Page 57

But that was before all this. Before I became his captive. Before he lied to my grandfather that I was his.

“Who said I was lying?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“You can’t be serious,” I say with an eye roll and move around the room. “And you need to take this seriously. Because once my grandfather figures out the truth, you’re not going to like what happens.”

“And what is it he’s going to find? That we live together? That we share meals and spend time together? That all our friends see us together. That I’m home every night with you, Rex, and Fido.”

“You’re holding me hostage!”

He tilts his head. “Are you chained up nightly? Or forced to eat slop or something equally as gross? Because if that’s the case, let me know and I’ll try cooking something else. But since I know the food is good, I don’t think you can say you’re being held against your will.”

I snort. “Really? You don’t let me leave.”

He simply shrugs. “You don’t have a car. Figure you’d prefer a ride instead of walking places.”

“You take me to the clubhouse or the house. That’s it.”

“You never said you wanted to go anywhere else. I offered, you declined.”

“At most, we’re roommates.”

“Roommates don’t buy lingerie and designer gowns for each other.”

I blush because the underwear under the biker shorts I’m still wearing is definitely lingerie. And definitely from him.

Each week there would be something waiting for me outside my door whenever he was around. Sometimes it was books. Other times clothes. And one time it was lingerie.

I told myself it was just underwear. Sure, I noticed it was from Troublemaker’s online lingerie store, A Little Spice, but I never thought anything of it. Or, better, I refused to see it as more than just essential clothing.

“Whatever. If you aren’t going to take this seriously, then it’s your own damn fault. Having a response to everything isn’t going to save you. The truth will come out.”

I’m not sure if I’m angrier at the ridiculousness of all this or that he doesn’t seem to care. My grandfather isn’t a nice man. You don’t get to his position by being nice. He takes and demands, and he does it in blood when things don’t go his way.

And if you try to make him look like a fool? Well, I’ve never seen or heard of such a thing, but I can predict the outcome for a person who does based on what I’ve seen him do when others have made far less offenses toward him.

“Okay.” He pauses long enough for me to lean forward a bit in anticipation that he has more to say. “You want the truth?”

I throw my hands up to the sky and shout to the heavens, “Yes!”

“The truth is”—he steps away from the wall and gets closer with each word he speaks till he’s mere inches away from me—“when you were taken by the Devils Damned, you set something in motion. They thought they’d collected an old lady.”

“But they got me instead.”

He nods in agreement. “Exactly. And then you gave them the person who killed Psy’s sister.”

“Psy? You mean Psycho?” No one referred to him as Psy. Then again, when I was with them, they rarely called out to one another. It was as if the four of them—the original four, not the dead guy—knew each other so well that they didn’t need to say names. They just naturally knew who was talking to whom.

“Yes, he’s the president of the club. And the man he killed was Duke. Not only a man who several members of the Hounds wanted dead, but he was also the VP for the Devils.”

“Oh.” I might not be in the club, but I get that an officer dying is bad. Especially one killed by his boss.

“Exactly. So, tell me, what are they supposed to do when they take a Hounds woman and their VP gets killed in the process? What are they supposed to tell their club to keep the peace enough for Psy to still keep the president’s patch?”

“Tell the truth.” I want to add, “Obviously,” but I don’t. Instead, I put my hands on my hips and lean closer. We’re still not touching, but only just. “Duke raped and probably killed Psycho’s sister. Hell, he might have kidnapped us too. And you just said he has issues with the Hounds. So the guy deserved to die, right? Who cares who did it?”

But from what I know about the Hounds, they were probably a little pissed that it wasn’t them. They seem to like to do things their way or no way at all.

I might not be the type to shoot first and ask questions later, but that’s only because I was never given the option. Killing someone who deserved it? That doesn’t scare me the way it should. I’ve been through enough shit in my life not to flinch at a dead body. Hell, I’ve been tortured and lost a toe. If in that situation again, and I had the means to defend myself? I think it would have turned out differently for everyone involved. So I can completely understand why Psycho pulled the trigger. Sometimes it isn’t about protecting yourself; sometimes it’s about making sure the outcome is different.