Page 41 of Bullet

I wish I was emotionally intelligent enough to know what that looked like. I suppose, now that I think about it, the way Raiden and Ella sometimes go at it, all heated and words flying, but always respectful, is indeed different from the arguments I’ve ever seen couples have.

I run my hand through my hair, my brain suddenly sluggish from the lack of sleep. It must be the adrenaline wearing thin. “I just wanted to tell you. I checked in with Atlas, but he took off before I came up here. He said he’s not gonna do anything stupid other than get wasted and try to forget. I think he just wants tobe alone and not talk about it, but I thought we should still keep an eye on him.”

“Absolutely.” Tyrant’s lips thin into a flat line. “When one of us hurts, we all hurt.”

The way it’s said and how it hits, dipping into my chest like a meat hook and pulling up skin, is the feeling I wish I could describe to Lynette. This is the reason we’re a club. People think it’s the road or the lawlessness, the rockstar lifestyle of sex and drugs that appeals to men like us, and maybe for some it is, but for me, it’sfamily. It’s finding that something that was always missing, the part that fills the empty holes inside me.

“There’s a lot going on here and I know you don’t want to leave, but I also know you’ll want to take first watch tonight. Why don’t you go back to the club and get a few hours of sleep while you can?”

My first instinct is to say no, but keeping Lynette and Willa safe here is vital. Even with the extra security Wizard installed and the guys from the club driving by every fifteen minutes during the night, I want to be alert, and I can’t do that if I’m dead on my feet.

“We have this, brother. Trust me?”

This time, I respond without hesitation. “Always.”

That earns me one of Tyrant’s famous manly shoulder slaps and that look of respect and trust. When he treats a man to one of those, it feels a little like getting knighted, or at least holding some vital position of honor and respect that makes a person feel truly worthy.

Before I go, I search the house for Lynette and Willa, but both of them are flying around, unpacking boxes, answering questions, thanking my club brothers and their women who have taken time to enfold them into our family. They’re busy, and I can see that Tyrant is right.

We might not have answers to all that’s going wrong yet, but the club has this. The best thing I can do right now is to make the next few hours count, so that I can come back here and offer my protection when I’m refreshed and sharp.

I would have said before that getting attached to anyone or anything other than my bike and the guys from the club was out of the question, but as soon as I’m outside, kicking my bike to life and slapping my brain bucket in place, I cast a longing look at the pale-yellow house with the cookie cutter white trim and shutters, the rounded arch door.

This house was far too nice to be a rental.

It’s far too nice for the likes of me to be anywhere near it.

Yet, I can’t deny the strong pull I have to it, or to the woman inside. I’ve never wanted a partner, a mate, a girlfriend, an old lady. I’ve always seen myself as solitary. I never saw myself as being able to have a connection with another person on that level. But last night, in Lynette’s kitchen, I felt that position waver. I liked talking with her. I liked drinking tea because it was with her. There’s a pull there I can’t deny, a sudden gossamer thin thread that I just can’t snap. It’s sticky and as unexpectedly strong as spider’s silk. It shouldn’t be a problem. Even if I’m confused and my desire to keep those dividing professional lines in place is wavering, there should be Lynette, but I think that even her ice is starting to thaw.

She said she can’t do this. Us. Not that she won’t, or that she doesn’t want to.

I don’t know what that means for either of us.

Chapter 11

Lynette

Ican’t even describe what it’s like to slip into my silk pajamas and start on my skincare routine in the bathroom of this brand new to me house. Maybe it’s that I have too many emotions to just feel one, or it could be that I’m exhausted. I’m not numb, though. I just don’t feel like me.

Probably because my life, and my regular defenses, have been shot to shit and left in tatters. I’m stuck in this weird in-between place, and, unlike Willa, I can’t just bounce back.

She made eight thousand new friends today, although there were only fifteen to twenty people here. It was hard to keep track, but I bet she could tell you the name of each one of them, who is dating who, who is married, how long they’ve been together, and each man’s backstory of how he came to be a member of the club. Then again, she did more talking than assembly, organizing, and unpacking. That’s okay. We’re just so different.

She seems fine with this massive change to our lives. Positive. She’s a survivor, but unlike me, she comes out of every messy situation shiny and beautiful, while I crawl out bedraggled and half dead.

I wash my face and apply the endless lineup of moisturizers, eye cream, collagen, lip conditioner, and oil. I’m shiny and glowing by the time I’m finished, but it’s a faux radiance. None of it can hide the dark circles smudges under my eyes, or the doubt in them.

Willa crashed two hours ago, while I locked myself in my room and finished unpacking, hanging up every garment, meticulously, in the wardrobe, because neither of the rooms have a closet, unpacking my books to set them on the shelves, arranging shoes and the few purses I brought.

I sit down on the edge of the bed. Everything is new in this place, and though the house is old, the lingering scent of fresh furniture hangs in the air. Willa and I were both amazed at the thought, effort, and time that so many people put into making this a home for us—especially as we’re basically strangers, and I certainly haven’t committed to taking the job with the club.

I’ve had no one but myself to depend on for so long that it feels… Fuck, I don’t even know. That’s part of that undefined place inside me that hasn’t determined what it exactly is yet. It’s like my foundation has been shaken, right along with those cracked and broken defenses, and I’m more vulnerable and brittle than ever, all while trying to hold it together like I always have.

Tender. Maybe that’s the word. It’s like I’m that tough piece of meat that was forced under the spiked tenderizer and forged into something slightly more palatable.

Bullet disappeared this afternoon. When I finally worked up the nerve to admit to myself that I was looking for him, I asked Lark if she knew where he’d gone. She told me they’d forced him to go get a few hours of rest before he came back this evening to keep watch.

The security system was explained to us, as well as the schedule of men from the club who would be driving by every fifteen minutes. They’d be in car rather than on their bikes, so asnot to disturb the peace. That seemed like more than enough, so I was surprised to hear that he’d be back.

---