Page 8 of Filthy Secret

Walking up to the bar, I don’t bother waking up a prospect to be our bartender, not when I can do that. I reach for a bottle of Crown Royal behind the large, scarred wooden bar. My preferred whiskey isn’t out here. I keep that shit locked away in my room because it’s expensive, but this will do for now.

I reach for a couple of highball glasses, place them on the bar, then pour us each a healthy glass.

Gnaw wraps his fingers around his glass then lifts it in the air to toast. I do the same, waiting for him to speak.

“You’re a good man, Atomic. A good leader, a good brother, and in general, a great fucking person. To you.”

Smirking, I clink glasses with him and take a drink. The warm liquid burns my throat on its way down, but I welcome it. I love it actually. Taking another drink, then another, I place my glass down and fill it up again before I speak.

“I’m not that great of a person,” I mutter.

Gnaw doesn’t say anything, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t need him to tell me I’m wrong. Because I know I’m not.

“I didn’t protect Shawn the way I should have, and I turned away Ryan when I knew it took every ounce of guts and bravery to come here and ask me for help. I’m not a chivalrous man, and I hate myself for it.”

Gnaw is quiet for a moment, then he says a single word, forming it into a question, and it causes me to pause.

“Why?”

“Why?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “Why do you hate yourself for following rules that are clear in our club?”

“Because it feels fucking wrong.”

Gnaw dips his chin, then clears his throat. “Not all rules are meant to stay rules forever. Sometimes we need to change them.”

He’s absolutely right. Sometimes, we do need to change rules. We know that from the rest of society. We don’t always conform to what is considered normal standard societal rules anyway. It shouldn’t be a big deal to make concessions and changes. I think my main problem is that I’m stubborn as fuck. Which is a goddamn downfall sometimes.

RYAN

He’s been watching me.

Golden Joker. Still a stupid-as-hell name, but just because he has a stupid name doesn’t mean he doesn’t terrify me. Because he does, stupid name and all. Every time a car drives down my street, I hold my breath, thinking it’s him coming for me.

Ellen has finally given up texting me. I’m glad for it because I don’t ever want to see her again. I don’t care if she cries and tells me how sorry she is because she’s not. Not really. If she were, she would find a way to fix this, to make sure I’m safe, that Adam is safe.

But she hasn’t done that. She won’t do that. She doesn’t give a shit deep down because she’s a narcissistic drug addict. Ellen only cares about getting high and herself. Nothing else in the entire world matters.

“Mama,” a voice calls out.

Turning my head, I look at Adam in the living room. He’s sitting on the floor in front of the chipped-up, scarred coffee table, coloring.

“Yeah, baby?”

He stops coloring, turns his head, and when his eyes find mine, I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Until this exact moment, I’ve been able to tell myself that he looks like me, acts like me, everything. I’ve been able to lie to myself. But I can’t right now because his eyes are all his father's.

“I feel funny,” he whispers.

“Like what?” I ask, wiping my hands on the dish towel as I start to move toward him.

He frowns. “Like something bad is going to happen.”

I stop in my tracks. In a normal situation, I would probably tell him that everything is going to be okay, that I’ll be able to protect him. But I can’t tell him that right now because I know it’s not, and I won’t be able to, not against Golden Joker.

“Listen to me really good,” I say. “If something happens, if you get scared, go next door to Miss Rose’s house, okay?”

His brows snap together, and he still looks so much like his father that I have to tell myself to breathe inwardly.

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