Page 37 of Deceiver

“Bonnie?”

That’s Mex’s voice.

I quickly scramble to my feet and turn, swinging the shed door open to see Mex, covered in dirt and ... is that blood? He’s looking at me, his eyes full of what would appear to be fear and concern. It’s not the look I was expecting, and I’m terrified to know what it is he’s about to say.

What the hell happened out there tonight?

“Mex?” I say, my voice shaky, my fists clenched into tiny balls. “Please tell me what’s happening?”

“Trader was shot tonight. He didn’t ... he didn’t fuckin’ make it. Night is losing it. Nobody can calm him down. You’re the only option.”

Trader.

I haven’t met him officially, but I know he’s a member of the club. I’ve seen him around, heard of him being spoken about, and know that, regardless, he is family to these guys. My heart breaks and the confusion only deepens.

“Who ... who did this?”

“That doesn’t matter. We got cops swarming, people lingerin’ waitin’ to hear the details, and we’ve got a President who is goin’ to take a match to the clubhouse if he isn’t calmed soon.”

Hesitation fills me, my thoughts swirling.

They want me to calm Western?

Me?

“He ... he won’t let me in, Mex.”

“Please.”

The pain and exhaustion in his voice has me nodding, even though I’m not entirely sure what I’ve gotten myself into. With shaky legs, I follow him toward the chaos. He’s right, flashing blue and red lights alert me to the fact that the police have already made it here, and there are people outside of the clubhouse fence, staring in, some of them reporters. How many men were shot tonight? And by whom?

Reaching the clubhouse, Mex nods inside, and I stare into the open garage doors where Western is currently smashing every single glass on the bar. One by one he lifts them and hauls them into the wall, roaring with anguish every single time he does. I’m afraid–I won’t deny it. Western isn’t the kind of man to let anyone in, and I don’t want him to hurt me. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I gather myself and walk in.

Another glass goes flying, shattering on the ground beside me.

Western’s wild gaze pins mine, and he has his hand in the air, ready to throw another glass.

“Put it down,” I order, my voice firm but kind. “Now, Western.”

He launches the glass, just missing me. I don’t flinch, even though my heart feels like it might just leap out of my chest.

“Stop,” I say, taking a step forward.

He doesn’t stop. Another glass goes flying, this time away from me.

I keep approaching until I’m around the other side of the bar in front of him.

“Stop,” I order again.

His eyes dart to mine, and he’s panting, a thin layer of sweat coating his skin. My heart breaks for him, it truly feels as though it’s tearing in two. I reach out, my fingers trembling, and I place them on his chest. He flinches, and a low growl leaves his lips, but he doesn’t push me away.

“Get out of here,” he bites out. “I’ll hurt you.”

“No,” I say, stepping up closer, “you won’t.”

“Get out, Bonnie!” he roars.

“No,” I yell back, firmly. “I’m not leaving. If you want to hurt me, go ahead, but I’m not leaving you here.”

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