have any customers and I get all fidgety when I’m not busy. The fucking labels call to me, and I can’t shut them up.”

  I laughed and held up my hands defensively. “The labels are all yours.”

  “Now answer my question,” she said as she finished with the bottles and gave me her full attention.

  I sighed. “Yes, five days.”

  I miss him.

  “Why don’t you call him? It’s not like you to let a man walk all over you.”

  I sighed. “He’s broken somehow.”

  She shrugged. “So? We all are in our own way, babe.”

  “Yeah, we are, but he’s really struggling with it at the moment I think.”

  “So push him. If you want to pursue something with him, fucking fight for it.”

  “I know I should, but . . . ”

  She cut me off. “No fucking buts, Layla. Either you want him or you don’t. It’s as simple as that. And really, it surprises me that you haven’t confronted him and squeezed his balls till he came to his senses. So unlike you.”

  I leant against the bar to get closer to her, almost like I was sharing a secret. “You know guys . . . some of them fuck you around with bullshit commitment hang-ups or other shit. Donovan’s different. I don’t know how to explain it, but he’s all fucking man . . . I don’t think he has it in him to fuck around with trivial shit like that. The stuff he’s dealing with seems bigger than that, and I feel like he just needs some space to sort through it.”

  She listened to what I said and then moved closer to me. “Okay, I get that, but you should still call him. Let him know you’re here for him. Let him know he’s not alone if he doesn’t want to be.”

  I stared at her.

  Fuck.

  I’ve wasted five days.

  I jumped off the stool and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Eyeing Jess, I said, “Thanks, I needed that pep talk.”

  She waved me away with her hands. “Go. Make the call and leave me to my labels. I think they might have moved while I had my back to them.”

  I grinned at her. “I fucking love you, Jess.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know, you’d be lost without me, right? You just love me for my OCD that keeps your bar in top shape.”

  As I dialled Donovan and placed the phone to my ear to wait for him to answer, I poked my tongue at her. “No, I love you for your wonderful, non-sarcastic outlook on life.”

  She blew me a kiss and I turned to walk out to the back to have this conversation.

  The phone rang.

  And rang.

  And rang.

  And then it went to his voicemail.

  I pressed end without leaving a message.

  Disappointment slapped me in the face.

  Maybe he needs more time.

  Maybe he’s done.

  The phone vibrated in my hand.

  My heart danced to the sound of its ring.

  Caller ID confirmed it.

  Donovan.

  I pressed it to my ear. “Hello.”

  Silence.

  “Donovan?”

  His breathing filled the silence. Ragged. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I paused for a moment, unsure how to proceed. “Are you?”

  Silence.

  And then, “Don’t worry about me.”

  His words sliced sorrow through me. “I do worry about you. And as much as you might not want me to, I won’t stop worrying about you. I’ve given you space but I’m done. I want you, Donovan. I can’t put it into words, but I feel you. And I think you feel me. I think you want this as much as I do. So I’m gonna keep pushing you because, fuck it, life’s too short not to push for what you want.” My heart pulsed, and the apprehension I felt pumped through my veins.

  Silence.

  And then, “Fuck.”

  “I’m here for you,” I whispered.

  “I can’t do this, Layla,” he rasped.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  No.

  I should have known better.

  Anger took over the sadness careening through me. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

  He hissed. “Don’t fucking push this. I’m not who you think I am, and I’ll never be who you need.”

  “How the fuck do you know who I need you to be? You don’t know me well enough to make that call.”

  “I know me. And no one fucking needs what I have to offer,” he said, his torment clear.

  I wanted to shred his words and bandage his damaged soul with love. The self-hatred oozing out of his mouth calmed my anger and fed my desire to pull him into my embrace. “Donovan, I know what I want. I want you in all your fucked-up glory. I want the chance to get to know what that looks like and decide for myself if I can handle it. What I don’t want is you making that choice for me.”

  I heard him suck in a breath and then expel it. “No.”

  He ended the call, and I stared at my phone.

  The first crack hurt like a bitch but I knew, as my heart completely splintered, it would kill like a motherfucker.

  ***

  “Pass me the bottle, bitch.”

  I squinted my eyes at Jess. “Don’t call me names, bish.” I sloshed more vodka into my glass before giving her the bottle. Without waiting for her to pour a drink, I raised my glass. “To men who are stubborn assholes and don’t know a good thing when it’s right in front of them. May they grow some balls and man the fuck up.” I tipped the glass to my lips and downed the whole lot in one go.

  “Jesus, you need to slow down, boss. You’ve been at this for two hours now.”

  She blurred into focus as I tried to look at her. I pushed my glass at her. “Make me some sex,” I slurred.

  She raised her brows. “Wouldn’t it be nice just to be able to make sex like that?”

  “Fuck you. You know what I mean.”

  Shaking her head at me and muttering shit I couldn’t understand, she did as I had asked.

  “Why are men such hard work?” I asked.

  “It’s God’s way of driving women insane, babe. I’m sure it amuses him to no end.”

  “Well, it doesn’t fucking amuse me. And what amuses me even less is that he finally sends me a man I want, like really fucking want, and it turns out the guy’s not fucking interested.”

  She finished making my drink and slid it to me. “Enjoy some sex on the beach, babe. Looks like that’s gonna be the only sex you’ll get in a while.”

  I wanted to poke my tongue at her but I couldn’t
muster the energy. Raising the glass, I said, “To friends who never leave you.” I enjoyed the sweet taste as it slid down my throat. Looking at her, I added, “I think I might love you, bish. You love spending time with me, you do what I say, you make me drinks when I want them and you listen to me whinge. The only thing you don’t do is put out.”

  She sipped her vodka. “Bitch, you pay me to spend time with you, you pay me to do what you say, and, usually, you pay me to make you drinks. Just because you’re not paying me for making these drinks, don’t think tonight means something it doesn’t. And fuck, I’m not sleeping with you, even if you pay me. Okay?”

  I grinned and raised my drink at her. “Don’t try to make out you don’t care. I know you love me, too.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” Looking at her watch, she said, “It’s nearly four am. You do realise I’m sleeping over, don’t you?”

  “Is that what you say to all your dates?”

  “You’re on the couch, babe. I’m taking the bed. Don’t get excited.”

  “Why is it that approximately twelve hours after getting my heart fucked, I feel happy?”

  She laughed. “One, you’ve got me, and you know that makes you a lucky bitch. And two, you’ve had enough alcohol to drown that hurt. In about five hours, your head and your heart are gonna be screaming at you in pain.”

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  Her face grew serious, and she leaned on the bar, and gave me her full attention. “You do know he is interested, right?”

  My heart raced at the thought. “I know he is, but I don’t think he’s even close to admitting it to himself.”

  “Oh no, babe, he’s admitted it to himself. I saw that in his face the night I spoke to him about you. But something’s holding him back and that’s what you have to figure out if you’re ever going to get him to take the next step.”

  “I don’t know how to do that if he won’t see me or even talk to me.” I hated feeling like a whiny bitch. I didn’t do this shit. If a guy wasn’t interested, I moved the fuck on, but Donovan had me all tied up in fucking knots. And he was the only one who could free me.

  “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a matter of sitting back and waiting now. You’ve let him know how you feel, so he’s got all the information he needs to know you’ll be here for him when he’s ready. He’s just got to wade through his shit first.”

  “Yeah, well, I hope he doesn’t take too long to do that.”

  She winked at me. “You and me both. You’re a cranky bitch when you’re not getting any.”

  “Fuck you.”

  She burst out laughing and I couldn’t help but laugh with her.

  Thank god for good friends.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blade

  I stared at my computer screen, not seeing anything as the words all ran together.

  Seven days since I’ve seen her.

  I pushed my chair back and stood. The need to escape the suffocation of my office had taken over, and I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I reached for my car keys, shut the laptop and strode out to find Merrick.

  He looked up from his desk when I entered his office. “You leaving?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Your headache back?”

  I shook my head. “No, thank fuck. I just need to get out.”

  “Maybe you should take a couple of days off,” he suggested.

  Christ, that was the last thing I needed. Time to think? Fuck no.

  “No, I’ll be back in the morning. Besides, we need to finalise some things on the bid for the Hurley job and I want to get that done tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I drove straight home even though the pull to Layla’s bar had me in its grip. After our phone call two days ago, I’d emptied a bottle of scotch and fought the desire to go to her. She thought she wanted me but if she knew how deep my darkness ran, she’d run a fucking mile. I refused to let her start something that could only end in ruin.

  When I pulled into my street, I was surprised to see a woman leaning against a car parked in my driveway. I took in the tight jeans, knee-high black boots, the black singlet with a skull on the front and boobs on display.

  Fuck.

  Sharon Cole.

  This couldn’t be good.

  I parked my car next to hers and got out. She watched me with trepidation. My gaze shifted to the bruise on her cheek.

  Fucking Marcus.

  Walking to her, I said, “Sharon.”

  “Blade.”

  I opened my palms in question. “We’ve never spoken. Why now?”

  She jerked her head towards the house. “Can we go inside?”

  I put my hand out indicating for her to lead the way. As I followed her, I couldn’t help but think about the differences between Sharon and my mother. From what I could work out, Marcus had chosen completely different women to spend his life with. Sharon appeared to be a very confident, ballsy woman who didn’t mind putting herself on display. My mother, on the other hand, struggled with self-confidence, doubted herself at all turns and hid herself away. Such extremes.

  We made it into my lounge room and I asked her the question again. “What’s going on?”

  A nervous energy surrounded her. “Is your mother seeing my husband again?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “I think that either has changed or will change.”

  I weighed my options before settling on one. “I don’t believe it will change, but not because Marcus isn’t pushing for it.”

  My words pierced her. I saw the evidence on her face, and in the way her breathing changed. Fuck, why do these women fall at his fucking feet?

  Her hand went to her chest, and she grabbed at her singlet in an anxious manner. “I’ve suspected it for a while now. Thank you for confirming it.”

  “Why do you stay with him?”

  Her eyes widened. “I love him,” she whispered.

  My anger flared, and I didn’t try to hide it. “How the fuck can you love a man who hits you, has cheated on you for years, and who lies to you repeatedly?”

  The nervousness slid off her face and she put on the mask I assumed she used when defending her choice of Marcus. “My relationship with Marcus is not one I expect anyone to understand, let alone you.”

  “You talk a good game, Sharon, but you don’t fool me. You need to remember one thing: we’re both intimate with the evil of Marcus Cole. If anyone can understand your relationship with him, it’s me.”

  “No one can - ”

  The headache I’d managed to rid myself of crashed its way back into my skull, and the anger that talking about my father caused collided with the pain in my head. I finally lost my shit. “I fucking can!” I thundered. My skin heated with crazed madness and my heart thumped in my chest. “You think you’re the only one who ever wanted to be loved by Marcus? You think you’re the only one who craved his presence in their life? Fuck! I fucking get it. But he will never love us or anyone the way we want, the way we fucking deserve, because Marcus Cole exists to please only one person. Him-fucking-self.”

  She stood staring at me with wild eyes, and I watched as the mask tumbled off her face.

  We faced each other, two broken and scarred people, fucked up by the same man, and I felt a shift inside me.

  Something had cracked.

  A realisation.

  I’d uttered the truth when I said Marcus would never love us.

  A truth I’d never wanted to admit out loud.

  I’d buried that truth so fucking deep in my soul and refused to believe it.

  There was no more hiding from it now.

  “I love him, and I can’t stop,” she whispered. “I know it makes no sense, but I’ve always loved him, even through all the shit.”

  I stared at her and waited for more.

  “In the beginning, he wasn’t like he is now, not this bad. Then we had Scott, and, at the same time, shit went down
at the club. It was a blood bath as they battled a war with Black Deeds and shed members with no loyalty. Marcus changed through all of that, hardened, and became more violent. He also began seeing your mother around that time, and I suspect he took most of his anger out on her because he was leaving me alone back then. My father was still around and kept an eye on him.”

  “So you knew he was cheating on you?”

  “He always had, but I didn’t care. I grew up around the club and knew it was just part of the lifestyle.”

  I stared at her. Stunned a woman would accept that for herself. “Were there other women besides my mother?”

  “From what I could work out, one or two, but not really. As his duties at the club increased, he didn’t really have the time.”

  I took a breath and asked the one question I’d always wanted to know the answer to. “Did Marcus abuse your kids?”

  “No!”

  “Why not? He never hesitated to take to me with his fists if he was in the mood.” I didn’t believe her.

  “Blue helped me. After Dad died, he stepped up and looked out for us. Marcus only began hitting me after Blue left.”

  Fuck.

  Blue.

  “Who is Blue?”

  “My brother.”

  Fuck, under our noses all this fucking time.

  “Why did he leave?”

  “It was after his girlfriend died of a drug overdose. Something happened between him and Marcus. Blue knew something, I don’t know what, but it was enough to force Marcus to get the club out of drugs. Blue always hated they were into that.”

  “Blue blackmailed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where he is now?”

  “No, he never tells me.”

  He knows Marcus would kill him if he found him.

  “How often do you hear from him?”

  She shrugged. “Every couple of months.”

  “Does Blue know Marcus has pulled Storm back into drugs?”

  “I haven’t spoken to him for a while now, so unless he’s heard it from someone else, I don’t think so.”

  We need to get that information to him somehow.

  I stared at her. I struggled to understand what made a woman still want her husband even after she knew all this shit about him. I could grasp her falling for him when she was younger, but how could she still love what he’d become? “Don’t you think it’s time you started putting yourself first, Sharon?”