by Jc Emery
I squeeze my index finger around the trigger of my .38 and focus on finding the right shot, but I’m too late. Junior’s body hits the floor, and it’s only then that I realize that Trigger’s put his gun away and charged at him. He’s on top of Junior and delivering blow after blow to the kid’s face. I put my gun in the holster and run into the small room. I move to help Princess, but Trigger jumps off Junior and scampers over to her and cuts off her bindings to free her from the chair.
“They’re in here!” I shout loudly and send Bear to get the rest of the guys. Ian moves over to Junior and stares down at him. I don’t move out of respect for this moment. Near my feet, Trigger’s got Princess as she’s slumped into his lap. Tears have pooled in his eyes and fall down his face. There’s only a few of them before they’re gone and he stands with her in his arms.
“I got you, baby,” he says to her in a voice so fucking soft that I wouldn’t have known it’s him if I hadn’t seen his lips moving.
“My brother,” she screams and starts to fight against his hold on her. Even after everything he’s done to her and she gives a shit about him? Jesus, that’s love.
He says, “He’s alive,” and holds Princess tightly to his chest. Though the tears have dried, the pain that shows in his features cuts me deep. Slowly, he walks out of the small room with his girl in his arms. His lower lip quivers just once before he rights himself. I turn and watch them leave. For a guy who doesn’t show much emotion, if any, he’s letting the club see him in a very vulnerable place. When he passes Grady, he stares him in the eyes and lets his lip shake one more time, then he keeps going. Jim places a hand on Trigger’s back and gives it a pat as he walks out. Jim fights to keep his expression neutral, but the daggers he’s shooting Grady are obvious as fuck. Jim’s the club president and all, but he’s a father first, and he’s never let his men forget that. The sorrow that shows on his face at seeing his only blood child carry the girl he’s begun to consider a daughter to safety is palatable.
In the corner, Ian has finally moved. He’s bent down placed his boot over Junior’s neck. He’s got that gold gun in his hand and is waving it in front of Junior’s face. I signal at Bear and Fish, who rush over and pull Ian off of him then grab a hold of Junior. He kicks and fights like hell, but Fish leans in and pops him across the face, which knocks him out. I grab Ian, who still stands motionless in that fucked up place as he stares down at his half brother.
“It’s okay,” I say quietly to him and give his arm a shake. With a pale face and wide eyes, he looks at me and shakes his head.
“He beat her,” he says in astonishment. I nod sadly. We all knew this shit was going to be tough for him. These may be his siblings, but he barely knows them. His entire life’s been fucked up since he was a kid because his mom hooked up with Mancuso. I wait until Bear and Fish get Junior’s limp body out of the room and close to the side door we came in before I let go of Ian’s arm.
“You need a minute?” I ask him. He nods and turns away from me. More than any of us guys, this is personal for Ian. Even more personal than it is for Trigger and Jim. Trigger told me once that Ian remembers Ruby being pregnant with the twins, and he remembers them being born. And as fucked as it is, he remembers the day Mancuso took them away, which is the same day he got that scar that runs from his ear to the corner of his eye. I wait in the middle room with my back to Ian to give him some privacy.
Screaming, he kicks and hits at the walls in the room. I can hear the chair cracking and a frustrated grunt. I peek back just a second to make sure he’s okay, and when I do I find him on the ground with his head in his hands. He’s taking deep breath after deep breath, willing himself to calm down. Another minute passes and he stands. I look back at the side door as he approaches. He clasps a hand over my shoulder and strides out in front of me.
I rush to catch up to the guys and slide into the back seat of Ruby’s Suburban. Trigger’s in the middle with Princess curled up in his lap. He’s whispering sweet things to her as I slide in. Her eyes are all fucked up, and she can’t see much of anything. “It’s just me, Princess,” I say and shut the door as quietly as I can.
Ian sits on Trigger’s other side and says, “It’s Ian. You’re safe.”
Jim’s already in the driver’s seat. He looks back in the mirror and winces at the sight before him. She’s seriously fucked up, that’s for sure. It’ll be a fucking miracle if she doesn’t have any internal bleeding.
“You’re okay, kid,” Jim says and clears his throat. He may be a dick of epic proportions at times, but there’s no doubt that he loves his family. Jim’s expression changes in the mirror, and he smiles just slightly with his eyes cast down. I look at Trigger and Princess to try to figure out what he’s seeing. Trigger’s got his pinky wrapped around Princess’s, and damn if it doesn’t feel good to see that.
“It’s just a scratch,” Princess mumbles. I can’t help but laugh, because if I don’t I might cry like a fucking bitch.
“Shit, you got balls, babe,” I say. Trigger turns to glare at me, and I just smile at him. As fucked in the head as he is, I think he’s going to be okay. He’s got the one thing I want that I don’t have—he’s tied to someone now. He can bullshit about it and say whatever he wants. Princess has balls all right, and now she’s got Trigger’s, too. For the first time in hours, I breathe a sigh of relief. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I pull up NIC in my contacts and start typing on the touch screen.
TKNG CARE OF CLUB SHIT. NEED 2 C U.
She doesn’t respond, but I don’t give up hope. I hold the phone in my hand and keep checking it for a message I might have missed. But no message, no phone call—absolutely nothing—comes in. I force myself to ignore the panic that creeps in and stare out the window as we pull down the long driveway to Jim and Ruby’s house, where Doctor James’s white Lexus sits parked by the garage.
Chapter 18
Nic
I stare at my phone, worried as all get out because he hasn’t responded in the last two days. I guess it’s payback for the bullshit I’ve been pulling the past few weeks—I just didn’t know what else to do.
U OK? I text to Duke, and, like an idiot, I wait with the phone in my hands, for a response that won’t come.
It’s the sixth message I’ve sent. I just want to know that he’s safe and he’s fine. I’m halfway to not even caring what he’s doing. At least if he’s on a pussy bender, I can be pissed at him and end this. But he’d be safe and I’d know he was safe, and I wouldn’t be freaking the hell out over his safety. We talked a few days ago for all of two minutes. He said he was taking care of some bad shit and would be out of town for a few days, but I needed to talk to him. Karma is one mean bitch, and I have this coming to me.
After the night he crawled into my bed and made love to me—because there’s no mistaking that’s what it was—and I’d realized we hadn’t used a condom, I began thinking back to the other times we’d had sex. I could only remember us using a condom twice, and now I’m not even sure about that first time. I had every intention of getting Plan B at the pharmacy, but the fifty dollar price tag was too much for my bank account to take, and after I’d flipped out on Duke, I couldn’t bring myself to ask him for the money.
I’ve always tried to be diligent about my birth control pills, but usually rely on condoms just in case because my schedule is so hectic that I never seem to be able to take the pill at the same time every day. Lost Girls fuck up all the time. It’s the nature of the lifestyle—you get fucked up and then fuck. We should probably get some kind of group rate at Planned Parenthood or something.
I call his cell, but he doesn’t answer. It goes to his voice mail on the first ring, so his phone is off, and the mailbox is full. Shoving the useless goddamn device back in my purse, I look out the windshield of my car and blow out a heavy breath. Starting the car up, I pull out of the parking lot of the restaurant I met Darren and drive home at a snail’s pace. Dinner ran later than I wanted it to. He had little informat
ion on my dad and spent way too long talking about how we were in high school. I tried to gently guide him back on topic, but it was hard. As much as I want to believe the club is taking care of my dad, I can’t be sure. When I mentioned his parole being denied, Duke didn’t say shit about it. It was like he didn’t care. So, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to hear what Darren had to say—well, it could hurt—but helping my dad is worth the risk. Or it was.
Because now that it’s been a week since I’ve seen Duke and every good intention I had for the last week completely fell apart, I’ve slipped into a hole that I don’t think I can get out of. Aside from waiting for Duke to let me know he’s okay, I’ve been waiting on my period that’s two weeks late. And like a fool, I’ve yet to give up hope that either are going to show up sometime soon. But because I’m a pessimist, I picked up a test at the store after work last night. I’ve just been too scared to take it yet.
Pulling up to the house, I push all of my fears aside. Right there in front of the garage is Duke’s bike. He hasn’t been home this early in weeks, so this is unexpected. Good, but unexpected. Despite the potential major life-changing problem I’m avoiding, things have been really good between us. It’s probably that really good that’s led me to where I am now. We’ve been reckless a number of times, and the times I try to be on top of things, Duke only half complies. One time he even took the condom off halfway through, but my mind had been so jumbled by that time, and he felt so good and so bare, and him wanting to be that close to me made me a fucking idiot. And I didn’t make him stop.
I put the car in park and cut it off. Without thinking about it, my hand finds its way to my stomach and I let my head fall against the back of the seat. I can’t feel anything but my flat stomach. Not that I expect to feel something. Shit. My brain is so totally messed up over this crap that I barely know if I’m coming or going anymore.
Feeling like a moron, I crawl out of my car and walk up to the house. The front door is unlocked, which is abnormal. After that night, weeks ago, when Duke surprised me in the middle of the night by coming in and making love to me, he had Jeremy make him a copy of the house key. Inside, the house is dead silent and pitch black. I hold tight to my keys just in case something’s wrong, and I close the door as quietly behind me as I can. Slowly, I walk past the living room and the kitchen and down the hallway to my bedroom. The door is closed, which makes sense if Duke’s home. And he is. His bike is outside. My imagination is just running wild.
Opening the door to the room, I find yet another darkened space. A hulking figure sits at the foot of the bed, hunched over and perfectly still. My nerves calm at the sight. I can’t make him out in the darkness, not really anyway, but I can sense that it’s him. And who else would be in the house, anyway? I flip on the light and still at the sight.
Wearing his black boots and a pair of blue jeans with a black tee shirt, and his blond hair is falling in his face, Duke looks up. His elbows rest on his knees. When his eyes meet mine, they’re pained and red with irritation from being touched too much. He’s covered in motor oil and a thin sheen of sweat, but that’s not what makes my heart lurch.
Streaks of blood are smeared over his cheeks and up and down his arms, on his shirt and his jeans, and even in his hair.
All worries about being pregnant fly out of my head, and I drop my purse to the floor and rush over to him.
“It’s not my blood,” he says and reaches out for me. I slam into him and crawl into his lap as his arms wrap around my torso, smearing the blood onto my clothes and skin. I run my fingers through his hair, tip his head back so he can look at me, and study his face.
“Tell me you’re okay,” I demand on a whisper.
“I’m not hurt,” he says. I let my eyes fall closed for a moment then lean in and rest my forehead against his.
“Not the same thing, baby,” I say, holding him close.
“Club shit we gotta talk about,” he says. His hands skim my sides so lightly it tickles, but I fight to avoid moving. “Bad shit’s gone down, baby. Told you Princess ain’t who you think she is, but you know that now seein’ as you somehow made friends with her.” This is true. I wasn’t happy the first time Alex showed up at Universal Grounds with Ruby, but after thinking it over, I decided that the best way to deal with your competition is to know your competition— not that I worry about that anymore. But at the time it was critical. In the few times we’ve hung out, I’ve mentioned Duke once or twice. Her nose always turns up. which tells me all I need to know. No way if she’d had his dick would she look that annoyed at the mention of his name.
“The short history is that Jim promised Ruby he’d always keep her kids safe. Princess wasn’t safe. so we went and got her,” he says.
“Why wasn’t she safe?” I ask. I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask or even what I should be asking. Duke’s lips turn down into a pout
“The Italian mob doesn’t really like it when you give them up to the cops,” he says. My stomach drops. and I let my head fall against his shoulder. “Wasn’t right to tell you before now—the nickname Princess? She’s what they call the Principessa to the Mancuso crime family. Lesson, babe. Doesn’t matter who your daddy is if you’re a snitch.” I suck in a breath of air. but it doesn’t feel like I’m breathing. Alex is a snitch? There’s so much running through my head right now that I force myself to stop trying to process it all.
“Mancuso’s locked up. and so are most of his higher ranking men, but he’s got guys with something to prove. Couple of ‘em made a trip out here, they ambushed us at the house—took Princess. One of ‘em was her brother—her twin brother.” Not knowing what to say, I rub my hands up and down his arms. This is serious shit, and on top of it, it’s serious club shit. This isn’t the kind of stuff he wouldn’t tell me if he didn’t trust me. Sharing club business with me is huge.
His body tenses as he recalls the scene in the warehouse when he arrived. Alex was being beaten, and according to Duke there was so much blood he didn’t even know if she was going to make it. I’ve seen him since the night he says this all happened, but it’s been brief. Usually I’m in a deep sleep by the time he comes home. and he goes straight to the shower. Most nights he takes me slowly, but sometimes he’s so on edge I have to ask him to be careful. Used to be, he’d be home every night, but lately it’s been less frequent.
“Her brother—he’s Ruby’s son,” I say, stating the obvious. He blows out a deep breath and nods.
“Club voted. We give Junior the same protection we’re giving Princess. Don’t like it. He fucked her up good. Kept thinking how Trigger had to feel—how I’d feel if I were him and it were you,” he says with a strained voice. When he looks me in the eyes, his are watery and they dart from side to side almost maniacally.
“It wasn’t me,” I say. I try to keep my voice soothing and gentle because right now my man needs gentle. “She okay?” He lets out a hearty laugh that sounds hollow.
“Kid’s a fuckin’ trooper,” he says. “I’ve never seen anyone take a beating the way she did.” Then he sobers and looks me straight in the eyes. “She could have died.”
“What is it with you and this girl?” I ask. I try to backtrack, but it’s too late. I just hope it doesn’t come out as accusing as it sounds in my head.
“Way she looks at Trigger, like he’s her lifeline—like he’s the only thing that’s stopping her entire world from spinning? It’s crazy. and I don’t get it. Guy’s a prick,” he says horsely. Giving me a slight squeeze, he clears his throat and says, “But you gave yourself to me, and every day you give me a little more. First fuckin’ time in my life, Nicole, and everything is fucking still. Nothing spins.”
The gravity of his words hit me in the center of my entire goddamn being. Because, well, damn.
Nothing spins.
“There’s stuff I gotta say,” I whisper. My eyes are wide, my heart’s about to beat out of my chest, and it’s only when I open my mouth that I realize what we’ve been building up to. I
’d say I love him, but those words are such bullshit. I open my mouth only to close it twice before I realize the only thing I need to say right now is what’s already been said.
“Nothing spins,” I whisper. He’s given me solid ground for the first time in years. When I’m with him. I know I’m wanted and I’m cared for, but even more than that—I’m respected. The way his hands travel my body and he listens to the things I say should have told me this before now.
Nothing spins.
The weight of my fears presses down on my chest, not crushing, just hard enough to remind me that we need to talk. And for the first time I think that just maybe it’s all gonna be okay if those fears are realized. Because if his world’s stopped spinning and so has mine, then maybe I want it to be true and I want things more permanent with him.
Slowly, I crawl off his lap despite his protests, which I shush into silence, and, taking his hand, I lead him into the bathroom with me. I turn on the shower and then turn back to Duke.
He hasn’t moved from the spot I left him in. Reaching up, I take off his cut and place it on the sink. Then I remove his tee shirt. When I unclasp his belt, I can feel him growing beneath the jeans, and when I drag the zipper down, I notice he’s throbbing.
“Get it off your chest, baby. You need to talk it out, so you talk it out,” I say. He says nothing as he watches me slide his jeans down and then take off his boots and socks. When his jeans are pooled at his feet, I slowly drag his boxers down. Still, he says nothing. I stand up and place my hands on his chest and look him firm in the eyes and say, “Let me take care of you.”
And it’s all he needs to start talking as I undress myself. Everything from how they took Michael, Alex’s brother and the guy he calls Junior, to a safe house out of town—which is where he’s spent most of his waking hours. He’s all fucked up over Michael and the things he’s been saying. Duke doesn’t feel right about ignoring him like Ryan’s ordered him to. Not that Ryan can order Duke around, so he’s thinking of taking Michael seriously and talking to Jim about it. As he talks, I walk him into the steamy shower. When he’s inside he tells me how Michael flipped out and attacked one of the prospects and Duke had to intervene.
