He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking stressed the hell out.
“Will this trust go both ways, Cruz?” I snap back, so ready for a fight.
“Of course, darlin’. We will trust you when you earn it. Forgive us for being overprotective. The last time you threw a tantrum, two of the most important people in my life nearly died.” Even the smartass way Cruz responds tells me they won’t ever trust me; they will only ever show me part of themselves and hold me at arm’s length with all these rules. Even if he did just say I’m one of the most important people in his life.
I push my chair back and stand, not wanting the anger now bubbling through me to escape. Because if it does, day one is going to go badly.
Jagger shoves his chair back, and it goes flying across the wood floorboards. “Don’t run from us ever again. We will track you down, and I won’t hesitate to lock you up next time. Every action has a consequence, and this is yours.” His voice booms through the room.
I stare back at him, blinking a few times. He has to be kidding me. “What’s yours then? You made me run by scaring me and taking all my stuff last time.” The bitter words escape even though I try to hold them in. I can’t just lie here and take this. I might be a dead girl, but even I know I need to claw my way back to the living somehow, and it’s not going to be by taking shit from these three overbearing assholes.
Jagger closes the gap between us in one large stride, staring down at me in a way that makes me feel small and insignificant. “I nearly lost you!” he bellows, and my heart constricts. “I will have to live with that regret and knowing you have missed out on your dream of going to that audition because of me. You want to fucking punish me as well, go right ahead.” He glares at me for a beat more, then turns and strides away, smashing shit as he goes.
It leaves me trembling as I glare at the back of him. He’s pissed with himself? My fists ball at my sides. I’m not a violent person, but there is this uncontrollable anger pulsing through me. This grief for all I have lost that is consuming me and turning me bitter. The loss of control over every damn part of my life is eating me up inside and filling me with venom. I want to run after him and fight him on this when I never would have in the past. But I can’t take it anymore. The loss of control, the helplessness. The pain. “Don’t fucking stalk off, you don’t get to lose your shit and then leave,” I yell back.
But he’s already gone. A door slams in the distance just to prove it.
Asher’s hand slips into mine, forcing me to relax and look back at him. “You’re here because we want you here. No contracts with your brother or anyone else, that shit is long gone.” Asher smiles, all cheeky, and it makes it to his dimples. I think he’s trying to lighten the blow, but I’m not in the mood. “Don’t hate him for wanting to keep you safe. Jagger has a funny way of showing he cares, but you’re important to him.”
Cruz moves to my other side, a hand brushing down my arm. “You’re ours. From now on, baby, there is no escape,” Cruz backs him up, and my mind bounces back to the man who just made love to me, or that’s what it felt like. But this doesn’t feel like love, this is control.
I step away from them, not wanting their hands on me, trying to be sweet when we all know they’re just Jagger’s messengers. “You both need to think very carefully about the stunt you three just pulled. I might have asked for your help to escape my family, but I didn’t sign up for whatever this is, and I won’t be your little toy to mess with. You don’t get to dictate how I do this. If you want to help me do it, don’t act all kind then throw it back in my face in the name of following the boss’s rules. This club shit might work for the Iron Strykers boys, but it will never work on me.”
“Princess.” Asher reaches for me.
But I sidestep him. “Don’t.” My glare turns icy. “Grow a pair and tell your fucking brother where to go.” The harshness in my voice scares me. This isn’t who I am. But it’s who they are turning me into. All of them. My family, this situation. All the messed-up things I have seen over the last few weeks. It’s accumulating and swirling through me like an angry storm. I turn on my heel and stalk out of the room, back to my bedroom. Even though my blood boils, I’m smart enough to know there is nothing I can do about any of this because I agreed to this shit so they could stop my family from dragging me back home. I have to stay here with them. For now. At least until I’m stronger. Then what, I don’t know. But one thing is for sure, if they thought I was going to stay a pushover and just do what they tell me to, they are mistaken. I’m not the same girl I used to be.
Chapter 8
We’re Not Going to Take It
Rickyarrivednotlongafter Jagger stormed off in a huff. While he saw to Jagger, I stayed in my room to be alone. The view from my window is of the lake. From here, it looks beautiful with the sun shining down. Unlike the windows at the boys’ apartment, this one opens. But my chance of climbing out andescaping is just as slim. There are metal bars locking me in and, I guess, anyone else out. Jagger did say it has top-notch security.
I know they’re trying to keep me safe, I get it. And I appreciate their help, but why can’t they treat me like one of them? Why can’t they see that their rules just make me feel even more trapped? When the truth is, most of the time I like being with them and don’t really want to run away. I want to be one of them. Tough and fierce like Sloane, but more than that, respected enough to think for myself.
As I stare out the window, my mind drifts to the club, and I wonder what’s going on down there right now. I wish I was working tonight, dancing for a roomful and making my own money. The short time I was able to was so empowering, it gave me a high I need more of. But my family had to go and ruin that as well. I wish I was never born into my family, wish so badly I could just be a normal girl able to follow her dreams. My audition song plays in my head, and I move, turning from the windowsill and up onto my toes. Just as quickly as I spin, I crash to the floor, pain surging through my head. I bury my head in my hands and suck in deep ragged breaths, willing the thumping to stop. Fuck, I shouldn’t have done that.
Fucking Valentine still haunting me.
I move to sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet, staring at my trembling hands, hating that I let this happen to myself. I know hitting my head while the boys were trying to shield me from flying bullets was a freak accident, but the damage was already there. Who knows how many other fractures Valentine gave me over the years that are still lingering under my skin. I know sometimes the bruising and pain was much worse than at other times. Sometimes I didn’t leave the house for weeks. He wanted me hidden away, the shame of what he was doing to me too much even for him. My hands ball into fists. I should have run away sooner, should have stuck up to him and fought formyself no matter how bad it got. I hate myself for letting this all happen. What if I never fully recover and I can’t dance again? A silent sob works through me, but I have no tears left to cry; they have turned into a bitter pain that’s now lodged itself in my chest.
I want to make him pay for the way he treated me, but he’s already dead. My family, though, they’re not. My papa fucking sent me off to him when I was so young and innocent, I had no idea what was coming. They saw what he was doing to me and said nothing. Did nothing. They let it all happen. I was supposed to be his little girl. And my brother, all that time I thought he was trying to protect me and get me out of that hell — I see it for what it was now. He didn’t want me married to Valentine because he had someone more beneficial he could ship me off to. Fucking Leone Russo. My body goes rigid, and pain pumps through me like never before. I want them to pay. How fucking dare they use me to grow their media empire. That’s what this is, I’m sure of it.
“Daisy,” comes Ricky’s voice, forcing my attention up to him. He’s at the door of my room, his brow furrowed. “Are you alright?” He moves into the room and places his bag down at the end of my bed.
“No, I’m not,” I mutter.
He moves over to help me up, holding out a strong hand. He pulls me up onto my shaky feet and leads me back over to the bed. “Did you fall?”
“Not really. I was… I just got dizzy and had to sit down,” I lie, because I know anything I say will go back to the boys, and I remember one of their rules is no training until they tell me I can. Assholes. A fresh wave of anger courses through me.
“You might have just moved too quickly. You’ll be a little off balance for a few weeks. Let me take a look.”
I sit on the bed in front of him as he opens his bag. He gets out a little light and shines it in my eyes just like he did every day in the clinic. “How’s the nausea?”
“Fine,” I mutter, so used to his checks now.
He unravels the bandage around my hair and looks over the stitches. “And the pain?”
