Page 2 of Havoc
“I think I like that nickname.” Reagan wraps her arms around his waist and smiles up at him.
He whispers something in her ear, and I pull out my phone to give them space. With so many of my brothers locking down old ladies, I’ve quickly learned to hang back when they disappear into their own conversations.
Especially now, when I know Reagan must be on edge coming here and facing the girls who were locked in that basement with her. Reagan hasn’t talked to anyone but Legacy about what happened when the Iron Sinners took her, but he’s passed on enough information for me to know she has a lot to work through. And even if the club will do anything we can to help, the girls in this house are the only people who went through that with her.
I’m still hanging back when we step inside the house, pausing in the foyer.
Bryn and Kimberly smile with relief when they see Reagan is here to visit. The girls hug, and when they meet gazes, I catch a flicker of mutual understanding after all they’ve been through.
While Reagan hugs the girls, I keep my attention on my phone, trying to let Reagan have a moment without me hovering when we’re all crammed into a small space. I check my texts and add more things to the list of what needs to be done before I leave town with Soul.
Like he senses me thinking about it, a text comes through.
Soul
How much shit are you planning on bringing to LA?
Havoc
Worried your extensive wardrobe won’t fit in your saddlebags? You’re not putting your shit in mine.
Soul
Fuck no. LA patch bunnies… you’ll be lucky if I’m wearing clothes at all this trip.
I’m still chuckling at Soul’s text when Kimberly and Bryn finish with Reagan and disappear around the corner to start lunch. But we don’t follow as Reagan waits for the third and final girl to make her way downstairs. A girl I don’t know anything about.
Legacy met her when the guys raided the Iron Sinners property, but since I was dealing with Sera across town, I’ve yet to see her face.
She sticks to her room when the club comes by to check on things and refuses to talk to anyone except the girls living here. I don’t really blame her after what she must have witnessed or experienced with the Iron Sinners, but the behavior is a little odd given what Reagan told Legacy about her.
The third girl fought back. She saved Reagan’s life. She doesn’t strike me as someone who would hide away, which makes me wonder why she’s doing it.
Reagan shifts her weight from one foot to the other, waiting. Legacy meets my gaze over her head, and I shrug. He’s worried that this girl will disappoint Reagan by staying in her room, and his expression is proof of it.
Thankfully, his concern is erased by the creaking of a door upstairs.
I tuck my phone away as footsteps pad down the hallway overhead, waiting for a figure to pop up at the top of the staircase. Her feet appear first, followed by her legs and waist. She’s tall and lean, with muscle tone that makes it clear she works out. But she’s thin.Too thinfrom the Iron Sinners starving her.
It has me clenching my jaw.
She takes another step, and her heart-shaped face finally comes into view. She has piercing eyes, perfectly framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Eyes that stop my heart.
Eyes that still haunt me in the middle of the night.
Eyes that cut from Reagan to me and pause. But unlike the surprise that slackens my jaw, she doesn’t seem the least bit shocked to see me. Her pale cheeks twitch with the clench of her teeth as she lifts her chin and continues down the staircase.
When Reagan mentioned the girl’s name in passing, I didn’t think anything of it beyond not wanting to hear it again because it reminded me of someone who drags all my demons to the surface. Never in a million years did I think it was possible they were one and the same.
But as Aimee Landry walks toward me, my stomach plummets. Sounds fade. Memories blur.
It’s been fourteen years since I’ve seen Aimee, and if I thought I’d stopped counting, this moment proves me wrong because I feel every second of it.
She’s exactly how I remember, and yet, entirely different. Her soft curves have leaned out, and her gentle smile has been replaced by an icy frown. Her light-brown eyes are still the honey that traps me in an instant, and I can’t tear my gaze away from them now.
Her jaw clenches, adding an edge to the face that’s sharper than I remember. And my hands clench at my sides when I spot the healing gash that cuts through her eyebrow.
Reagan mentioned Aimee was hit with the butt of a gun trying to protect her from an Iron Sinner. But to see it on Aimee has my blood boiling.
