Page 72 of Enemy
There’s a weakness in me that tells me to embrace everything he is, murderer of my brother included. I could cozy up to him, enjoy the pet name and being his ride. But if a life in the Hell’s Butchers MC taught me anything, it’s that I need to be tough, or I will be ripped apart.
If Road could trust me with thewhyof this secret, maybe I could be swayed. The lack of trust here is the nail to our coffin, the truth I didn’t want to see, too blinded by my own desire.
I take a deep breath. “I need to wash my hands.” The ache in my knuckles is nothing compared to the one in my heart. All this time. He was Roy’s killer, and pursued me like it’s some game. Did it turn him on that the brother of the man he murdered was sucking his cock? Does he get off on that kind of shit, like some psycho?
Road swallows and lets me go. “Fine. Just give me a second,” he says and kneels, taking my foot in his hands. Moments later, he pulls out a few bits of glass.
I stare at the fan on the ceiling, dizzy as though I’m stranded in the middle of the ocean. I hiss with pain at first, but then bite the inside of my cheek. I’m not soft. I will not be used. And I will not be hurt.
His gentleness confuses me, but I’m not naive. He’s not lied about enjoying our time together. I believe he likes me in his own way, and he most definitely lusts for me. It’s just that he thinks he can have his cake and eat it. While I might be an important part of his life, we have no future. Not if he can’t even tell mewhyhe killed Roy.
He grabs his boot and uses it to shove most of the broken glass under the bed, then places his hands on my knees, watching me with that strange expression I’ve never seen on him before. For once, he’s not joking around.
“Shower? The stall’s big enough for two.”
I nod, glad he doesn’t prod me to speak. I know what I have to do.
I even let him hold my elbow when we go to the bathroom. As if I’m some dainty porcelain teapot that’ll break at the tiniest prod. I’m not. I step on the floor with my full weight, ignoring the pain in my injured foot.
I watch him go under the shower first, because he wants to set up the water temperature to be perfect for me. Like that can make up for killing my brother and lying about it. Roy may have been a shit, but I wouldn’t allow him to be murdered on my watch. My feelings about my brother are far too complicated for that.
I act as soon as Road turns around.
I dash out of the bathroom, grab the nearby chair and prop it against the door to block it. Road is so strong he’ll be able to break out soon, so I don’t even stop for my T-shirt. In nothing but my jeans, my boots in my grip, I run out of the motel room, leaving a trail of blood, because it’s no secret where I’m going.
A middle-aged couple leaving the car with their dog watch me from the sidelines, but I only think about my goal—the car that will take me the hell out of here, so far away from Road I might even forget he ever existed.
Deep down, I know it’s vain hope, but when did my secret wants ever matter?
The vehicle opens, and I slide in, tossing my things into the passenger seat as I switch on the engine. For half a second, I stall, staring at the wooden chicken figurine attached to my keys. Even now, he’s taunting me.
The pedals are cold and harsh under my aching bare feet, but I ignore that and back out from the parking spot, because getting away from here is the only thing that matters. Getting away from Road and from everything we ever shared before I found out about his lies.
How could I have ever imagined I’d mean more than his club?
I was a love-drunk idiot, buying him cupcakes and sharing the most intimate parts of me as if I completely forgot who we are at our cores. He will always be a Vulture, and I’ll always be a Butcher. We never had a future to begin with.
“Clyde!” I hear Road yelling, and I see him in my rearview mirror, wrapped in only a towel, but sprinting my way anyway.
I leave him in the dust. He can walk back to his own car. It’s only two miles.
Chapter 28
Road
Wasthecomfortereverthis heavy before? Or is there someone in my bed?
I don’t dare to open my eyes, eager to remain unaware of mistakes made on a mixture of alcohol and drugs for as long as possible. I make a mental checklist. I can’t smell feminine perfume or shampoo—yet—but as I rack my brain for memories of last night, I remember dancing with girls, and Sawyer sitting in my lap at some point, but I couldn’t have—
Why would I sleep with a woman ever again after Clyde? Right now, even the thought ofanother manslobbering over my cock feels disgusting. But if I was really fucked up yesterday—
The weight on top shifts, and my body stiffens, waking up to… a scratchy lick?
That isnota kiss.
“Nutter! You little fucker!” I whine and push the cat off my face where he was about to sit his ass like some feline lap dancer trying to make extra cash.
The ginger cat yowls at me in complaint, and soon several more join in the godawful choir. At least that solves the mystery of why my comforter was heavy. Itwould bewith six damn cats sitting on my chest. I must have left the door open last night.
