More laughter spills out of me.
“I love your laugh, Sunshine.”
“I miss you.”
“Fuck. Murphy offered to drive me down there, but I thought you were doing family night with Carter.”
“I am. He’s out in the living room with Mercy.”
“Oh. And you called me?”
“Told you I missed you.”
“That’s nice. I like that, Charlotte,” he says, sleepiness creeping into his voice.
“Are you falling asleep on me?” I ask.
“Yes, but keep talking to me. Love the sound of your voice.”
So, I keep talking until I’m pretty sure he’s out.
“Love you, Marcel,” I whisper before hanging up, missing him more than ever.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, Murphy—persistent little asshole that he is—bangs on my door. Early.
“You’re lucky I was up.”
I woke up about an hour ago with my phone plastered to my face and a wicked headache, wondering what stupid shit came out of my mouth last night. Advil cured my headache, but I’d have to wait until later to find out who I managed to piss off with my drunk ass.
“You look better than I expected after last night. He steps back. “How you feeling?”
“Surprisingly okay.” I glance down at my hands, which ache. My knuckles are banged up, reminding me of all the shit that went down yesterday.
Murphy grinds his fist against his palm. A sure sign he’s got something on his mind. “What?”
“No one’s really up yet if you wanted to fire up The Ol’ Judge without an audience.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
The corner of his mouth twists into a cocky smirk. “No.” A little more serious, he adds, “Just to the park and back.”
“Let’s do it.”
We meet out front a few minutes later and he nods at my leathers. The only reason my accident didn’t turn more of my skin into road hamburger was because I’d been well-covered and even though it’s a short ride and I’m sweating my balls off, I’m not taking any chances.
He waves his hand at the bike I’ve had since I was a teenager. “You gonna ditch this rat bike and buy something new?”
“Not yet.”
I wait for him to say something about how there’s no spot for Charlotte on the back, but he doesn’t mention it.
“Everything’s solid,” Murphy assures me as I stare at both of our bikes. “Went through T-CLOCS this morning. But you can do it.”
“No. I trust you.”
It’s not the tires, controls, lights or anything else making me hesitate. It’s me.
Fuck.
Mounting the bike is easier than I expected. My leg doesn’t protest the movement that still comes naturally. I straddle my ride and get reacquainted with my old, familiar friend. I go through checking the foot pegs, the turn signals, and adjust my mirror before turning it over.
“Park and back?” Murphy shouts over the combined rumbling of our idling engines.
My fear gives way to tingling anticipation.
As much fun as Murphy and I have had over the years partying, fucking, hustling, and fighting, one thing we bonded over early on in our friendship was our love of riding.
Even before we patched into the club, we loved to be on the open highway on the machines that we built and worked on during our off-hours. Together, we’ve ridden thousands and thousands of miles. We know each other’s riding habits and can communicate with the rev of our engines.
I’m back in my element colors flying, wind in my face.
In some ways, not being able to get out on the open road has been worse than my injuries. The last few months, I tried to convince myself I’d be okay if I couldn’t ride again.
Fuck, I missed this. Experiencing every detail of my surroundings. The scent of earth and pine trees as we pass the gate and turn onto the main road.
Almost every day I drive a portion of this back-country road, but without my big, soundproof cage surrounding me, I’m free to notice all the things I’ve been missing.
A whiff of fresh cut grass, followed by cow manure hits my face and then it’s gone. As we climb the mountain road that leads to Fletcher Park, the temperature drops at least five degrees.
The wind moving around me, my bike rumbling under me, my fear, the exhilaration, all of it melds together. My body and my senses are engaged, working together in a rhythm that both soothes and makes me hyper-aware of everything.
I’m alive.
We slow as we enter the park and pull into the overlook lot. I shut the bike down and pull off my helmet.
“How’d it feel?” Murphy shouts.
One thing became clear on the short ride up here.
I’ve never feared dying.
Not living has always been my biggest fear.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Carter’s staying at his friend’s house,” I explain to Marcel over the phone. “My place is all clear.”
“Why don’t you come up here tonight?”
“Yeah?” I tease. “You want me up there?”
He lowers his voice until it’s a sexy rumble over the phone. “You know I do.”
I can’t erase the smile from my face after we hang up.
He called earlier to tell me he’d finally gotten on his bike. Alexa’s happy squeals in the background intensified the ache in my chest. Old Charlotte would be horrified to know how much I’ve come to love being with this man.
How much I miss him when we’re apart.
I need to change out of my ratty lounge-around-the-house clothes, but I also want to finish what I was doing before Marcel called.
Since it’ll take him awhile to get here from the clubhouse, I have plenty of time to do both.
The scent of lemons fills the kitchen as I slice through one after another. My metal citrus squeezy device isn’t meant for this kind of abuse. “I really need a friggin’ juicer,” I mutter. Or I should just buy lemonade. I’m not sure why I got it in my head that making it myself was better.
A knock at my front door startles me so bad I almost slice my finger off.
That was quick.
“Marcel, where’s your key?” I yell as I run to the door.
It’s not Marcel.
“Hey, girlie. How you been?” Uncle Chuck says, using his bigger size to muscle his way into my apartment.
“Uh, come on in.”
For a second, I stare at the entryway and consider running.
Outside. Where it’s safe.
Come on. I’m being ridiculous.
I shut the door and turn to face Chuck. “What brings you by?”
“Need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” I answer, striding back to the kitchen.
Chuck follows. “So, you and your boyfriend are tight, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Been telling him stories?”
Frankly, I’m surprised it took him so long to stop by and complain about the visit Marcel paid him. My fear seems to have ebbed away. A dangerous glibness taking its place. “Only true ones,” I say over my shoulder.
I turn and he’s practically on top of me. “Back up.”
My attempt to assert myself seems to amuse him. His mouth slides into a half-smile that looks evil as hell.
He stares at me with too much intensity to be harmless. “Why would you tell him? No man wants a woman with your history.”
My cheeks heat. “My history? You mean the history of how my own uncle set me up to get raped?” It’s only a guess, but nothing about that night and the aftermath has ever made sense to me.
A flicker of something I can’t identify passes over his face. “Most of the shitty things you think about me are probably true, Char. But that?” Anguish or maybe regret turns his last words into a rough whisper.
“Well, the alternative is you allowed it to happen or lost control of the situation.” I inject more venom in my voice.
“Otherwise, how do you explain a big, powerful officer of an MC not keeping his own niece safe under his roof?”
His nostrils flare, but I’m not done. All the anger I convinced myself I’d let go of years ago rushes back with furious intensity.
“How dare you try to assert yourself in my life now. All because your overinflated ego can’t stand me being with a man you don’t approve of.”
His lips twitch with rage. “You don’t want to keep trying to unravel this, Char.”
Anger shoots through my veins, making me reckless. “Stop trying to tell me how to feel about what happened. Every time you and Mom did that it was like being raped all over again.”
He winces, but I keep going. “Who did it, Chuck? You must have some idea. Was it someone from the visiting club? One of your own? You? What’d you do? Offer me up as some party favor to one of your bros?”
Chuck snaps. Before I process what’s happening, he backhands me across the face.
The blow knocks me off balance, and my side slams into the counter, knocking the breath out of me. The tang of blood fills my mouth.
Tears spring to my eyes.
“What the fuck?” I scream, hoping my neighbors are home and call the police.
Before it’s too late.
“You smart-mouthed little bitch. You never listened or did what you were told. Even when you were a kid. My brother thought it was funny. His little princess mouthing off. He thought it would keep you out of the life.”
I jolt with shock at the mention of my father. “What’re you talking about?”
“I tried warning him if you didn’t know your place it would only make things harder on you. People in our world see a mouthy little cunt and want to break her.”
“Know my place? I don’t want a place in your world.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing with Teller?” he shouts in my face.
“He’s nothing like you!” I yell back.
“You’re fooling yourself, girl.” He tilts his head, a sly smile forming on his lips. “Did he tell you how he got the last girl he was with killed?”
“Actually, yes.”
His eyes widen. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that answer, but he recovers fast. “I’m sure he didn’t tell you the whole story. Only the parts that make him look good.”
That’s how little my uncle knows about Teller.
“Why’d you have to tell him all that? Were you thinking he’d restore your honor or just trying to make me look bad, Char?”
The wild anger pulsing through him scares the shit out of me. My hand slides over the counter, searching for the knife I’d been cutting lemons with.
Just in case.
My fingers curl around the blade, slicing through my skin. Lemon juice burns as it seeps into the wound. I whimper, but Chuck’s too focused on my face to notice. He seems to think my pained cry is out of fear and twists his lips into a smirk.
He pushes me against the counter, into the corner where I’m trapped by his heavy body.
I might not remember what had happened to me years ago, but my body remembers and recoils in fear.
An image or maybe a memory dances at the edges of my brain.
He claps his heavy hands over my shoulders and shakes me. “Bad things happen to good people every fucking day. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Bury it and move the fuck on?”
“I did. I tried,” I whisper. “You don’t understand.”
“Teller won’t let this go. You know that, right? That what you wanted? Your man to come play big badass protector for you? Show me up in my own clubhouse? Thinkin’ he’s so much better than me, because he woulda handled it differently when he doesn’t know shit.”
“Not everything’s about you. He had a right to know.”
He sneers. “Why? You got some sort of disease? He’s probably full of them.”
Bile and shame rise in my throat, burning like acid. “You’re disgusting,” I spit out.
He presses in even closer. “And you’re pathetic. Still complaining all these years later because some guy wanted to fuck your uptight ass so bad he had to knock you out to do it.”
My stomach lurches and ice crackles through my veins. It’s almost word for word what my mother’s reaction had been. And no matter how much time goes by, my family’s dismissal of what was done to me never stops hurting.
“That’s why I told him,” I spit out.
“What?”
“That’s why I told him,” I repeat, finding the strength to raise my voice. “So that when the day came he and his club would understand why I’d turn my back on my own family. Why you have never earned my loyalty or respect. And why you never will.”
Like a rattlesnake, he strikes fast, slapping my other cheek. Pain explodes through my skull, but I don’t have time to shout or fight back. “I don’t have to earn your respect after everything I’ve done for you. You give it.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “Never.”
The knife.
My fingers tighten around the handle.
“You won’t survive in his club either. Always thinking you’re too good to follow the rules.”
“What rules? The rules where if I don’t spy on people you bug my phone?”
That finally gives him pause. “I knew you overheard something the other day. And here I thought Keeper was just too stupid to load the app right on your phone.”
“You don’t have a shred of remorse for anything you do, do you?”
He moves in closer and afraid he’s going to hit me again, the hand holding the knife swings wildly. The blade catches him between the ribs, but he keeps coming, forcing it in deeper.
Stunned, I release the knife.
His eyes go wide and he staggers back, falling to the ground. He grips the knife handle, blood pouring from the wound.
“I wouldn’t,” I rasp. “You pull it free, you’ll probably bleed out.”
He stares at me as if he never expected me to be capable of violence.
Never expected me to fight back.
Without taking my eyes off him, I pat the counter, searching for my phone and call 911.
But someone’s already banging at my door.
I stagger to the living room and throw the door open.
One of Empire’s finest stands there. “Miss are you okay? We had a call—”
My mouth moves, but no sound comes out. He takes in my wild eyes and roughed-up appearance and pushes into my apartment.
His gaze lands on my uncle slumped on the floor, blood pooling around him. The officer, who I now recognize as Marcel’s friend, rushes into the kitchen, calling for an ambulance and backup.
I drop onto the couch trying to make sense of the last fifteen minutes.
My uncle losing his damn mind.
And I defended myself.
In the kitchen, Chuck feebly answers a few questions before passing out.
Another officer arrives and another. Then an ambulance.
“Miss,” the first officer says. “Officer Hollister,” he introduces himself, sitting across from me on my coffee table. “Can you tell me what happened?”
He looks at me more closely. “You’re Teller’s girl, right?”
“I’m a lawyer,” I whisper.
On my way to Charlotte’s my phone rings. Z’s voice blasts over the Bluetooth when I answer.
“Where are you?” he shouts.
“On my way to Charlotte’s. Why?”
“Get over there now.”
“What’s going on?”
The call drops as I enter downtown Empire. Lark Street’s crowded with several cop cars. Lights flashing. An ambulance.
There’s no time to call Z back.
An officer’s blocking traffic from the section of the street that includes Charlotte’s apartment.
“Fuck this.”
I jerk the wheel, jumping the curb to make the sharp turn down the alleyway behind Charlotte’s apartment. Throwing the truck in park, somewhat nea
r Charlotte’s car, I grab my keys and run through the alleyway to her brownstone.
“No. No. No.” The chanting’s coming from my mouth.
With each slap of my foot against the pavement, a question explodes in my head. Why didn’t I stay here with her last night? Why wasn’t I here earlier? Why’d I choose today to go for a fucking joyride? What the fuck happened? Is Charlotte okay?
Please let Charlotte be okay.
All my worst fears are confirmed when I burst out of the alleyway. The cops are clustered around the front steps to Charlotte’s apartment, blocking anyone from getting too close to her building.
An Empire cop comes dangerously close to my fist in his face when he stops me with a hand to my chest. “You can’t go up there.”
“Like fuck I can’t. My girlfriend—”
“Let him up,” someone calls down. I lift my head and my cop-buddy Liam’s staring down at me from the top step.
Pushing the other officer out of my way, I leap up the steps. “Where’s Charlotte?”
Outside, the ambulance takes off, lights and sirens blaring.
“Liam, where is she?”
“Inside.” He holds up a hand but doesn’t touch me. “You need to get her a lawyer.”
“What? Why? She is a lawyer.”
“She said that.”
“Is she okay?”
He nods. “Do you know a Charles Clark?”
Not recognizing the name at first, I shake my head, then stop myself. “Yeah, Chuck. Her uncle.”
“What’s their relationship like?”
“He’s an asshole. Been up in her business since we started seeing each other.”
Liam angles his body, pushing me closer to the stairway and drops his voice. “He suffered a pretty bad knife wound. Before he passed out, he said she did it.”
“Is she okay?”
“She’s hurt. She says he attacked her first and she stabbed him by accident.”
“You questioned her while she’s hurt?”
“Come on Marcel, I’m not a total asshole. EMS treated her. She refused to go anywhere or to call a lawyer. Once we got him out of here, I was going to call you.”
Yeah, Liam probably assumed it was club-related, and I’d kill Merlin for hurting Charlotte.