Page 3 of The Trust We Broke
People never understood how we fit. Not just physically, although people were always fucking curious about how we fucked given the size difference between us. But how two opposites could co-exist. Her with her dreams of Harvard Law School. Me with dreams of becoming the Iron Outlaws Motorcycle Club president one day. Her coming from one of the wealthiest and most prestigious Colorado families, and me coming from two generations of bikers and a father serving life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Nothing about us made sense.
Never mattered, because I never loved anyone the way I loved her.
Not even myself.
“And yet, here I am,” Lucy says, her eyes narrowed as she looks up at me. Folks used to assume I’d win every fight we got into, that the power dynamic was skewed in my direction. Buther command with words was just as powerful as my brawn. She won as many fights with me as she lost.
And God, the make-up sex would last for days.
She steps away from me, then turns to Greer as she takes a breath and pulls her shoulders back. “Let’s talk as we walk.”
Butcher squeezes Greer’s hand. “Good luck. Listen to your lawyer. Say the absolute minimum. I’ll be right here when you get out.”
Greer takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”
I try to focus on why I’m here, while Butcher pulls Greer in for a hug and whispers something in her ear that I can’t hear, but my pulse is banging like a drum in my temple. And my face is frozen like I just had a stroke or something.
Which is, in all honesty, a possibility, given how I feel right now.
My world tilts.
“Dr. Hansen?” Lucy says, and I realize I’m still staring at her.
Thrust back to the day I was remanded to begin an eight-year stretch for something I didn’t do. I’d hit a man. Twice. Knocked him to the pavement. That part I’d always owned up to. The part where I allegedly broke into his home later that night and beat him to the point of hospitalization and life-changing injuries was a fabricated lie I could never prove.
Reduced to four years, because during those first six months, Butcher was in prison too. Took me under his wing and refused to let me be my own worst enemy. Told me to forget everything about Lucy and focus on what it took to endure in the world I was now in. How to survive and get out early. Showed me what it was to be an Outlaw. I was a prospect when I went in. But the day I stepped out to be greeted by Butcher and the club turned me into a man. My patching ceremony was held right outside the prison gates, accompanied by motorcycle roars so loud, my father heard them inside.
The club was loyal. But the woman I loved more than life itself, wasn’t.
Couldn’t wait for me, even though I was in prison for hurting the man who hurt her.
“Take good care of her, Lucy,” Butcher says, bringing me back to the present. “She’s taking my baby in there with her, and I want ‘em both delivered back to me in one unfrazzled piece.”
“I always do,” she says, with the confidence she’s grown into.
I track her ass until she hits the steps, and even then, I can’t take my eyes off her. She was always everything I dreamed of.
Until she wasn’t.
I can’t decide if I want to puke, fight, or chase after the woman.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans and march back to my bike. Might even apologize to Butcher and just drive off. I can’t be around her. Not because of what she did, but because I don’t trust myself not to forget about it and kiss her anyway. Just to see if those lips of hers are as soft and willing as they used to be.
Instead, I walk over to the wooden fence that cordons off the parking lot and kick the shit out of it, busting a huge hole in it.
I’m about to reach for the fence post to pull the fucker out of the ground when strong arms wrap around me. Atom has me in a choke hold, and Smoke stands in front of me. “Look at me, brother,” he says.
My breath is coming fast and furious as I try to squirm out of Atom’s grip. “Let me go,” I say.
Atom chuckles. “I’ll let go of you when you stop taking your rage out on that de-fense-less fence.”
Smoke shakes his head. “That’s a terrible pun.”
“You’re right in front of the cop shop,” Atom warns. “Cool your fucking heels, or you’ll end up rooming with your dad. Don’t give ‘em a reason.”
Smoke grabs my face, palms either side. “Don’t make me hit you.”
