Page 11 of Kneeling to Candy

“I understand.” I hold my head high, attempting to rein in my emotions. “There are things that happened to me I don’t enjoy discussing with others either. Since I want to work through my issues, I do it during therapy. But I don’t like talking about it aside from my sessions.”

My silent biker looks away, an angry scowl marring his handsome face.

I place my fingers gently under Butch’s chin, encouraging him to look at me.

With his eyes focused on me, I take a moment to drink him in. Hazel eyes with gold flakes meet mine. His mouth parts slightly, and his tongue runs along the inside of his bottom lip.

Damn. He’s a fine fucking specimen.

Something about having his undivided attention has me acting bolder. I reach out with my hand, cupping his scruffy cheek.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a hero with battle scars—a survivor.”

He swallows loudly, holding my stare. “So are you, Candy.”

“Survivor? No, Butch.” I drop my hand from his face. How do I explain my tragic past without breaking into tears?

As I mull over how much I’m willing to reveal, Butch patiently waits for me to explain. I can feel his eyes piercing my skin, digging to reveal the secrets I buried.

“Candy,” Butch whispers in his rough voice. “I want to understand you if you’re willing to share with me.”

I balk at his request, looking him square in the face. “Why? After what I’ve done to this club, why do you want to get close to me?”

“Is this about the hacker you were coerced into helping? You were forced, Candy. No one in the club holds what happened against you.”

I want to argue, tell him he’s wrong. But before I can get my thoughts out, Butch follows up his last statement with, “Whatever you say is safe with me. Please let me in.”

Though his voice is gruff, I can hear the sincerity in his words.

I sigh, hating what I’m about to say out loud. “I don’t feel like a survivor when the men who hurt me most are still on the loose. At this moment, I feel more like the victim being stalked by sadists.”

A dull ache forms in my chest as the past resurfaces, throbbing like a bruise. Admitting my thoughts to Butch is difficult. But for some unconscious reason, I continue, almost like I’m relieved to confess my past to someone who isn’t my therapist and wants to understand without feeling obligated.

“There were regulars who visited Bianchi’s brothel. One group of men liked to do horrendous acts against the women in the club. There were three of them. Two of the men in the group were the ringleaders, orchestrating the sex acts played out on me. The other more or less went along with whatever the other two told him to do. Each night when I close my eyes, I relieve those dark moments. The abuse never ends—only transforms into a different way to hurt me.”

Butch is silent for a moment. I can feel his eyes on me, scanning my face and body language. As uncomfortable as this moment is, I admit I enjoy having his attention. It makes more goosebumps surface on my skin.

“The group of men, was one of them Bianchi’s enforcer—Luca?”

My emotions are too high. I don’t trust my voice not to crack if I speak. Instead, I give a stiff nod.

“Atlas told the crew what he did to make you turn against our club. Did he force himself on you when Bianchi held you captive, too?”

I shut my eyes, trying to push out the violent memories hovering under the surface of my psyche. “Yes.”

“Candy,” he pleads in his rough voice, “please look at me.”

As I take a deep breath, I hesitantly meet his gaze. My eyes slowly fill with moisture of their own accord. Crying in front of others always makes me feel weak. With Butch, I sense my tears are safe with him. Still, I don’t want to dump on the guy emotionally the first time I speak with him.

Butch swipes away a rogue tear rolling down my cheek with his calloused thumb, then cups my cheek with his free hand. “Who were the others? Give me their names.”

My tongue goes dry with the memory of the men Butch asks for. “The one who followed the other two’s directions was Patrick Duffy—some investor. What he invested in, I have no clue.”

As much as I want to forget Duffy’s portly face and body, I can’t. The man wasn’t as sadistic as the other two. He got off on being ordered around by the other men—like the high school outcast seeking acceptance from the popular crowd at school. He’d do anything to fit in with the cool group. Total pick me tool.

Butch’s jaw ticks. “And the other?”

Out of all the men, this one makes me pause. The hairs on my neck stand at attention, like I can still feel him near me. The danger that refuses to go away.

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