Page 33 of Stay With Me
When we walk in, he stands and strides over to us. “Hey guys, she’s okay. Pretty shaken up, obviously. But physically, I don’t think he hurt her too bad. Just roughed her up and scared the shit out of her.” He looks over his shoulder at her, his eyes full of something akin to longing and pain. I know he’s conflicted in his feelings for her, but if tonight proved anything, it’s the fact that it doesn’t matter who the fuck you love. As long as you love them with everything you’ve got, nothing else matters.
“Thank you, Break. For everything.” Ember gives him a soft smile.
“I’ll give you guys some space. Take all the time you need. We’ll be down in the basement.” He walks back over to Rory, placing a small kiss on the top of her head and turning to leave the room without another word. Rory sniffles softly on the bed, hugging her legs tighter.
“Hey babe, you doing okay?” I ask, scooting across the bed and wrapping my arm around her. I stroke her hair softly as she leans into me. From this angle, I can see a red mark on her cheek, dark bruising under hereye, and a cut in her bottom lip. I find myself feeling uncomfortably hopeful that these are her only injuries. It’s the pain you can’t see that scars us forever. I don’t want that for her.
“I don’t even know. I feel so… numb. I’ve felt fear like that before. He was gonna kill me,” her voice is watery and frail. “I barely turned the shower off before he grabbed me. I screamed, but he just hit me. I tried to fight back. I scratched and kicked, but it didn’t do any good. He was so strong.” Tears fall freely from her eyes, a torrent of pent-up emotions streaming down her face. Ember and I both cry along with her, the circumstances of today finally catching up to us all. We hold each other and cry, the dams finally breaking as Rory cleanses her soul of everything she’s holding on to.
“You did everything you could do, babe. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters,” Ember says.
“But I swear I told him not to go, Kelsea. I told him to stay, but he wouldn’t listen.” She clings to my arm, sobs of desperation escaping her lips in between words.
“Shhhh, it’s okay. I know, Aurora. I know. There wasn’t anything you could have said or done to change his mind.” I hold her tightly, knowing if it came down to a choice between her safety and his, he didn’t think twice about going.
We sit in silence, no one knowing what to say. There are no words that can make this situation better right now.
twenty-six
The painin my shoulders is excruciating. I can’t tell how long I've been in this position, my hands bound to the chair behind my back. I’ve drifted in and out of consciousness at least twice. We drove in relative silence for hours, stopping only once or twice. Once we made it to this warehouse, the fuckers who’ve been holding me took turns using me as a soccer ball. Like the pussies they are, they made sure my restraints were secure before they beat me, so I couldn’t fight back, could barely defend myself at all. Every inch of my body aches, the bullet wound on my shoulder split open again somewhere during the assault. My left eye burns as blood drips into it from a cut along my hairline. The pounding in my head and my heart rival each other for control.
Despite what I told myself back at Breaker’s house, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leaveKelsea alone in this world. I don’t want my sister to suffer that kind of loss, my friends to carry the weight of this on their shoulders. But if they’re gonna kill me, I wish they would just get it over with. The only thing keeping me sane right now are the images in my mind of Kelsea. Her beautiful smile, her stubborn attitude, everything that makes her the woman I fell for is all I have to keep me anchored. A door opens and closes somewhere behind me, the sound of shuffling feet coming my direction.
“What the fuck is this, Lincoln?” A deep voice with a thick southern accent says. He sounds pissed, and I’d hate to be Lincoln right now.
“You said we needed money, Prez. That fucking suit offered a shitload just to bring him this guy,” the man I assume is Lincoln replies.
“This is not what we stand for here, Linc. We don’t get involved in shit like this! I told you boys I wanted to turn this fuckin’ club around. I’m practically beatin’ my head against the fuckin wall tryin’ to make this organization go legit!” the other man shouts.
“You know that’s never gonna happen, Prez. Too many of us walk a thin line when it comes to the legal system,” another man says.
“It’s gonna happen if I say it’s gonna happen, Axle. This is my MC now, my responsibility. I won’t have the men I’m responsible for seen as nothin’ more than a bunch of fuckin’ animals,” he replies.
“Can somebody at least loosen these restraints? I’mnot really in any shape to fucking fight back,” I ask, knowing it’s a long shot, but the muscles in my shoulders are screaming.
“Jesus fuckin christ. Cut him loose, Ax.” The man they call Prez orders.
“You sure that’s a good idea, boss?” Lincoln, the stupid fucker, replies.
A growl sounds from the older man as they all move to stand in front of me. The slice of a knife cutting through my zip cuffs is followed by the sudden relief. The burning heat of muscle damage courses through my joints. I slump over in my chair, dragging several deep breaths to calm myself. I look over at the men in front of me. One I recognize as the man who held a gun to Aurora’s head.
“You Lincoln?” I ask him, and he sneers in response. “You’ll die before I do.” I spit back at him.
“Easy there, son. No need to go making threats in your current state. I think my dumbass friend here just got himself in a little over his head.” The man in the middle says. He’s tall and muscular, full sleeves of tattoos, and a little salt and pepper in his hair and beard. The confidence he exudes tells me he’s the leader.
“A little over his head? That’s what you call it when a man lays his hands on a woman?” I ask, disgust clear in my tone.
“YOU DID WHAT?!” The older man screams, his fists balling at his sides. He pulls a pistol from the small of hisback and whips it across the man’s jaw. Lincoln collapses in a heap on the floor.
“He’ll be dealt with,” the man says.
“Yeah, I know a few men who’d be more than happy to deal with him for you,” I reply, spitting blood onto the concrete floor.
“We take out our own trash,” he replies, whistling sharply. Two more stocky men come into the room and drag Lincoln’s limp body back out. “My name is Owen. I’m the president of this chapter of the Bayou Reapers.” He extends his hand towards me and it takes every ounce of strength I have to shake it.
“Everett. Just lovely to meet you under these… circumstances,” my snarky attitude always gets me in trouble, but for some reason, I just can’t shut it off. Owen smirks at me, suppressing a laugh.
“This is my son, Axel. He’s the sergeant-at-arms here.” He jerks his head towards the man standing next to him and the family resemblance is noticeable.
