I felt the air shift between us all, knowing how bad it sounded.
“That’s messed up,” Rider finally said, but it was obvious he didn’t really understand.
“No, what’s messed up is that none of this is my choice. And that’s what I want—a choice, my freedom,” I said bitterly. “Look, I just need a little help until I can figure out what I’m going to do.”
“And what are you planning to do?” Rider asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just know that I can’t go back there—to him, to that life. I need a way out. I’ve got a little time since no one knows it was you guys that took me.”
“So it wasn’t out of the goodness of your heart that you kept your mouth shut then,” Rider said dryly. “It was self-preservation.”
“It keeps us both safe,” I replied defiantly, lifting my chin.
The three of us fell silent as both men processed the information. I still couldn’t look at Fighter so I was relieved when Rider finally nodded in my direction.
“We’ll sort shit out, one way or another.” He looked at Fighter. “Drop her off with Charlie and get back here, brother.” They shook hands and Fighter placed a heavy hand on my back, guiding me toward a truck as Rider went back inside. Where his hand connected with my body burned, and a shiver traveled down my spine.
Once safely inside the truck with the engine running, Fighter turned to me, his eyes dark, commanding. His mouth was a thin line of dissatisfaction and I watched as conflict moved over his features while he tried to work out what it was he wanted to say.
I knew what he wanted to say though.
It had been clear in the way his body had stiffened and the flash of emotion in his eyes. It was the same way I had felt each time I had given myself over to him, letting go of my inhibitions and letting him drag the pleasure from my body. It was shame.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, his voice thick like gravel. “I didn’t know.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I replied. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
And there truly wasn’t. At least not for that. Because the more I had thought about it, the more I had realized I wouldn’t have changed what happened between us. I had hated him, but not his touch. not the way he could work my body and make me feel things I’d never experienced before. I couldn’t ever regret that.
“If I would have known…” he started, but then he shook his head and let his words trail off.
“Everything happens for a reason, Fighter. Sometimes we don’t know what that reason is until afterwards.”
His gaze moved over my face, his features hard. “That true what you said to Rider? ’Bout your dad killing someone you cared about ’cause he thought he took your virginity?”
I didn’t miss the edge to his voice when he mentioned my virginity.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You still care ’bout him?” he asked gruffly.
I frowned. “My daddy?”
“No, Penny, the guy! This Scratch motherfucker.” His words were crude, blunt, and held a dominance to them. I wasn’t sure if he said it like that to garner a reaction from me or if that was just who he was. The truth was, I didn’t know much about the man, and yet there I was running to him for help, putting my life in his hands. I was an idiot.
I swallowed, Scratch’s pale face appearing in my mind, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at me. I shoved it away. I couldn’t think of him like that, not right then, or I’d crumble and break. And right then I needed to be strong—the strongest I’d ever been. His death had to mean something. It had to change things for the better.
“What does it matter?” I replied, keeping my expression neutral.
I’m not ashamed to say that I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to see him flinch, or wince at my words. Hell, I would have taken anything. Because that was how we worked, this man and I; we tormented one another to the point of insanity and then soothed each other’s wounds with our violent touch.
When Fighter didn’t reply, when his face remained as neutral as my own, I folded my arms and looked out of the window with a heavy sigh. I don’t know what I was expecting from him, what I expected him to say. What was there to say?
Fighter was a monster, a dark angel who stole me from my life, tortured me, punished me, and then set me free, my wings finally unclipped and ready to spread. Yet he was just as bad as the men in my daddy’s club—probably worse.
He certainly wasn’t good for me, no matter how much my heart raced when he was near, or how my core tightened when I was around him.
“Guess it doesn’t,” he said, and started to drive.
