Page 53 of The First Cut
“They aren’t forgiving of anything. I get the whole traitor thing. I think that’s the crazy part. I’d understand if, say, I told the police where the bodies were buried, so to speak. I’d know before I opened my mouth that I’d effectively signed my own death certificate. My issue comes from the other side. Like, what if someone told you I was a traitor and I wasn’t? What if it was a patched brother or two that swore on their cuts I was a traitor? Would you believe them over me because they’re your brothers, and I’m just a hole for your cock? A replaceable one at that?”
She stands, but I grab her wrist. That wall is crumbling again and we’re skirting close to dangerous territory. Anything I say and do now might set her off. Part of me knows purging it will be the best thing for her to do, but I’m not sure she’s emotionally equipped to deal with it right now while pregnant. If she lost her baby, she’d blame herself for getting so upset. I don’t see her coming back from that.
“I don’t go around believing shit without proof.”
She gently tugs her arm free from mine. “You only think that’s true, Hannibal.” She shakes her head. “I’m going to takea bath.” She walks away and I let her, knowing she needs a moment to herself.
I eat another couple of sandwiches and cover the rest over for Lola to eat later. Tugging the towel from my hips, I fold it and add it to the rest of the spare towels. Picking them up, I carry them into the bathroom and find her standing in front of the mirror with her head bowed. I step up behind her and place the towels on the counter next to her hand.
She looks up at me, her eyes damp, but she holds back her tears. “I’m such a mess. For years, I learned to keep my mouth closed, and now I can’t seem to shut up.”
“It’s because you feel safer with me. You want to let your guard down. You’re just scared, and I get it. I’m scared, too.”
She snorts, “Why would you be scared?”
“I’m scared I’ll break you in a way I can’t fix.”
“Then don’t. There are a million other things you could do instead. You could trust me, protect me, love me.” The last part rings with a desperation that I feel in my chest.
“I can’t love you if you don’t let me.” I slide my hands down to the hem of her top and ease it up over her bump. “Arms up.”
I wait as she slowly raises her hands before tugging off her sweatshirt and tossing it on the floor. Her eyes move from her reflection to mine in the mirror, widening when she realizes I’m naked. I turn and check the bath before reaching over and turning the water off. When I move back behind her, I release the clasp on her bra and pull it free, sliding it down her arms and tossing it away.
She looks away, but I’m not deterred. I move my hand to open her jeans and find the button already open. I lower the zipper and slide her jeans and panties down her legs until gravity takes over.
“Step out.”
I wait until she does as I ask before kicking them out of the way. I can see her breathing has picked up, whether from anticipation or nerves, I don’t know. When I press myself against her, and she can feel the heat of my hard cock pressed against her ass, I know the flush on her skin is arousal.
I reach around and use my fingers to turn her head so she can watch us in the mirror. “Why do you hide?”
“Because when I look at what I’ve become, I hate myself a little more.”
I slide my hands around to cup her stomach. She stiffens, her back going ramrod straight as her protective mama instincts kick in.
“Want to know what I see?”
She swallows but doesn’t answer. I can practically hear thenoon the tip of her tongue.
“I see a woman who stood back up every time she got knocked down. I see a woman who put herself in danger to warn others so they didn’t get hurt. I see a woman who will do anything to keep her baby safe, even if that means making a deal with the devil himself.
“I see courage. I see strength. I see a warrior. The question is, why can’t you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Lola
Ican’t give him the answer he wants. This isn’t a magic mirror. His words don’t suddenly distort the view into something beautiful. Shame has a way of coloring what we see, even if we know it’s not ours to bear. That’s the thing about being victimized. You can’t help but stand back and wonder if it was your fault. Did you say something or do something that put you on this trajectory? Did I wear too much makeup or not enough clothes? Was I too nice, or did I resist too much, making myself a challenge in a game where my consent became optional? The questions eat away at me, the untold answers feeling like a frayed lifeline just out of reach. If I don’t know where I went wrong, how can I stop it from happening again?
Every time I look at myself, I remember the blood between my legs as the baby I wasn’t even sure I wanted until that moment was gone. If I had done things differently, kept my mouth closed, and opened my legs, would my baby still be here? Sometimes, I feel like being stuck with Driller for the last few years was my penance for not being strong enough to keep mybaby safe. That’s why, this time around, I’m so determined not to rock the boat.
“You only see what you want to see. I don’t have that luxury anymore.”
He moves his hand down between my legs and strokes my clit. “I see a woman who is so closed off she has no idea how to be open and honest anymore.”
I’m about to protest, but then he’s pushing inside me, making me gasp as I stretch to accommodate him. I grip the counter so hard my fingers cramp.
“Jesus fuck, you feel like hot silk wrapped around my cock.”
