“It wasn’t the first time.” The lump on the bed doesn’t move, but I know he’s listening so I continue. “What we walked in on was the worst time, but it wasn’t the first. That was when she took him home during your eighteenth birthday party.”
“No way.” Benji shifts until he’s lying on his side facing me. “How do you know?”
It takes me a second to meet his gaze. Deliberate disbelief covers his face. He’s trying not to let the clues that we missed back then slide into place. “Lainey told me. All of it. It started on your birthday and ended the night our flight was cancelled and we walked in on them.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed and drop my head into my hands. Staring at the floor, I wait for it to open up and swallow me so that I don’t have to tell him the worst part of the whole fucked-up situation. Of course, it doesn’t. Nothing is ever that fucking easy anymore.
The mattress dips next to me when Benji pushes himself upright and swings his legs over the side. He leans heavily into me, as if the effort to keep himself upright is beyond him. I feel tremors running through his entire frame while I wait for him to speak.
“There’s more to it, isn’t there?”
The floor is still determined not to grant me a reprieve no matter how hard I stare at it so I lift my head and look at him. The black circles under his eyes and his pale skin are testament to how shit he feels at the moment. I shouldn’t add to his burdens, but I’m going to. If I’m to blame—and I am—then he’s just as guilty.
Nodding, I let the words that answer his question tumble into the air without censure. “Brendan blackmailed her over your drug use. Threatened to tell the fucking papers so you wouldn’t be drafted. That’s why she stayed with him.”
I expected some sort of response. For him to lose his temper. Maybe throw something or try and storm out. I didn’t expect him to cover his face with his hands and starting crying.
This isn’t like the whining he’s been doing for the last week while we’ve been cleaning him up. He breaks into sobs that make it sound like his heart is fucking breaking. They bounce off the walls and hit me right in the fucking chest like a bullet. I haven’t cried since I was a kid and I have no plans to change that fact now. No matter how fucking close I’m getting watching Benji break down.
Swallowing the lump that’s taken up residence in my throat, I bury all of the anger that I’ve let fester toward him since Lainey told me the truth, and lift my arm so I can put it around his shoulders. Benji falls into me, dropping his head further. We sit like this for fuck knows how long. He lets his guilt out and I bottle mine up a little tighter.
“I’m gonna get clean.” He nods, lifting his head and looking me in the eye. “And, I’m gonna stay clean.”
Straightening his shoulders, he sits up and lets out a sigh. What I’m guessing is shame turns his face red before he pushes to his feet and makes his way unsteadily to the window. Lifting onto his toes, Benji swipes his hand along to top of the window frame until he finds what he’s looking for. I can hear the ripping of what sounds like tape as he pulls the small package away from the painted frame.
Grinding my teeth, I watch the little shit shuffle his way over to the built-in-robe and mess around on one of the shelves until he pulls whatever he’s looking for. My hands curl into fists and I’m on my feet before I can talk myself out of it. Benji turns back to me, his eyes widening when he sees me so close to him. He holds his hands up in surrender, one holding a fucking taped up baggie of meth and the other a dirty glass pipe. Seeing what’s in his hands doesn’t calm me, it’s like a red rag to a bull, igniting my temper. My left hand closes around his neck while I drive my right fist straight into his deceitful fucking face. Throwing him to the ground, I drive my boot into his ribs for good measure.
“You little fuck. The whole time we’ve been trying to clean you up, you’ve been getting high behind our backs.” Crouching over him, I rip the baggie out his hand then grab his pipe. Standing up, I throw the pipe to the ground and crush it under my boot. Glass shatters, spreading over the floor next to him and he groans. “Good luck trying to get fucked up now.”
Leaving him on the threadbare rug, I slam the door shut behind me as I go searching for his accomplice. Finding him talking to Timber, I push my way through the crowd. I grab Kid by the back of his cut, rip it down his arms, and hold it in front of his face when he swings around to see who’s messing with him.
The moment it registers with him that it’s me, he ducks his head. I grab him by the front of his T-shirt and yank him closer to me. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t know.”
I don’t tell him what he’s supposed to know. I don’t have to. When Kid lifts his head, I let the baggie hang between my fingers and shake it in the air. To his credit, he doesn’t drop my gaze when he answers. “I’m sorry, Mad Dog.”
Tossing his cut to Beast, who’s come to find out what the commotion is about, I show him the drugs as well. “Found this on Benji. Kid was in on it. Think it’s time for you to step up and do something the fuck about your son right-about-now. Don’t you?”
Beast inclines his head to acknowledge my words, but doesn’t agree. He hands Kid his cut back then melts into the crowd without saying a fucking thing. I take two steps after him, determined to have it out with the bull-headed fuck, only to come to a stop when Timber grabs me by my arm. “Let him go. Once he’s wrapped his head around it, he’ll deal with Benji. Gotta be hard when it’s his son going off the rails.”
Tilting my head so I can look my giant best friend in the eye, I growl. “Shouldn’t be fucking hard when he’s been given proof.”
Timber shrugs. “Just keep your mouth shut for now. You wanna keep your SAA patch, then I wouldn’t advise pissing off the Prez.”
Ignoring his advice, I glare past his shoulder at Kid. “What the fuck are you still doing here? Go deal with your best friend. He’s probably still lying on the floor whining like a little pussy.” Kid nods, turning on his heel to head for the bedrooms. “If I was you, I’d make sure he stays clean. Next time I find out you’re helping him; I’m removing my name from your noms.”
His step falters at my threat—it’s a big one, threatening to take away my backing of his nomination to become a Black Shamrock. “Won’t happen again, Mad Dog.”
“How’s Princess,” Timber brings my attention back to him.
“The same.”
Nudging me with his shoulder, he moves me in the direction of the exit. “You should get back to her, then.”
It takes an effort to stop him from pushing me along, but I manage it. Cocking my head to the side, I take a good look at him. Usually, he’d be on my ass to stay and party with him, not pushing me outta the door. “You cool?”
The fakest fucking smile I’ve ever seen crosses his face, and he nods. “Yeah, yeah. All good.”
Shaking my head, I snort. “Okay. And, I’m the fucking pope. What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just been lost in my head all day.”
The shadows of ghosts that should be dead and buried flit across his features. “Amy?”
“Yeah, it’s two years today.”
Raking my fingers through my hair, I buy myself some time. I have Lainey waiting at home in fuck knows what state, and in front of me, I have my best friend. Fuck. My two people. The only ones I’d lay my life on the line for.
“You wanna spend the night at my house? Can’t guarantee a good time, if you come.”
“Nah,” Timber shakes his big head, then jams two fingers in his mouth and whistles. Every single one of the Club sluts turn at the sound and—occupied with another brother or not—they head in his direction. They all want a slice of the kinky fuck, and knowing him he’ll oblige.
Flicking my hand in the direction of the stampeding whores, I shake my head. “They’re all yours. Try not to drown in all the pussy.”
“No promises,” he laughs as he walks toward them, holding out his arms so they can all swarm around him and tou
ch what they want. He buries his head between a pair of tits on one slut and jams his hand under the skirt of another.
I think he’ll be okay for the night.
And, on that note, I head home to my woman.
The one I can’t touch.
As I wake, hazy and still peaceful from my sleeping pill induced sleep, I slowly become aware of the heavy weight that’s laying across my waist. Trying my hardest not to freak out, I concentrate on breathing deeply and keeping my heart from racing. I drag in a deep breath and bring with it a lungful of Mik’s scent. It calms me as much as I can be lately and I relax back into his embrace.
Closing my eyes again, I try to imagine the outline of his bare chest as it’s pressed against my back. The defined muscles, the hard ridges, and smooth skin that covers them. I draw in another breath, luxuriating in his smell once again, and letting it strengthen me enough that I can lace my fingers between his and pull his arm tighter around him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It should be. Just me and him. Nothing separating us. Bare skin pressed against bare skin; instead of the material of my oversize T-shirt, and the scars that cover my body and mess with my head, creating a barrier between us. If I was normal. If I hadn’t ruined my life—and his.
“Lainey?” Mik whispers my name against the back of my head. “You awake?”
Opening my eyes, I force myself to swallow to rid myself of my suddenly dry mouth. Then I send a quick prayer to god and put my traitorous body further to the test this morning. Turning in Mik’s arms, I press my chest against his and lift my face to his. It takes him a moment to catch on to what I’m looking for, but when he does the surprise that lights up his eyes is amusing.
Without wasting a second, Mik lowers his lips to mine and kisses me. We’ve pressed our lips against each other’s a few times since I was released from the hospital. Purely platonic lip locks that have tested my fractured psyche right along with Mik’s patience. This one is different. I’ve initiated it; I’m the one who parts her lips and prods the seam of his lips with my tongue; I’m the one who winds her fingers into his hair and pulls his body over mine.
It’s mind-blowing. Revisiting the connection that we created on that one night we were able to spend together before I made a decision that turned everything in my—our—life on its head. The feeling of his soft lips against mine. The weight of his body as it presses mine into the mattress. The silky feel of the skin that covers the powerful muscles in his shoulders as I dig my fingernails into them. It’s exhilarating. I feel normal. Like Mik’s Lainey once again.
Until, it goes too far. Mik’s hips push between my legs. His hard bulge presses against my cotton-covered core. And, it all comes rushing back. The pain. The humiliation. My ruin. One minute, it’s Mik above me, and my heart is pounding in my chest from the desire he makes pump through my veins. The next, it’s Brendan, and my heart is pounding in my ears as I wait for him to force his way into my body and tear me apart again.
My fingernails change from scratching in a lover’s tender touch to weapons that rip at his skin. My teeth become vicious instruments that hurt him instead of walking the fine line between pleasure and pain that he enjoys. And, my body turns from a liquefied mass of limbs that match his lust-filled movements into a statue that refuses his caress.
“Get off. Brendan. I said get off,” I scream, then sink my teeth into his bottom lip. Tangy copper invades my mouth. My fingernails scratch at every inch of exposed flesh that I can find, and a perverse sense of justice overcomes me as I feel it tear from my attack. I will not go through this again. My body is mine now. Its control will never be yielded again.
I’ll die first.
“Lainey. Jesus. Fuck. Stop it.” I hear the words. I know they aren’t coming from Brendan, yet it makes no difference to me. “It’s me. It’s Mik. Fuck.”
A heavy weight pins my thrashing body to the bed. The wild motions I’m making with my arms—my fingers shaped into claws to protect me—are brought to an abrupt halt when they are held above my head. Despite my best efforts, I’m subdued with ridiculous ease and left panting as what I’ve just done begins to dawn.
Mik sits astride my waist, his weight keeping my legs under control while his arms pin my upper body. Avoiding his face, I look everywhere else. It’s a mistake because the first thing I see are the bleeding scratches that cover his shoulders and his chest. There’s a red mark on his stomach and a bleeding gash on his left hip, just above the waistband of his boxer-briefs.
Screwing my eyes shut, I try to block out the damage I’ve just done to him—that he let me do to him. He’s strong; he could have fought me off a lot quicker. Instead, he chose to take it easy on me—to not hurt me as I was hurting him—so that he didn’t scare me further. My mouth begins to water, my bottom lip trembling as the tears that constantly stalk me make their presence known again.
Not only am I a broken mess. I’m bringing the man I love down with me.
“Angel.” Mik’s tone is gentle, although I can hear the hint of steel underneath it that tells me I’m not going to like what he says next. “Open your eyes. Tell me who you see.”
Sinking my teeth with deliberate viciousness into my lip, I concentrate on the pain it brings. Anything to distract me from the bolt of agony that his simple question sent straight through my heart.
“Tell me. Who am I?” The repeated command is spoken as gently as the first. His patience with me seems to be never-ending. I open my eyes, inspect his battered face, then close them again. The love that fills his expression is harder to handle than the evidence of the damage I inflicted.
“Who. Am. I?” The gentleness is matched this time by the demand in his tone. I’ve hurt him—not only physically but emotionally.
Blinking back tears, I force my eyelids to open and regard him with more steadiness than I expected. “Mik. You’re Mik.”
His tongue darts out the corner of his mouth and licks away a drop of blood from his bleeding lip before it rolls down his chin. Nodding at me, he lets go of my arms and moves his weight off me. It’s stupid. I just attacked him for touching me; yet, the second Mik lets go of me, I jack-knife upright and wrap my arms around him. My movements take him by surprise, making him slow to hug me back. Eventually, his arms close around me and he pulls me close.
“I’m so sorry.” The tears I was fighting off begin to fall, running down my cheeks, and dripping into the crook of his neck where I’ve buried my face. “I knew it was you—not him—but it didn’t matter. I was afraid and there was nothing I could do to make it go away.”
Mik says nothing, just holds me tighter. What I said to him yesterday circles my mind, resurrecting my fears that I’m going to lose him when he gets sick of all my crazy. My pleas are filled with urgency, the words a manic plea to the only person who I feel safe enough to lay bare my fears. “Please don’t leave me. I need you.”
“Angel, that’s never gonna happen. Don’t give a fuck how many times you try to throw me out. You’re stuck with me.”
Lifting my head, I search his hazel eyes for doubt or evasion. I don’t find anything but unwavering love—and a devotion that I don’t come close to deserving. Before I put an end to the physical distance between us and seal his commitment with a kiss, I lean forward and lick the welling blood from his busted lip. “I’m so damn sorry that I hurt you.”
A wry smile curls his mouth. “If it was anyone else, I’d be kicking their ass. You’re exempt since I love ya.”
The wink he sends my way lets me know that he’s not going to hold any hard feelings over my meltdown—this time, at least. The adrenaline that had filled me when I fought him finally deserts me at this realisation and I melt into his arms and kiss him as if my life depends on it. The cast-iron coldness that I use as a shield gives away to something much more real.
It takes a minute to recognise that I’m feeling. It’s hope. Because with Mik’s strong arms around me and the warmth from his body warming mine, I wonder if,
maybe—just maybe—there might be a way for us to come through this intact, after all?
***
“I’ll wait out here,” Mik yells over the pulsing engine of his Harley as he drops me off at the front door of my therapist’s building. “Can’t be fucked dealing with people this morning.”
Handing him my helmet, I wave goodbye and head inside. Once I’ve given my name to the receptionist, I take a seat between two girls in the packed waiting area. One is a bit older than me, but the other looks about my age. Truthfully, she looks like she could be my twin sister, especially when she glances my way, and I spy the same torture in her blue eyes that I see in my own when I look in the mirror. We’re both barely adults and already broken by life.
A tentative smile breaks through the devastation that clouds her features.
“Hi.” Her voice is breathy and unsure.
“Hi.”
I feel like an idiot. No other words past that initial greeting are available to my addled brain. Where I was once a pretty confident chick, I’m left with zero social skills and, even less, trust in strangers. Her mere acknowledgement of my presence is enough to set my pulse pounding in my ears. I look down at my lap and stare at the mobile phone in my hands as if it’s capable of sucking me out of this building and back onto Mik’s bike where I feel like a half-normal person.
“Who are you seeing?”
The girl’s soft voice jolts me out of my pity party. Raising my head, I try to arrange my face into something resembles a smile. “I’m seeing Dr. Louise.”
“Cool. Me, too.” She wriggles in her seat. “What’s wrong with you?”
I twirl a piece of my hair around my finger and pull it in front of my face. What is wrong with me? I let someone who repulsed me use my body for sex so I could keep my twin brother out of trouble. I lied to my family and friends because I didn’t want to admit I was wrong. I cheated on the man I love. I gave my integrity and my joy for living to my enemy. I stayed silent while he beat me into an unrecognisable mass of flesh that doesn’t remotely resemble who I used to be. For someone who thought she was so damn smart, there’s a hell of a lot wrong with me.
Soothing Suffering (Black Shamrocks MC) Page 2
