Page 48 of Mimic
I looked over my shoulder, but Cash and Rose were whispering to each other in the corner, not paying attention to Sam and me. Jack had taken Charlie out to the waiting room to start bringing the others in to visit.
“I want you to talk to Haizley.”
“I don’t need to talk to Haizley.”
“Mimic, you do. Either that, or Torment. Rose does video calls with him now that he’s gone.”
“No, I’m fine. I just need to check on Indie. How long will you be here?”
“They’ll let me go home the day after tomorrow,” she answered with a sigh, knowing I’d changed the subject because I didn’t want to talk about therapy. My secrets were mine. I wasn’t sharing them with anyone else. Not yet.
“I’ll come see you again in the morning.”
“Okay, I love you.”
“I love you too.” I walked out the door, leaving my sister there. The words I repeated back to Sam, while absolutely true, were more of a robotic response.
The first time Sam said she loved me, I froze. I didn’t know how to react. She didn’t get upset when I didn’t say it back. She’d said it before she went up to her room at the clubhouse to put Charlie to bed.
Sam never acknowledged that I didn’t say it back. She’d just made it a habit every time she left me to tell me she loved me. Eventually, I said it back. What I loved about Sam was that she went out of her way to make sure I didn’t feel uncomfortable. The first time I said it back, she smiled and left. No big production about what I’d said or why. She simply accepted it and moved on.
She understood that feelings didn’t come easily for me. I wished I could blame the Stones for that, but I’d always had trouble with feelings. Not with having them but with processing them. My anger—that one was easy. I lashed out. Even before my mother disappeared, I’d let my anger overtake me often, lashing out at her or Rose when I got mad.
My mother always knew just how to soothe it back. How to speak to me in a way that cooled the rage inside of me. Whenshe was gone, there was no one to pull me back. Rose tried, but we were two kids, alone on the streets of Las Vegas. No wonder she’d thought I’d left because I didn’t want her around.
I was always angry.
Not much had changed, except that I was better at controlling it. George had taught me that. He’d let Dakota beat me with his fists and his words. Then he would lecture me on the ways a man won in a fight. Whether it was words or fists, a calm head was needed to overcome and defeat your enemy.
A calm head did not exist when I walked into the clubhouse and found Indie sitting at the bar in nothing but a pair of compression shorts and a sports bra, while Johnny leaned over the bar whispering to her as she smiled at him.
That was my fucking woman, and those were my fucking smiles. I wasn’t proud of myself—fuck, who was I kidding? I was damn proud when I marched over and threw my fist into his face, knocking him into the shelves behind the bar. Bottles of alcohol fell to the floor, smashing into pieces.
“What the fuck did I tell you?!”
“MIMIC!” Indie jumped down and ran around the bar to Johnny. “Are you okay, Johnny?” Indie glared at me from the floor, where she crouched next to the prospect. All I wanted to do in that moment was rip the fucking cut from his back and toss his ass outside. Unfortunately, I didn’t have cause.
But I did have cause to kick his ass.
“What the fuck did I tell you, Prospect?”
He didn’t answer. He got to his feet and stared at me. Without a word, he moved away from Indie, walking to the storage closet to grab a mop and broom. He started cleaning up the mess while Indie stood there staring at me.
“Put some fucking clothes on.”
“Fuck you, Mimic.”
I stomped around the bar and grabbed her hand, pulling her behind me.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
I didn’t answer. I was too fucking angry to explain anything. And I knew that whatever else came out of my mouth would make things worse. When she pulled against my hand, I stopped and turned. Indie was seething, and my cock was a fucking pipe in my jeans.
She was so damn gorgeous with a look of murder in her eyes, and I knew then I had been fucked up beyond repair. I shouldn’t be getting hard because she was pissed at me. But I couldn’t control it.
I bent down and put my shoulder into her waist and lifted her off the floor. She pounded on my back as I carried her over my shoulder, demanding I put her down, and my dick only got harder.
I was damaged. Deranged from years of watching Dakota take what he wanted from women whether they were willing or not. I wanted Indie. I wanted to tie her to my bed and fuck her while she screamed. I didn’t stop to think about what she might scream—my name, the word no, stop. I didn’t care as long as she screamed for me and only me.
