“Good,” he said with a smile, and the darkness I’d seen in his eyes disappeared. Once again he was the handsome Lorenzo, restaurant owner, businessman, and tentative lover, but I’d seen behind his veil now, and what I’d seen frightened me. “Let’s get you home, shall we? You must be tired,” he said, pushing his now flaccid length back into his pants and buttoning himself back up. I watched as he pulled some of my long hair from between his fingers, opened a window and dropped them out of it, and I realized how sore the back of my head was where he’d pulled my hair.
Lorenzo slid his seat forward and started the engine, and I realized as we pulled away from the secluded crest that this hadn’t been a chance decision to go there. He’d brought me there for that purpose. I’d thought I had sought his forgiveness so that things would be better in my life, so that Lorenzo could be the one good thing I had. But instead, I realized with sinking dread, I’d just made my situation ten times worse.
Chapter Eleven
~ BEAST ~
“Your sexy nurse said you can start doing some light exercises, brother,” Gauge said around a mouthful of cigar smoke. “No drinking and no drugs, but at least you can get your ass out of that bed and get moving again.”
Casa snickered from the corner. He had a cigarette dangling between his lips as he painted something on my wall. I’d given up asking him what it was.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?” I growled.
Casa looked over his shoulder. “Heard you had a workout yesterday with the lovely luscious Lola.”
Lola. Fucking Lola.
Bitch couldn’t keep her mouth shut, but at least she was bending the truth for both of our sakes.
“That’s what she’s here for, ain’t it?” I grunted, throwing the sheet back and dropping my feet to the floor.
“Thought you and that nurse were a thing,” Gauge said, his dark eyebrows pulled in.
“Nah, brother, she picked the fucking Italian, remember? You goin’ senile or something?” Casa said without looking, his hand wrapped around a paintbrush and moving swiftly over the wall.
“Fuck off,” I bit out.
“I know what happened. Just thought with her being in here all the time she would have changed her mind.” Gauge threw Casa a dirty look. Brother was getting real touchy about his age. It wasn’t like he was actually getting old or anything—no older than the rest of us, really—but the more it irritated him, the more Casa liked to push on that button just to piss him off more.
“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” I stood up, a wave of dizziness washing over me. I stumbled, and Gauge reached for me but I shoved him off with a snarl. “Get off me. I’ve got it. I just stood up too quick is all.”
He stood back, his hands in the air. “Fine, fall the fuck over then, see if I care.”
The dizziness faded and I dragged a hand down my face. I couldn’t mess this up again. I had to get my shit sorted out. Things were coming to a head and I wanted to be a part of it. But for that I needed to be strong. I needed to be able to walk without getting dizzy. To be able to see other people without losing my temper. I needed to be able to ride my bike and hold a gun if I was going to hunt them down and shoot them. But most importantly, I needed to be able to wield a knife so I could cut my pound of flesh out of the men that ruined my life and took away my brother.
“Throw me my jeans,” I said, taking a deep breath as I tried to cope with the sickness that was clawing its way up my stomach. I’d been lying down for too long. I’d let my muscles waste to practically nothing. I’d become weak and feeble and thin. My hip bones jutted out, my collarbones were sharp. I’d been so consumed with my own rage and desire for vengeance that I’d stopped eating properly and my body was paying the price for it.
I watched Gauge look my thin, weak, broken body over before looking away, embarrassed. I was glad that he didn’t say anything about it.
Gauge grabbed my jeans from the chair in the corner and threw them over to me. “I’ll meet you out there. I don’t need to see your junk,” he grumbled, and left the room.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I shoved my feet through my jeans before pulling them on. The material felt rough, almost like splinters of glass being dragged against my skin. My flesh had become overly sensitive to everything. But it also felt good to be wearing clothes again. The familiar scent of denim, and soon leather when I put my cut back on was like a dream come true. It was damn sight better than the smell of burn cream and sanitizer, that was for sure.
I turned, realizing that Casa was still there painting whatever it was on to my wall. “You stayin’ to see my junk?”
He snickered but didn’t say anything, continuing to paint, and I shook my head and grabbed a T-shirt from the floor before pulling it over my head. It was cotton and should have felt soft, but again it felt rough as jagged ice, and I winced. I refused to take it off though. Sooner or later I had to get used to this. Sooner or later the pain would subside and this would just be the new norm.
I shoved my feet into my boots—the soles of my feet where nails had been driven into them were only a little painful to walk on—and then I turned to leave. I threw a backward glance to Casa, scowling as his hands moved quickly. He was lost in whatever world he went to when he painted, cigarette ash falling at his feet as he worked his magic.
“Don’t fuck around with any of my shit,” I grumbled, and left the room. “And that better not be a picture of your grandma’s pussy. Can’t be jacking off to that every night.”
He laughed again but continued to ignore me, and I stepped out into the hallway, slamming my door shut behind me. This wasn’t my actual home, just my room at the clubhouse, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t been home in over a year. My worries washed around me. Thoughts of bills, of cleaning and cooking, of living on my own again. It was strange how you got used to things. My pulse spiked at the thought of being in my own home, away from my brothers or Belle.
Just alone.
Like I’d always wanted.
Yet now the thought made me uncomfortable.
