Page 85 of What Lies Within

Her lips twitch in a smile. "Good thing we don't all base our actions on those of others, then, huh?"

Yeah.One little statement from her and my mind is filled with ways that could be applied. How will people perceive my actions today? Did she see me that way before? As petty and vengeful?

Shit.

Maybe I don’t want to be the girl I was before.

Her footsteps recede until the rush of water from the shower drowns her out. The isolation is jarring, every shadow a potential threat, every open space a liability. I back myself into the corner of the room just inside the door and fixate on the reflection of Dad’s bed in the steaming mirror. Fuck knows what I expect to see. Sweetie crawling over from the far side, her throat a wide-open maw of accusations and guilt?

Snap out of it, Maddie.Bikie girls don't act like this. We're tough, steadfast pillars against the winds of change in this God-forsaken world. We're the things that thread our men together when the pressure threatens to tear them apart.

We’re not guileless creatures shaken by the necessary evils committed.

I expel the contents of my lungs while dragging a palm over my face. Is this why my mother turned out the way she did? Was anger an easier emotion to hold on to than fear? Than regret? Guilt?

Fuck.I killed the woman I thought of as my mother.

My chin shakes, eyes burning pits as I slide down the wall and tuck myself against the baseboard. Hands banded around my legs, I bury my face against my knees and slowly rock side to side. My palms tingle—the memory of the pressure from the hilt of the knife a pulsing path across my right. I can still feel theresistance as I cut her neck, the fucking release as the tip of the blade slipped free. Shit—I can practically taste the tang of copper in the air as her blood pooled on the floor beneath her limp form.

“Motherfucker,” I mumble against my legs. “Stop this shit, woman. Stop it.”

My chest aches, tension wracking my goddamn organs. This amount of stress isn’t healthy for anyone. Fuck—is this what Rae’s felt the past weeks? Is this what Connor put her through? Terry?

And she thinksI’mthe strong one.

I’m nothing but a goddamn girl playing pretend.

She’s the real deal.

If anyone deserves people looking up to them, it’s her.Shit. Maybe the old man and Uncle Dig were on to something?

Maybe Raeisthe woman we need to help lead us through this shit.

Maybe she’smyhero?

33

RAE

A door slams, the abrupt sound rousing me from the sleep I’d fallen into propped against the arm of the sofa nearest the fire. I blink away the remnants of rest and glance about the room until I locate the back of Turnip’s head as he strides outside into the yard.

It takes a moment for my brain to register that there's no patch on his back.

Kane reclines lengthways across the sofa opposite, legs propped up on the rolled arm and hands clasped over his stomach. He raises a brow and shifts his arms to link his hands behind his head. "Seems like a bit of a story."

“What does?” Harvey sits to his brother’s left, perched on the front of the seat cushion, elbows to knees while his foot taps an impatient beat.

He looks every part like his father.

“Turnip leavin’ the room without his cut,” Kane drawls.

"Eh?" Harvey spins, searching the space where the Reaper officer had been.

“What does it mean?” I slide myself upright, closer to the warmth of the flames.

Kane’s glare holds enough heat to warm the both of us. “What do you think?”

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking." Fuck him. Maybe it means Turnip was sent to do a job on the down low? Maybe it means he's quit. Or perhaps he's been told to leave.

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