Page 85 of Choices

She gulps, her breaths increasing. Tears prick her eyes. My gaze drops to Callan’s cut dwarfing her. I’ve never known him to allow someone to wear his cut before now. It should be my leather on her back. I hate that she didn’t call me to come for her. I want to be the one she turns to. Every cell in my body aches to scoop her up and run away with her. Protect her. Love her like I should have all this time.

“That we partied once around the time he went missing, and I got in trouble for bringing him back here,” she mumbles. “Michael freaked out and grabbed me. Kept asking when.”

I’m going to fucking kill that son of a bitch. Did he think putting his hands on a King’s of Sin princess wouldn’t have ramifications?

The bruises coloring her jaw glare at me, causing every muscle in my body to coil tight. My mind is a seething cocktail of fury and alcohol—a lethal combination.

“Why the hell are you telling him anything?” Callan implores.

“I don’t know. I drank too much and we were flirting, and it felt weird not mentioning that I knew Nicolas.” She scrubs her eyes with clenched fists then glares at him. “And I didn’t fucking know Cutter killed him,” she whisper yells.

Of course keeping secrets would come back to bite us in the ass. This is my fault. I killed Nicolas, and tonight, I drove her straight into Michael’s fucking arms. I shouldn’t have let Claire anywhere near me tonight. Fuck, this charade should have been done so long ago. Michael’s bruises are visible on her flesh. Everything I’ve caused sits under her skin, soul deep.

“Is there something I need to know?” Grease asks from the doorway, his hulk-like frame as tense as mine.

“No. Get everyone up and ready in case shit turns bad then open the gates,” Callan demands, running a hand through his hair, marching back and forth across the kitchen.

“On it.” Grease nods, disappearing from sight.

“What do you want me to do?” Kitty asks, eyeing her brother anxiously.

“Nothing. Go to your room.” Irritation grinds my jaw at his dismissal of her.

Rolling her eyes, she spits out, “Yeah, because that worked out so great last time.” She steps into his path to stop his pacing. “I’m not a kid, Callan. Perhaps if you stopped lying to me about stuff?—”

“It’s not lying. It’s protecting,” he bites out.

“Callan, she’s been through enough. Let’s calm down,” I edge, gaining a glare from them both.

“Do I look protected?” She holds up her wrists. “You forget—I grew up here just like you. I’m as much of a biker brat as you are. But because I have a pussy, I’m treated like I’m not worthy of the club.”

“That’s bullshit,” Callan tuts.

She really is blind to how important she is to the club. She’s the foundation, the soul.

“Is it? Because I’m kept in the dark and you all act like I’m some fragile flower. Can’t know club business, can’t be a brother, can’t fucking date a brother.”

“Let’s not forget why we’re in this mess in the first place. You brought Nicolas here,” Callan retorts, opting for the blame game.

“You’re right. I did. But I didn’t know Cutter was going to kill him.” She says my name like I’m a stranger in the room and my insides turn.

“Do you want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Pres demands, entering the kitchen, pulling a shirt over his head. His hair is a mess, and lines are etched like crevices on one side of his face. Clearly, he was woken up from a deep sleep.

Bowing her head, Kitty blows out an exasperated breath, placing her hands on her hips.

“Michael Carnell put his hands on Kitty because she mentioned bringing Nicolas here the night shit went down,” I say, cracking my neck, trying to control the need to go beat this cunt into the ground.

“I didn’t say it was that night, just around the time he went missing.”

The room shrinks around Pres. His eyes turn to slits. “Why the fuck are you talking to Michael Carnell?”

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Callan interrupts. “They’re at the gate.”

“Well, let’s go and sort this shit out,” Pres orders, leading the way.

Michael put his fucking hands on her. That should be the only thing on our minds right now. Pres didn’t even ask if she was okay.

“My cut,” Callan tells Kitty. She jerks out of the leather and hands it to him.

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