I feel guilty for wishing him on anyone else in the club. Trent's looking to take Damian's death out of someone's hide, and I value everyone in the MC too much to inflict him on them. It's half the reason I haven't gone running to Cruz. He has enough on his plate as co-president to deal with this.
I draw myself up by a few inches and stare him full in the face even as I tell him a bald-faced lie. I know how Damian died. I witnessed the aftermath, even saw the body. The image still plagues my nightmares.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Trent. And I'm very busy. If you need anything, ask Vicky."
I slide across the wall and away from him, but his grip only tightens. A pained yelp escapes my mouth and tears sting the corners of my eyes. He has a grip to rival Damian's.
The slap comes so fast I hardly see it. One moment he's standing close enough that I can smell the stale scent of his chewing tobacco, and the pain explodes across the right side of my face. It stuns me more than anything. Damian hit harder than that, even while sober. With a half-pint of Jack Daniels in him, he could rival any champion boxer.
I'm stunned into silence because Trent just violated one of the two cardinal rules that govern the spades. The Sleepless Spades don't hurt women ever. Trent saved his son from expulsion when he hit me, almost a year ago. Now I know why. He's just as much of an abusive asshole as his son.
"Cut the shit," he hisses. "This whole damn thing started because you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut, you little slut."
I cringe away from the word on reflex. I've heard it often enough from men who think being pregnant out of wedlock makes you easy. Damian was my first and to date, only boyfriend. Part of me worries what little man will be like when he has this shit swimming around in his DNA and his only living kin is a monster.
Something hard and cold presses into my belly and I freeze, staring in horror at Trent. I'm not sure if the point digging into my skin is a knife, but I'm not taking any chances. My entire body screams at me to do something, to protect little man at all costs.
"Please," I gasp, tears gathering in my eyes. "Please. He's your grandson. You can't do this."
"Tell me who killed my boy," he growls. "And I won't have to skewer you, Cleo."
The words leap to the edge of my tongue, loyalty to Cruz battling against the insistent need to keep my baby safe. Cruz would understand, right? He wouldn't blame me for this. If someone was menacing Holly, he would do the same, say anything he had to, to make sure she's safe.
Someone bangs through the double doors that lead into the back, voice already raised. The huge man blocks out the light from the club beyond, but I can tell just by the silhouette who it is. Six feet and change of solid, steely muscle make up the man blocking the way out. I can't see them in the darkness, but I know that he's dressed in white, beneath his club jacket, headed to his shift as an EMT with the South Hollens Hospital. It won't cover the inked expanse of his arms, and will barely cover the grinning skull that pokes out around his elbow. His dark hair will be mussed from his helmet, touchable and tousled in a sexy way that I appreciate, though I'll never say it aloud.
"Ryker," I gasp.
Trent's weight recedes and I expel a relieved breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My chest burns and the tears fall, streaking down my cheeks. I wipe at them before he can see.
"What the hell is going on here?" Ryker demands, shifting so that the light illuminates his face. His dark eyes are guarded and unfriendly as he stares Trent down. I barely catch the glint of metal as Trent tucks his weapon back into its sheath at his belt.
"Just a friendly conversation," Trent grunts. "Ain't that right, Sutton?"
"Right," I supply at once, too frightened to do anything else. I won't risk a fight in the narrow confines of the hall. Little man could get hurt.
So could Ryker, and that bothers me more than I like to admit. He's been a stalwart presence in my life, helping me out when I need it. I think he feels guilty for introducing me to Damian so long ago. He blames himself for what happened between us. I should tell him to stop blaming himself and tend to his girlfriend Eden, but I'm selfish. I value his help too much to send him away.
"Conversation's over," Ryker says, eyes never leaving Trent. "Buzz off Trent, I've got business with Cleo."
"I just bet you do," Trent says in a tone that makes my face heat. The implication in his tone is clear.Whore.
"Fuck off," Ryker hisses. "I won't say it again, Trent. Leave her alone."
Trent inclines his head in that age-old masculine symbol of deference.You win. This time.
I don't breathe easy until I spy Trent leaving out the front. Then I sag against the wall, a choked sob escaping me. This isn't over, and I know it.
At once, Ryker's arms are around me, pulling me into the broad expanse of his chest. He's chilled, and his jacket is beaded with water from his ride over. South Hollens exists under an almost constant slam of rain. It would be a miracle if hewasn'twet. I don't care. I burrow into the layers, pressing my nose close to his collarbone so I can inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne. It's the only thing that's been able to calm me in recent months.
Ryker's arms tighten around me and he relaxes a fraction, easing down from his defensive posture. "Shh, Cleo. It's okay. I've got you."
"Thank you," I sob. "Thank you so much. I thought he would hurt me."
"If he lays a fucking hand on you, you come to me or Cruz. Do you hear me? That shit doesn't fly here."
I shake my head at once. "I can't take this to Cruz. He's got enough to worry about on his own. I'll be fine once Penny gets back."
It chafes that I need a protector. But I'm not a fighter. Not like Penny. Hell, not even like Holly. I would never have the strength to cold clock someone or jab a shard of glass into their eye, how Holly did. Even if I didn't have little man to worry about, I'm just a useless lump in need of rescuing. First Cruz, now Ryker.
