Page 50 of Disturbed Lucidity

“Whiskey.”

Placing a bottle and tumbler before me, he walked away, saying nothing more, before disappearing from the room. Looking into the mirror above the bar, I noticed all my officers all sitting around, some looking at their phones, others saying nothing, while a small few stared directly at me.

Waiting.

Frowning, I poured my own drink when I heard.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Downing the drink, I poured another.

“You are not what she needs, Luc. You know that. Why did you do it?”

“Not having this conversation with you, Slash.”

“Oh yes, you are,” he growled, glaring at me. “She is my sister. I brought her here to start over. Not to become your personal fucktoy until you tire of her. Enough people have used her. I won’t allow you to do the same.”

Turning to my brother, I sneered, “You won’t allow?”

“That’s right!” he yelled, slamming his hand down on the bar. “You had no right. She’s sick and you took advantage of her. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She needs help. Not your demented perversion of help. When she wakes up, I am taking her away from here.”

I smirked, pouring myself another drink. “Good luck with that.”

“I’m not fucking around, Luc. Ivy isn’t like your other women. She’s damaged. She doesn’t have limits. You will destroy her. Is that what you want?”

“Won’t do anything she doesn’t want.”

“That’s just it!” Slash roared, throwing his beer across the room. “She doesn’t know what she wants. She never did. Her whole life, men like you decided for her. Fucked her seven ways to Sunday, with only their desires at the forefront. Her own father trained her the second she could walk to be every man’s fucking warped wet dream, and when she outlived her usefulness, he sold her. Fucking sold her, Luc!”

“I’m not like him.”

“No, you’re fucking worse. You’re the goddammed Devil himself,” Slash muttered. “Look. Find someone else. Use the whores. That’s what they are here for. Pixie seemed to enjoy herself the other night. Just leave Ivy alone.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Refusing to say anything, I just sat there while everyone looked on, watching, waiting for anything. Even Trash, who rarely showed any emotion, stood off to the side, glaring at me, shaking his head.

“Luc, brother,” Logic spoke up. “Slash has made a valid point. Ivy needs help. Right now, she’s not mentally capable of making an informed decision about anything. Not even six hours ago, her mind was in chaos, and it triggered a D.I.D. episode. She needs extensive therapy, and while I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt her, there is the fact she is the biological sister of Malice. A brother in the Soulless Sinners Motorcycle Club but wait till you hear the rest.”

Turning, I looked at Indigo, who nodded.

“The rest of her background came back. It’s not good. Not only is Ivy the younger sister to Malice, but we also now know who her father is. Devlin Scott. The owner of the Trick Pony, a BDSM club in Miami, Florida. He’s a sick, sadistic son of a bitch, brother. He’s linked to many women who’ve turned up dead. Not that any of the cops could make a connection. Fucker is good at covering his tracks. If that wasn’t bad enough, it didn’t take me long to figure out who he sold her to.”

“Who?”

Frost leaned forward and spoke up. “The Florida chapter of the Golden Skulls. The same chapter where Solomon killed seven club brothers. We think the savior Ivy was talking about is Solomon. The timeline adds up and, if we’re right, the day Solomon killed those seven men, he also saved Ivy. With everything we have going on, you need to be damn sure about her, brother, because she is a problem we can’t afford right now.”

“She won’t be a problem.”

Slash scoffed, shaking his head as he got to his feet. “Fuck, you are just as fucking crazy as her. You know that? You can’t control her, Luc. She won’t fall in line with your dictates. She will do whatever the hell she wants, knowing damn well you will give her what she craves in the end. You’ve just become her new drug of choice.”

With that, Slash walked out the front door of the clubhouse. Moments later, we all heard his bike roar to life before he peeled out of the parking lot.

“Anyone else got anything to say?” When no one spoke up, I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and stood. “Good.”

“I’ve set the meet for tomorrow,” Frost advised. “Since Los Santanas requested the meeting, we got the choice of venue. Which means the clubhouse needs to be cleared no later than six p.m. That should give our enlisted brothers time to set everything up. Mouth is working with the Plebs, making sure they gather all the requests that were made. But we have another problem.”

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