by Addison Jane
Myth moved closer, falling in step with me. His hand reached behind me, his finger hooking through the rear belt loop of my jeans and tugging me to a jolting stop. “I got you.”
And then, he didn’t let go.
That was all it took for me to feel somewhat anchored again, making it feel like I had two feet firmly on the ground, and I was back in control.
Shotgun was leaning against the banister at the bottom of the staircase, his brow furrowed as he stared out at the frenzy of people who lined the eight-foot fence outside. “The cops said there ain’t nothing they can do. Freedom of the press and all that fucking bullshit,” he said, scratching at the stubble which covered his jaw. “So, we need to decide what we’re gonna do. Stick around and put up with this bullshit until they get bored, or get you the fuck out of town for a week or so.”
“I’ll leave,” I replied instantly. “I’ll go somewhere, keep my head low for a while.”
He looked over his shoulder, his eyes drifting for a moment to Myth before returning to me. I wasn’t sure what it was that passed between them, but the corner of Shotgun’s mouth curled up into a smirk. “We all have skeletons. Some of us are just better at keeping them in the closet.” He paused for a second. “I need the details of whoever faked your info, though, that would be a handy number to have in my back pocket.”
I forced a smile, but my stomach was in my throat, and I was finding it hard to figure out just what emotions I was feeling. I’d spent more than six years changing my life, becoming the opposite of everything I was raised to be, and someone I knew my father would hate.
I wanted to run.
Tomorrow my face would be plastered over the front page of every newspaper and magazine in the country. And you know what? That, I could handle. It’d been a long time since I gave a flying fuck about what the press had to say about me.
There was no way in hell I was going to lay down and let the gossip magazines twist their bullshit about these men.
Which is why I came up with a plan.
It wasn’t a great one. Or even a good one.
But right now, it was all I had.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, I stopped, holding onto the banister and inhaling deeply through my nose. Shake carried on toward the open roller doors while Myth paused beside me. “We can head out the back,” he offered quietly, his voice low as he looked out over the utter fucking mess I’d created.
I could already see the fuss going on outside.
Shotgun had managed to keep it all somewhat controlled by keeping the press and paparazzi outside the clubhouse fence, but there was a fucking lot of them. There were cameras, news vans, people lining the six-foot wire fences, their fingers hooked through and their faces pressed up close. Club members stood inside the fence, a mixture of brothers and Exiled Eight, one placed every ten feet or so apart. Their tall, broad statures and the patches and tattoos that covered their bodies, they looked intimating as hell. But that didn’t stop the members of the press calling through the fence at them, screaming questions, trying to force a reaction.
They’d never get one, though.
These are the type of men who you could cut fingers off one by one, and they’d still find a way to flip you off.
“Like you said, I have to stop running at some point,” I answered, shaking my head and lifting my chin a little. “What better time than with the world watching.”
It was hard not to say yes and to plead with him to get me the hell out of here.
Shotgun nodded as I walked forward, turning to Tyler. “Run out, let Clarke’s cars in.”
Myth’s hand settled at the small of my back, the light touch like a shock I needed to push my body forward. I stepped confidently out of the roller doors, the crunch of the gravel beneath my feet a welcome distraction to the shitstorm currently swarming around me.
That’s exactly what it felt like too.
Like a swarm of fucking bees swirling around me.
I left this shit behind me a long time ago.
Seven years ago, I would have plastered on a smile, pushed my chest out, and swung my hips like I was walking a damn runway. That’s what we’d been taught to do.
Please the press.
Smile.
Let them take pictures.
Don’t let the cracks show.
I’d been like a real-life Barbie Doll, dressed up with a damn pull-string in my back that repeated one stupid saying after another.
Two large black Hummers roared in through the club gates, cruising across the lot toward us. We stood just outside the clubhouse, close enough to make a quick escape, but far enough outside that the club didn’t have to invite him inside. Because that man was sure as hell not going to be welcome in there.
I stood a little taller as the doors of the cars opened. First, the drivers got out, then my dad’s security team who followed him everywhere walked around to the rear doors and pulled them open. Then I saw two faces I wasn’t expecting, and for a split second, I was pulled forward, my feet carrying me a few steps before Myth grabbed the back of my jeans and tugged me to a stop.
“I need you to be as close to this building as possible,” he murmured under his breath. “Let’s not suddenly forget the shit people have already tried to do to you to make a point because of him.”
I wondered whether it would ever get to a point where it would feel normal to have someone at my back, fiercely protecting me. Kennedy and I had been each other’s everything for so long now, she’d always been the only one I’d trusted with anything.
But these boys were different.
Myth was different.
And the finger he had looped through the back of my jeans was a silent gesture that spoke so fucking loudly.
“Fuck,” my brother, Casen, sighed as he rushed forward, his arms open. When he got close enough, Myth let me go, and I dove forward, leaping on my big brother. He hoisted me up, burying his face in my neck and taking several deep breaths. The murmurs in the crowd who were watching were blocked out, and for a second, I simply inhaled.
For years and years, Casen was the person I looked up to the most. The one I idolized. He taught me how to throw my first punch, and that was it. The start of something.
Fighting had never been my passion. Not like it was my brothers. But it was just another way that I had fought to gain the attention of a father who didn’t give a shit about me.
Did I get good at it? Not really.
Did it work? Also no.
So, the teenage spoiled-brat version of me was born.
Not my proudest moment.
But not my worst either.
“Christ, Leah,” he cursed in my ear before pulling back and taking in my face. His eyes sparkled, a vulnerability I hadn’t seen in him since we lost Mom.
Casen was the one who took her death the hardest.
Unfortunately, the relationship we did have before she died, somewhat died with her. Casen went on this mission to destroy himself. He started training twelve hours a day. Fight after fight after fight, some he won, and some he lost. Each one driving him further and further away from me.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice cracking as I took in the pain and fatigue on his face. I didn’t know if it was because of me, but I knew with the way he was looking at me right now that just up and leaving him that day, and not letting him know I was okay, could have been a mistake.
He shook his head, letting me slip down back onto my feet. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Same.”
I looked up, noticing the way my other brother, Atlas, stood back a little. He was more cautious, which was strange for my short-tempered sibling. His eyes looked past me to the men standing at my back, his fists were clenched tight at his sides. Eventually, he blinked, focusing back on me, both of us stepping forward at the same time.
Atlas’ arms came around me, his hand fisting my T-shirt as he held me against this chest. “We thought you were fucking dead, Lee,” he mumbled in my e
ar.
Part of me felt some guilt.
But why the hell did it have to be me running away for six fucking years to make them notice me and the kind of hell I was in.
“I’m fine,” I rasped, forcing a smile.
“Laken.”
I looked back, realizing that I had moved quite far from the clubhouse doors.
Myth and Repo were standing side by side, the both of them looking scary as all hell, but also anxious. I started to back up a few steps, but Atlas grabbed me.
Everything moved in a flash.
Myth stormed forward, Repo and Auron right behind him.
“Atlas, let go,” I warned, very aware of the way the crowds at the fence seemed to spike in excitement.
This shit was prime news.
Daughter of state senator found hiding out with bikers.
God, I could already hear the assumptions they were going to make.
Had I been brainwashed. Abused. Manipulated.
Both my brothers looked like they were ready to start throwing fists.
Unfortunately for them, that wasn’t how shit worked here.
I yanked my arm from Atlas’ grip just before Myth got close. Holding up my hands, I backed up, trying to keep some distance between the two groups.
When Myth slipped in behind me, I felt the cold metal of his gun pressed against the back of my upper thigh. It sent a shudder through me, and while we might have been far enough away from the cameras that they couldn’t see it hidden behind me, Casen and Atlas hadn’t missed it.
“Really, Reef? You too slow to use your fist these days? Or too scared?” Atlas taunted, surprising me for a second before I realized Myth and my brothers knew each other. They’d run in the same groups for years when Myth was on the circuit. It would have been almost impossible for them not to have had some kind of interaction.
Myth laughed, surprising my brother and quickly wiping the smug smirk off his face. “This ain’t a fucking octagon or a ring, At. Must be nice sitting up there in your mansion with your bodyguards to protect you while you spew your bullshit. But this right here ain’t no goddamn street fight where we settle our differences with our fists. You don’t have a gun, you fucking die.”
“And this is the bullshit you dragged my sister into?” Casen snapped, cutting in.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I meant to be doing what your dad did and leaving her out in the cold to be gunned down by the plethora of people he’s pissed off?”
Right there, that was the low blow.
“Myth, stop!” I urged, looking sideways at him with a frown. Turning my attention to the row of cars, I noticed that in the past few minutes we had been standing here, my father hadn’t climbed out yet. I narrowed my eyes at Casen. “Where is he?”
Casen’s eyes flicked to Atlas, who continued to glare lightning bolts at Myth before returning to me with a much softer gaze. “He wants us to bring you to the hotel.”
I was already shaking my head, a smile pulling at the corner of my mouth. “He wouldn’t even bring his sorry ass down here. Jesus Christ.” I didn’t know why I felt surprised. I shouldn’t have been. I should have expected this bullshit from him. “How many camera crews does he have in the hotel room?”
“Leah—”
“No, Case!” I hissed. The way he ignored the question was all the answer I needed. “He wants to make a big show and dance off this fucking bullshit, then you can tell him he’s not going to fucking get one here. He wants to see me, then he can drag his sorry ass down here. No camera crew. No microphones. No pocket recordings. I am not a goddamn actress in the TV show of his life.”
Neither of my brothers argued the point.
We both know Trenton Clarke.
He was looking for any opportunity to look like a victim, to get better ratings, to look like a man people wanted to support. He was most well known for being a state senator, but he had his fingers in a little bit of everything. Any place he could make a dollar or two, he was there. And for the most part, people fucking loved him. He wanted to be rich, famous, notorious. He believed in the power of the press and the influence of the media on the world, and he was so damn smart about using it to his advantage.
Except this time, I wasn’t playing the part he wanted me to play.
This was huge news.
World news.
And he was going to be furious he wasn’t going to get the sound bite he needed to boost his stats.
When neither of my brothers argued my father’s point for him, I knew there was a divide. They’d blindly followed him for a long time, allowing him to make them famous, boosting their careers to their peaks. But unfortunately for my dad, they were half my mom, which meant they actually had some semblance of a heart inside their chests. It seemed like they might be finally seeing through his bullshit.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Shotgun announced, finally coming forward. His hulking body paused beside me. “He wants to see her… he’s got a few hours to make that happen. We’re done here.”
“And who the hell are you to say we’re done? That’s my sister,” Casen fired, edging forward.
“I don’t give a fuck if she’s Queen Latifah,” Shotgun snorted, unfazed by my brother’s jab. “She’s a part of this club… my club… which means until she says otherwise, I will do what I need to do to protect her and everyone else here. Now… get the hell out of my compound.”
I cringed. Shotgun wasn’t the type of man you wanted to fuck with. He was hard, he had to be because he was right. He was responsible for everyone who was part of the club, and surprisingly, he still considered me as part of it.
“Lee?” Atlas attempted, his eyebrow raised as though he was waiting for me to give him the word, so he could throw me over his shoulder and rescue me from the scum around me. “Come home.”
Casen stood and stared.
This strange blank look on his face almost cracked my heart.
I loved my brothers.
No matter the shit we’d been through, there was no changing or taking away that part of me that was them, but I couldn’t help the way my body backed up, pressing against Myth as his hand curled subtly around my hip. I didn’t want to choose. I didn’t want to have to draw a line in the sand between my family and the club. But if we were talking about home, I was starting to realize that it might not always mean a place.
Home could be a person.
And Myth felt awfully like home.
“I’ll call you guys,” I croaked, my voice catching as I melted into his arms. “The boys will find your number.”
“Let’s go,” Myth urged, pulling me backward, a couple of brothers stepping in front of us as I was quickly ushered inside and out of view.
Then I broke.
LAKEN
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
My body jumped, and I looked up to see Kennedy leaning against the doorframe. Her shoulders were hunched over and her hands tucked into her front pockets. I’d been through hell with this woman for six years, and yet, the way she was looking at me right now was as if I was a stranger.
And God did that hurt.
“Why didn’t you let me know what you were running from?” she tried again when I couldn’t find the right words to respond. They weren’t coming. How did you tell your best friend you’d been lying about who you were for six years? “You didn’t have to be there. You didn’t have to go through that shit. You could have walked away.”
“I could have, but I still would have had nothing and no one.”
“Nothing? If what you had was nothing, I would have fucking killed to have nothing.” There was a sharp edge to her tone, and it was shaving pieces off my heart. She was angry I’d willingly put myself into Satan’s lair when she would have killed to be given any kind of opportunity to get the hell out of there.
At least, that’s what it looked like to people on the outside.
Some pretty little rich girl who decided to slum it for six years when I had the choice to sit
at home in my mansion with my butlers and maids and my millions of dollars.
Yet, for me, it was my hell.
And as sick as the words made me feel, I was going to have to tell Kennedy the truth, so she could understand, and at the end of my story, simply hope she did.
“On my twentieth birthday, a man with a gun walked into the party I was having looking for my father,” I started, feeling this numbness settle over me as I pulled those memories of that day back in. I spent years trying to suppress them, trying to pile more pain on the top in hopes of driving them away. “My dad had apparently promised to fix a fight for him. Told him that if he lay down and took a beating, he’d hand him over a large chunk of cash.”
Kennedy stepped into my bedroom and closed the door behind her before pressing her back against it.
My throat felt dry and raw. It was hard to get the words out, and I could already feel my stomach beginning to churn, but I knew I had to do it. I knew I had to speak the words—I owed her that much at least.
“My dad is not a man of his word. The fighter didn’t get any money. And when he got to the house and his target was nowhere to be found, I guess he decided I was his next best thing.”
Kennedy’s hand went to her mouth, and she slid down the door, sinking to the floor with a thump.
“He shot me five times,” I deadpanned while staring at the door above her head. My eyes followed the grain of the wood, a welcome distraction from the scars on my stomach starting to throb.
“Lake—”
“Then, when people started running, he freaked out and just started shooting all over the place.” My brow knotted between my eyes. I was still confused about how things had escalated to that point, and why the hell he kept shooting when all they were trying to do was get away. “I guess he may have already been on something, I never really read the report, but I remember the look in his eyes. He was blinking so damn fast, and his eyes kept flickering from side to side like he was constantly expecting people to jump out and attack him.”
