by Marie James
Itchy and I raise our beers in silent salute. Kincaid and Kid look at both of us like we’re idiots. No way will they ever be caught dead toasting when they have amazing women just inside the clubhouse.
“Anything in particular? Or are we hating the fairer sex in general?” I look around the group, but no one seems to want to discuss the issue Shadow is having with him sitting right there.
A long stretch of silence fills the garage; only crickets chirping can be heard through the open bay door. That is until Snake’s ass comes barging in with an empty diaper box filled with beer bottles. The glass bottles clank against each other until he finally sets it down beside the only empty chair left. He smirks at me, ecstatic he figured out how to get them out here without using either one of my suggestions.
“Misty wants to get a job,” Shadow says after tossing his empty bottle in the trash can with a loud bang.
I stay silent because I don’t have a problem with women working.
“Shit,” Kid says as if it’s a travesty the woman wants to work.
“I went through the same thing with Em,” Kincaid adds with commiseration.
My eyes cut to Itchy, wondering what part of this strange shit is so bad. He shrugs blissfully unaware.
“I’m afraid if she works she’ll leave.” Snake grumbles but doesn’t refuse him when Shadow reaches over and pulls one of his beers from the diaper box. “I won’t let her take my son away from me.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Kid interjects. “Khloe is going to school, but I know she’d want to work if she didn’t have anything else to do.”
Shadow rips the top off of the fresh beer but doesn’t raise it to his lips. “Khloe isn’t going anywhere.”
“Damn straight she’s not,” Kid says with confidence.
Shadow scowls at him.
“I don’t think she has any plans to take Griff, man,” Itchy adds.
Shadow raises an eyebrow at him, and for the first time since walking in here, I’m glad I’m not sitting right beside my best friend.
“The fuck do you know about my… Misty,” Shadow quickly catches his word slip. “Has she said something to you?”
I look over at Itchy, just as curious about his answer.
He shakes his head. “Naw, man. She just doesn’t seem like the single mother type.”
Shadow scoots closer to the edge of his chair, and I cuss under my breath. Itchy should know better than to make assumptions, and should be even more aware that they should never leave his mouth. Shadow has been on a hair trigger since Misty showed up over a month ago, and right now I’m concerned for his safety.
I’m also an asshole for worrying if Shadow breaks his jaw, he won’t be able to suck my cock later.
“Are you saying the mother of my child can’t handle raising that little boy on her own? That if, God forbid, something happens to me on a mission, she won’t make it without me?” Shadow is gripping his beer bottle so hard his knuckles are turning white.
“That’s not what he means,” Kincaid says as he places his hand on Shadow’s shoulder. “Misty is more than capable of keeping him safe.”
Itchy leans forward, not menacingly, but a face full of anger. I can kiss that blowjob goodbye since he can’t just leave well enough alone. “First off, you need to calm the fuck down and stop putting words in my mouth.”
If he knew how good your blowjobs were, he’d want to stick something else there.
“Second,” he continues, not privileged to my thoughts. “Don’t put anything like, ‘if something happens to you’ into words. You can’t fuck with cosmic shit like that. Third, you know that boy will never want for anything if you weren’t around. I’d raise that boy like he was my own if it came down to anything fucked up like that. You know that we all would.”
Everyone raises their beer in solidarity. The round of “here, here” enough to make Shadow calm if only for a minute.
“I know you would,” he concedes.
“She said she wants to be able to take care of herself. It just struck a chord with me. She should know that I’ll always take care of them.” He huffs and finally takes a long pull on his beer.
“Does she?” Kid asks, tempting the devil like an idiot. “Does she know you’ll take care of her? Or does she somehow have it in her head that your only concern is for Griff?”
Before Shadow can rip his head off, Kincaid cuts in. “Em needed her independence when she first got here too. She needed to know that if push came to shove, she’d be okay. I think that’s where Misty is at also.”
Shadow is still glaring at Kid even though I know he heard what Kincaid just said. He’s itching for a fight and doesn’t seem to want to walk out of this garage without one.
“Women,” Snake says as if the word is a curse.
“I’m just saying,” Kid says, hands open palm up on his lap. “If you didn’t tell her in as many words, you can’t assume that she knows.”
“Complicated creatures,” Snake laments.
Shadow closes his eyes, something someone has said in the last half hour actually sinking in.
“Fuck,” he grunts.
“On that note,” I say slapping my legs before standing up. “I’m going to bed. The shit is too deep out here for me.”
I give Itchy a quick glance wanting him to read my mind and meet me in his room in a while, but his eyes are on the bottle in his hands.
“Night,” Kincaid says before talking more to Shadow about the similarities between Misty and Emmalyn.
I have no idea where Ace is as I walk through the house, not that I’m very concerned about his extracurriculars, but the clubhouse is eerily quiet as I make my way to my room.
Closing myself into my room, I lean against the door, eyes closed, just needing a break from everyone else’s drama. I have enough to worry about not trying to get caught in the fucking closet I’ve apparently been enjoying too much the last couple of months.
A sniffle coming from my bathroom snaps my eyes open and has my feet moving before I can even evaluate the situation. Toeing the door open with my boot, I see Darby curled up in the corner by the shower. Her red-rimmed eyes look up at me when the light from the doorway washes over her.
“Hey,” I say with a softness I rarely use.
“I’m sorry,” she says with hasty wipes at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon. You guys usually stay in the garage until the roosters are crowing.”
“Anything I can help with?” What is it about crying women that makes me want to turn tail and run? Well, women who are crying and you don’t know the reason more specifically. We deal with crying women a lot, but being abducted, raped, and tortured will make anyone cry.
She huffs a humorless laugh and my hackles immediately go up.
Her eyes search mine, head dropping back down to her bent knees when she doesn’t find what she’s looking for.
“Darby,” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“I’m tired of hiding,” she whispers, barely audible.
“You don’t have to stay in the bathroom,” I respond immediately.
She shakes her head. “I’m tired of hiding our relationship. Tired of having to sneak around and pretend that we aren’t a triad.”
“Triad?” What is this woman smoking?
“The three of us. I don’t want to hide our relationship any longer.” She sniffles again, looking up at me with hope in her eyes.
She’s got another thing coming if she thinks getting upset and a few tears are enough for me just to march outside and tell men who put their lives in my hands on a regular basis that I like to fuck my best friend in the ass and have him suck my dick on occasion.
“That’s not what this is,” I tell her, knowing she doesn’t want to hear it, but I’m trying to do my best not to be a complete asshole.
“You don’t have to be ashamed,” she challenges.
“I’m not fucking ashamed!” I roar, the lie tasting like shit in m
y mouth.
“You are!” she rages back. “They’ll all see how much we love each other, and welcome our relationship with open arms.”
I glare at her dumbfounded, unable to break down all of the stupid shit she’s spitting at me.
Love? Relationship? Open arms?
I start from the beginning. “Love?”
She nods, eyes pleading. “I love you both.”
“You shouldn’t,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest, rejecting her feelings outright.
“You don’t love me? Don’t love Itchy?”
“I don’t love you.” The answer to her first question comes easy. The second question is so convoluted; it’s not something I’m delving into right now, especially not with her.
“But you love Itchy.” A statement, not a question.
“He’s my best friend,” I say as if it explains everything.
“I thought you were different.”
I rake my hands over my short Mohawk, frustrated beyond belief and wishing I would’ve stayed outside to listen to Shadow whining about his woman.
“Than what, Darby? I don’t understand how great sex turned into love. Have I ever implied or made you believe there would be anything more than what we’ve had?”
“You’re just like the men back in Vegas, taking all that you want but giving nothing in return.”
I bristle at the comparison.
“I promised you nothing other than incredible orgasms, which I’m pretty sure I delivered. You’re the one changing the game and expecting me to be okay with the new rules. I’m nothing like those pieces of shit in Vegas. You’re free to come and go as you wish. Not one person will stop you from leaving.” My pulse is racing, hating the new level of prick I’ve become.
“You want me gone?” Tears begin streaming down her face again.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “That’s not what I said.”
“But you won’t try to stop me if I leave?”
What the fuck is she fishing for?
“You’re not a prisoner here, Darby.” I know what she wants, and I refuse to give it to her. I don’t lie to women. Not to get them to fuck me and not to get them to stick around, no matter how incredible they are in bed.
“Okay,” she says wiping her nose on the back of her hand and standing from the floor. “I know exactly where I stand.”
The same place you’ve always stood, I want to tell her but keep my mouth shut.
I turn sideways so she can walk past me.
“Darby?” Her back stiffens, but she stops to listen to me. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? About Itchy and me?”
When she looks over her shoulder, her face is a solid mask of hatred, and I know I’m fucked.
“Your precious fucking secret is safe with me,” she spits before disappearing into Itchy’s room.
I jolt when the door slams, even though I knew it was coming. The click of the lock echoes through the room, and I can’t help but wonder how much I just fucked things up.
Chapter 19
Itchy
“Hey, doll,” I say to Darby as I walk into my room. Her body shifted slightly when I stepped in so I know she’s awake.
Unsteady on my feet is an understatement. Somehow, a couple of beers in the garage turned into shots as war stories we’d never discuss in front of civilians began to spew from our mouths. Some were funny; some weren’t. Once the liquor was flowing though, they were easier to tell, sort of like our own brand of therapy, the counselors being our brothers in arms because they’d lived through the shit too.
Even in my inebriated state, I can tell she’s upset. Soft sniffles and the slight tremble of her shoulders are hard to ignore.
“What’s wrong?” I ask sliding in behind her and wrapping my arm around her waist.
Normally, she’d melt into my embrace. Tonight she’s stiff as a board. Once pliable muscles and innate sexuality have morphed into tension and nonverbal rejection.
“Talk to me,” I urge.
She shakes her head, refusing, but I stay silent. Most women, left to stew will eventually speak. They want to be heard, need to articulate what’s bothering them. Darby is different from many women I’ve met, but at the end of the day, those feminine traits are there.
“He hates me,” she sobs.
I don’t have to ask her who she means. We don’t discuss her play times with the other members. Not that it’s a rule or anything, but our only conversations include us and the tattooed man who tends to be an asshole when he’s deflecting.
I cringe, knowing she probably spoke with him about the things I have been trying to ignore for weeks. When we’re together sans Snatch, she’s been grasping, reaching for information and opinions on stuff she’s playing off as pure curiosity.
It started shortly after Misty and Griff showed up, questions about having children. It’s progressed more recently with questions of whether we’d ever leave the MC to settle down. She’s expressed an urge to live in a house in the country where it’s quiet, and no one is around. She’s been smart enough to not mention Snatch and me in her visions, but we’re not idiots. Well, at least I caught on to her little ploy. With the way she’s acting now, I imagine she’s said something to my best friend, and he shut her down like a crack house that’s popped up beside a police station.
I never should’ve let her talk. I should’ve told her weeks ago, that the thoughts she was having weren't something she’d ever get from either of us, but Snatch especially. Holding her, though, feeling her warmth against my skin after an illicit night of three-way fun, was nice, needed even. Snatch would get up and leave, not take the chance of getting caught in the bed with us, and she’d remain, giving me what I wished I’d get from him.
“He doesn’t hate you,” I counter, finally finding my voice. I’m not one hundred percent sure, even as the words flow easily from my mouth, that I’m actually telling the truth. I know he doesn’t hate her; if he did he wouldn’t give her the time of day, but we’ve not discussed her. He’s made sure we aren’t ever seen alone. In his mind, this will rid everyone of any suspicion of whatever the hell is going on between us.
“I told him I loved you guys and he shut me down.”
I stiffen behind her, praying she doesn’t notice.
Jesus, what a fucking mess.
“That probably wasn’t the best idea,” I mutter. “He’s not capable of love or settling down. The world is nothing but a playground for him.”
It takes all of my strength not to remind her that both of us have been nothing but honest about our expectations, or lack of them specifically, with her, but I know now isn’t the time. I also know, having been friends with Snatch for so long and seeing how he’s dealt with clingy women before, that unless he was pushed past his breaking point, he never would’ve been outright rude to her.
“He loves you,” she mutters.
The wave of gooseflesh that covers every exposed inch of my skin is unnerving. Squeezing my eyes shut, I push the possibility out of my head. Allowing it to stay will only give me the same expectations Darby is struggling with, and that’s not good for anyone involved.
“We’re best friends,” I say. “It’s a different kind of care. It’s not based on emotions, but an investment born of trial and tribulation.”
“You may have explained it better, but he said the same thing.” She buries her head in her pillow when the rattle of the locked door knob between mine and Snatch’s can be heard. “I don’t want to see him.”
“I’ll be back,” I mutter, spine stiff and ready to fight.
I get he comes off as brusk and overly rude sometimes, but leaving her alone when she’s upset, forcing me to deal with his mess, does nothing but piss me off.
Picking the words I plan to use with him in my mind when I leave my room, I’m startled when I see him leaving his own room at the same time.
He knows I’m seething just by looking at me when we make eye contact.
“I guess she’s in there, huh?
” He hitches his thumb in the direction of my closed bedroom door.
“I realize,” I whisper-hiss only inches from his face, “that you’re a complete asshole, even on your best day, but treating her like shit is an all-time low, even for you.”
“Is that what she said?” he challenges, voice low enough as to not draw attention to us.
Not in so many words, but the end result is still the same.
“She’s extremely upset,” I inform him.
“Her emotional state is not my responsibility.”
I close more of the distance between us, agitated beyond belief, cock hard with the need to turn my status quo submission into full-on domination.
“Do you really think pissing her off while she’s holding your secret in her hands is the smartest thing?”
The corner of his lip twitches, a giant fuck-you to any contrition I’d hoped to find for upsetting her.
“Your secret, too,” he mutters.
His words set a fire in my blood, pissing me off and somehow bringing joy at the same time. I step into him, hating how his eyes dart down the hall, checking to make sure we aren’t being watched. It takes every ounce of self-control not to groan when his stiff cock presses against my own.
“I’m in the same boat as her,” I say, voice filled with unspoken truths. “This isn’t our secret; it’s solely yours. I would walk out there, living room full of members and ride your cock just like I’d fuck one of the girls in front of them.”
His eyelids go heavy, the bright pools of blue focused on my mouth.
“She needs to understand that this isn’t a relationship,” he states.
My pulse pounds in my ears, not knowing if he’s just going to shut the whole thing down now. Instantly, I regret coming out here to confront him. From his tone, I can only presume that he’s not only talking about his interactions with her but also the times we’ve been intimate.
“She says she loves us.”
He nods, finally pulling his eyes from my mouth but making no attempt to shift his cock away from mine. “So she says.”
“Would it be so bad,” I offer.
He laughs. “Bad? Would it be bad to be in some fucked up, labeled, relationship with a club girl?”
