Page 27 of Whiskey Shivers

Hex…

Fucking trash bags.I thought, but I wouldn’t leave her here. Could I have made him pack up his shit and get the fuck out, giving her the time to figure shit out? Probably. I didn’t like that idea, though. One look at the place told me all I needed to know.

This place was mostly his. The things on the walls and the furniture screamedthis fucking douchebag.

The bedroom was the only thing that had her touch on it, and maybe the kitchen. She didn’t even have a desk, just his, which wasclearlyhis and not to her taste at all. A modern looking monstrosity of metal with a glass top. Unfeeling, with no character to it.

Where did she grade her papers and do her work?I wondered.

Didn’t matter. I would make space for her. I would be everything this self-centered prick refused to fucking be.

I found the roll of bags under the sink and brought them out, heading back for the bathroom, shaking the white kitchen bag open. She handed me things one-handed off the shelf in the shower and off from around the bathroom sink and I stood patiently, taking the object from her and dropping it into the bag one-handed while she sort of only half paid attention to what she was doing. Like, she pulled her stuff, but at the same time? Her eyes were wounded, vacant, and staring… but of all things, they weren’t surprised.

She was wooden with anger and her face was etched with lines of hurt that she hadn’t even held in the hospital – but she was strong as hell and I could see she just fuckingrefusedto fall apart.

As we were finishing up with her bathroom stuff, I heard the roar of the bikes outside.

I’d sent a simple SOS and dropped a pin to the club’s group text and boy; I could hear hell comin’ with ‘em.

Saint and Cypress were the first through the front door.

“Where’s the fire at?” Saint demanded, and I tossed him the bag of toiletries I had in my hand.

“Out to my truck. We’re moving her out of here and to my place,” I said tersely, and Saint and Cy exchanged a look.

“Make a line,” Cy called out the door and that’s what we did. Fable and I filled a bag and sent it down the fuckin’ line where it was put in the back of my truck. There wasn’t a whole lot – just clothes and books; a few knickknacks and things she wrapped in clothes and worried about. I sent orders down the line on what was fragile and to put it in the back seat.

Pictures came off walls, some she smashed in the middle of the living room, leaving the wreckage on the coffee table and floor.

I didn’t say a fucking word.

“The blanket there and that’s it,” she said.

“Our turn,” Bennie said and nudged Louie.

“Light bulbs and batteries?” Louie asked with a savage grin.

“Every left sock,” Axe declared.

Bennie frowned at him. “How do you tell a left sock from a right?”

“Some are marked,” Axe said with a shrug.

“Alright, alright, do your thing boys. I’m taking Cor home. No property damages. This fuck is apt to get petty and she don’t need it.”

I steered her out the front door and found La Croix leaned up against the side of my truck. He gave me a nod and took a drag on his joint. He held it out to Fable who shook her head miserably and mumbled, “No thank you.”

La Croix simply shrugged and looked at me. I gave a light shake of my head, and he threw me some chin in understanding.

“Later,” I said, and he nodded.

I got Cor tucked into my rig and shut the door.

“See you at your place to unload it. Let these fools have their field day.”

I had to grin at that and nodded. La Croix let out an earsplitting whistle and waved his hand like a magic wand to round the rest of the boys out here up to fall in.

Bennie stuck his head out the front door and I called out, “My place when you’re done.” He gave a nod and raised his hand in farewell. I went around and got into the truck.

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