Page 58 of The First Cut
“We’ve gotta go,” he tells me when he pulls back.
“I know. I’m ready.” I’m not, but I won’t fall at the first hurdle. The small break from being here has put some things into perspective for me.
I’ve become so used to insulating myself against the club that I stopped trying to change the narrative. They might have been dicks, but I let them.
“Give me five minutes to shower and get dressed. I’ll pack up our shit and hit the drive-thru for breakfast. No way am I letting you face this shit on an empty stomach.” He winks before heading into the bathroom.
I stare at his ass before it disappears, shaking my head to clear out all those naughty thoughts trying to sneak up on me.I pack up our things absentmindedly as I spend a moment unpacking my feelings. After everything that went down with Driller, I thought having sex with Hannibal would be traumatic, perhaps. I expected fear and a deep-seated reluctance that I’d have to push aside to do the duties expected of me as an old lady. Instead, I find myself lighting up like the Fourth of July when he’s near me. I don’t know if there’s a right or wrong way to deal with abuse, whether I’m supposed to act a certain way or just hide from the world. But all I feel right now is an odd sense of purpose, like it’s time to reclaim parts of myself I let get trampled on. Maybe Hannibal’s dick doubles as a magic wand. It would explain why my spine feels a little straighter as I hold my head up and push my shoulders back.
I feel good, nervous but confident, as we leave the hotel and pull into the drive-thru for breakfast sandwiches. I manage to scarf down two before we start making our way to the compound. Unfortunately, the closer we get, the tenser I get, and the more my confidence slips. By the time the clubhouse comes into view, my body is wound so tight I worry my bones will break.
Sensing how on edge I am, Hannibal doesn’t bother to make small talk, which I’m grateful for. I’m not sure I could string a sentence together, let alone make it make sense. I hear the sound of bikes as we approach the gates and swallow down the bile in my throat when I see Havoc and the prospect driving the mother chapter’s truck carrying Hannibal’s bike, just behind us.
We wait for the gates to open, and for a moment, I’m hurtled back in time as I picture myself on the back of Havoc’s bike, the wind in my hair, and my arms around his waist. The younger me held her whole world in her arms, not knowing it would all crumble to ash.
I look over at Havoc as the gates swing open, and he rides past us. The stars are officially gone from my eyes now. Thedreamer in me was cursed with one too many nightmares for me to believe in fairytales any longer.
I’d rather be safe now than sorry later, and the only way to do that is to guard my heart and keep my head in the game. Despite what Hannibal thinks, that’s what this is—a game I’m forced to play while someone moves me around the board at their whim.
When the truck stops, I blow out a shuddering breath as Hannibal turns to look at me. “The version of me I need to be in a minute is not the one you’re used to. I need to dig in and get the lay of the land, which means letting them think that you’re the spoils of war.”
Nothing too far from the truth, then. I feel my stomach plummet as I catch on to what he’s saying. He’s going to treat me differently now that we’re here, and he’s the president. I should have figured it out sooner. I mean, he wants me to raise his kid, and in doing so, he’ll provide protection for mine. I need to remember that’s the only reason I’m doing this. My feelings for the man beside me are nothing more than an inconvenience that I need to forget about if I’m to survive here intact.
I don’t look at him. I just nod my head and keep my eyes on my lap.
“You have to trust me, Lola. I won’t let anything happen to you, but I want to see people without their guard up. It’s the only way to see what I’m up against.”
“It’s okay, Hannibal. I get it.”
He slides his hand under my jaw and turns my face so I have no choice but to look at him. “No, doll, I don’t think you do. But you will.” He leans closer and kisses me.
I jump when a fist thumps the window behind my head. Hannibal sighs before pulling back and jumping out. As he walks around the truck to my door, I take a few deep breaths and shore up my defenses once more.
Rubbing my hand over my stomach, I draw strength from my son. I’m making the best of a shitty situation to keep him safe, and there's no shame in that.
By the time he opens the door, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I take the hand he offers me and climb out. He closes the door behind me, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. I can’t tell if that’s for comfort or to keep me from running away.
“Let’s get this over with,” Havoc grunts, not sparing me a glance.
I look up and find Hannibal’s eyes on mine. “You ready for this?”
I nod, hoping I look calmer than I feel.
Havoc heads to the large doors of the clubhouse, so Hannibal guides me to follow him. I catch a couple of people watching out of the corner of my eye, but I keep my eyes on Havoc’s back, adopting a toddler’s mindset. If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.
Havoc pushes the doors open, puts his fingers in his mouth, and whistles loudly as we move up behind him. I dip my head as the room falls quiet, remembering when I taught him to do that.
“You have five minutes to get everyone here, or there’ll be repercussions. You knew I was coming, so I don’t want to hear any bullshit excuses.”
He turns to look at Hannibal, who maneuvers us out from behind Havoc’s shadow to stand beside him. I hear a few muttered curses when people see me. But for the most part, everyone ignores me, which suits me just fine.
Hannibal pulls me into him so my back is pressed against his chest, making a statement of his own. My heart thunders in my chest, and my palms begin to sweat. I concentrate on the rhythmic thud of Hannibal’s heart so I don’t end up having a panic attack.
These five minutes feel more like five hours, but by the time everyone has gathered in front of us, I’m wishing for five more. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, and it makes my skin crawl. If Havoc doesn’t say what he needs to in the next few minutes, I’m going to lose my damn mind.
“Khan's dead,” he begins, shattering the heavy silence. “Driller's a marked man, and everyone else who thought it was acceptable to open fire on innocent civilians are also gone.”
I lift my head now, looking out at the sea of faces, wondering if any of them knew what was going to happen. MCs often get into it with other MCs, but they don’t bring civilians into it because that brings them to the police’s attention. As fucked in the head as Khan was, I still find it hard to believe he would order some of his men to open fire at a book signing, of all places, and risk exposing the club like that. Unless that was the plan all along. Maybe he knew his time was up and decided to leave his blood-stained mark behind.
