My fork falls from my grasp and clatters to the plate. “I did love this meal, Dodger. I used to make it because it was easy to make in the clubhouse, and you loved it. Then it became a meal I ate on my own when you stopped coming home. It was my comfort meal when you started canceling dates and missing important things. This meal, this house does not make up for all the times you left me alone.”
His back goes rigid, and his face falls. His eyes close, and the gesture, the facial expressions, bring me right back to five years ago, when his first reaction was to always push me away. My chest burns with frustration. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to eat dinner with him, let alone stay in the same house. Shoving my chair back, I stand and grab the plate of food. Just because I don’t want to eat in his presence doesn’t mean I’m letting the delicious meal go to waste.
Finn jumps to his feet. “Win, wait, please.”
I stop in my tracks, surprised at his pleading tone. At the end of our relationship, it was as if he had stopped fighting for us altogether, and I got used to it. Turning to face him, I lift my brow.
Finn moves around the table until he’s standing in front of me, and I’m forced to tilt my head back to look at him. “I’m sorry, Winnie. You never deserved any of the shit I put you through. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but when this is all over, and you’re safe again, I hope we can talk about it. There are things you don’t know?—”
“And whose fault is that?” I cut him off, taking a step back.
“Me. It's my fault,” he rushes out, before sliding his hands into his pockets.
My eyes rake over his face and the silent way his expression is begging me to listen. If only I could. I’ve hardened my heartagainst him, and right now, everything he does and says just feels like it's five years too late.
“Night, Dodger,” I mutter, turning on my heel and dashing back upstairs.
He doesn’t follow. Not that I expected him to. Finn seems determined to give me time and to respect my space, even though he insisted on protecting me at his house in the first place. In the safety of the spare bedroom, I stuff myself with food, thoroughly enjoying each bite. After, I sneak to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth before locking myself back in again and sliding into bed. Finn doesn’t try to talk to me or make any more demands. For some reason, my heart pinches in pain from not hearing his voice. And that realization really pisses me off.
Chapter 23
Winnie
Before I know it, two weeks pass by with Finn and me coming to a peaceful understanding while we share the cabin. I choose to ignore him, and he stays out of my way like I need him to. Being here in this house has done a number on me. It’s reminded me of what my life should have been. The dream I always wanted. I don’t understand why Finn is holding on so tightly to the past when he did everything he could to push me away. In the end, I gave him what he wanted, space from me. I just chose to do it more permanently by breaking up with him, moving a state away, and changing my number. Back then, I was done being second place to the club. For years, I let it go, convinced that things would change once he was a full member. That day came and went, and things never got better. I’m not stupid. I know something changed for Finn, something altered his thoughts and feelings, but he never chose to share those with me. He hurt me instead.
It feels unfair to be trapped now in the house I know from memory, with the man who claims to have built it for me. Ignoring him and avoiding him at all costs is the only thing keeping me sane. Thankfully, the only time Finn still encroacheson my space is when he insists on cooking dinner for us both every night. Fortunately, the man can cook, and I am not petty enough to avoid the delicious meals he makes. Why starve myself when he’s the one who wronged me?
Therefore, we strike a truce every night to eat. And of course, that is the time Finn uses to his advantage to make sure I have everything I need. With Lyric’s help, all my favorite soaps, creams, shampoo, and conditioner have been stocked in the house. I was even given access to purchase a brand-new wardrobe, which I put to good use, after promising Finn I’d pay him back once I could access my bank account again without suspicion. I was not looking for a redo of the past, where I was accused of using Finn for his money while going to school. Lyric told me it was ridiculous, but once I explained the history, she understood more. I repeated the same story to Finn when I told him to keep track of how much I owe. His face had paled, and then his eyes were flashing with anger when he demanded to know who would speak to me that way. When I told him everyone, he stalked off to his office and slammed the door. If he went running to his club brothers to bitch them out now, it was about five years too late. That's how I wanted to feel anyway. Truthfully, I was proud of myself for finally telling him about what had happened and how I had been treated, but an even more perverse part of me liked that he was angry enough to stick up for me.
Besides Lyric, the only other visitors we’ve had are Karma and Bullet, who arrive late in the evening once it's dark, do a security check of the land, the yard, and the house before leaving again. Once in a while, they stop inside to discuss the club and any updates from Prez. It's the latest update tonight that Finn decided to bring up over dinner that has my stomach in knots.
“His father?” My voice shakes slightly. I never met the man, but I heard many of his conversations with Marco, and I knewfrom those dealings that he believed I was an issue. A mistress always is, even if they're being forced into the role. He had believed I was influencing Marco when that was far from the truth. I never had dealings with the mafia or the business side of Marco’s life. I was there to patch up his soldiers, tend to him, and, when he requested, be at his beck and call. I also knew Mr. Bianchi thought I was to blame for the marital issues between Marco and Cora.
Finn holds my gaze, and I take comfort from the determination I see radiating back at me. “Bianchi Senior was the one who reached out to us first. He believed his son was losing focus because of the asset, you. Our alliance is not with Marco per se. He is a Bianchi, but it was his father that brokered the deal with Prez and the Rebels of the Undead.”
I take in his words and explanation, but can’t help but feel a sense of dread. “What happens if Mr. Bianchi gets upset and thinks that your club went back on the alliance?”
Finn pauses eating and sets his fork down, all the while not taking his eyes off of me. “We have a few options. If the Bianchis feel this is a breach of the alliance and want to break ties, there is another family we are also allied with and could get their protection.”
“What if he asks for you to hand me over?” The question bubbles out of me, while my fear builds. Mr. Bianchi sees me as a problem, and if I can’t be kept away under the guise of needing protection, to keep his son in line, he might decide there is no use for me at all.
“Win,” Finn calls my name softly, like he’s talking to a wounded animal, and maybe right now, in front of him, I am. Against my preservation instincts, my head lifts, and my gaze meets his. Finn’s eyes are hard, calculating, but there’s a silent strength there as well. “I will never let that happen. You aren’t going back to the Bianchis at all.”
“You can’t–”
“Fuck if I can’t. The club agrees with me on this, Win. They can’t have you back. We are going to be as amenable to the alliance as we can, but the line has been drawn when it comes to you. The whole club agrees with me,” he argues back, and I feel the band of fear around my throat loosen some. Which is stupid. The Rebels may think they’re prepared, but I was a prisoner for almost a year. I know how ruthless Marco can be and how dirty the family is. That's part of the reason they’re having issues in their own ranks and with other family members. Without a doubt, Mr. Bianchi is just as crooked as his son.
The rest of our meal slips by in silence. I eat but can’t make myself enjoy the meal. Everything tastes like dust while the room seems to become smaller around me. The urge to get out, to run, to hide is almost overwhelming. My hands clench against my leggings, physically anchoring me to the now, a reminder that I wouldn’t be safer on my own, no matter how much I think that right this moment. Finn must grow tired of watching me fumble around when he scoots back his chair and clears his plate, then mine. I hear the dishes clatter in the sink and cringe at the sound. I don’t get to think too hard about it, though, because in the next second he’s storming back into the dining room, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my feet.
“What are you doing?”
His eyes roam over my face, and his hand brushes my hair back behind my ear. “You need some fresh air. Let me show you a place.”
I let him lead me to the front door, where he slides on his boots, and I put on my pink Chucks. Finn pauses, and I catch him staring at my feet with a small smirk on his face. “What?”
He shrugs. “I just remember a girl who only wore white cowboy boots.”
I roll my eyes, remembering exactly what my seventeen- and eighteen-year-old self loved. From there, my love went to high heels before discovering tennis shoes were the way to go while in school. Now I’m so used to them that I have various brands and styles, all of them loud and bright colored. Or I did have them. Before my life became not my own.
