Page 68 of Cougar

Sandy captured me from afar immediately. He then became my obsession, my very reason to breathe. My love for him grew while my will to solve this case diminished. I know I need to get to the bottom of this, but my heart isn’t on the same page in solving this. The MC has gotten closer to finding answers than my team and I have. Which very well could be because of you and your boyfriend. I chastise myself because I know my inner thoughts are right. If I wasn’t so focused on Sandy, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

He’s lying in his room sleeping. He’s overworked and breaking. And me? I’m failing at everything I do, and I want to walk away more than I want to solve this case. I’m a failure, and I don’t deserve the man asleep in the other room.

He’s never going to forgive me for this.

Sighing, I rub my hands through my beard and walk over to the massive wall he has decorated with paper and strings. What have you been doing, Sandy? I take in all the pictures of people from town, his brothers, and Stephens, MacIntyre, and Connard. His picture of me is a question mark with Mallard under it.

Multiple strings connect pictures. Pictures are then connected to notes. On top of those notes are sticky notes with even more gibberish on them. He’s been trying to piece it all together. I don’t know how long he’s been at this disaster of a wall. We’ve kept our promise to each other and don’t talk shop when together. He comes to me at mine, and we just…be.

I know I’m about to lose it. I know Cowboy won’t let this go. It’s only a matter of time. Walking away from the wall, I make my way into Sandy’s room. Even in his sleep, he looks stressed. His world is about to implode around him. Everything is going to crash down, and I know he’s going to break. And a lot of it is because of me.

Sitting down beside him, I push his hair out of his face before I lean down and kiss his forehead. I hold my lips there until I feel the first tear fall. When I do, I pull back just enough not to get him wet. “I love you, Sandy. So much. Please, don’t forget that.”

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, but it’s now time. I hear the stomps coming up the stairs. There are only two apartments at the top of the stairs. One we’re in, and the other is mine. It’s time I face the music. But I can’t allow him to not hear it from me. I can’t.

Acting as quickly as I can, I shake him up. “Whit, what—what is it?”

“Baby, we don’t have a lot of time. Your brothers are about to come in here and tell you shit. I need you to know that it’s true, but there’s a lot more to it. I need you to remember I love you. I promise I love you.”

“What the fuck are you—”

But he’s cut off by the front door smashing open. We have a clear view of the front door from his bedroom, and both turn our attention and see Rambo and Willie standing there. Of course, these two come after me. The biggest, most powerful men this club has. Of course.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here, Rambo?” Willie asks as he starts to come toward us. “Think it’s their last hoorah, or them plotting more against us?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. While I know they will only think the worst, for some unknown reason, it still hurts. I’ve never done anything against them, even when I was, quote-unquote, against them.

“Probably a little bit of both. Hey Mallard. Nice to see you again.” Rambo says as he looks at me.

“What the fuck?” I hear Sandy say and feel him sit up. “What the fuck are you two talking about? Mallard? This is Whitley.”

“Sandy, don’t,” I whisper. “Please stop.”

“No! Don’t tell me to stop!” He pulls my face to look toward him, “What is happening? Why the fuck did Rambo call you Mallard?” He asks. Tears are in his eyes. He’s silently begging me to give him an answer—one that isn’t the truth. But I can’t. I can’t tell him what he wants to know.

All I can do is break his heart and hope he forgives me later. I’ll never stop begging for his forgiveness, and I know I’m going to have to. I should have broken the rules and told him the truth. I should have told the club the truth, but I couldn’t. Too much was riding on my secret. All of it is bigger than our love.

“Because that’s the name he knows me by.”

His fist connects with my face, and I fall off of the bed. I don’t attempt to get up. I deserve anything he chooses to give me from this point on.

“Oh, well, wasn’t that sweet?” I hear Willie taunt. “Get the fuck up, Knuckles. Don’t make me drag your ass to the ring.”

I look at him, and his eyes flare with anger. Anger toward his brothers, but mostly toward me. I did this. I caused this hurt.

“Let’s go, Mallard. We have some shit to talk about,” Rambo tells me as he pulls me from the floor. They walk us out, and when the front door closes behind us, they drag us down the stairs.

“This may be the last ride you get as my brother. Get in the back, Knuckles. Or ride with his dirty ass in the truck bed, shut in under the lid. Personally, I don’t care, given the shit you’ve pulled.” Willie tells him.

I don’t know the members of the club like I do Sandy, but I know of them. Willie is the one who is always happy. He’s a big man who is proving he isn’t one to fuck with. I watch Sandy get in the back of the truck without so much as a backward glance at me or a response to Willie. While I’m distracted, Rambo opens the lid to the truck bed, “Get in.”

I decide to take a chance and turn to him, “Rambo, I’m not the bad guy here.”

No further words come out because his fist connects with my solar plexus. Unable to catch my breath, he uses the fact my body is folded in half and pushes me into the back of the truck. When the fuck did he lower the gate? The answer doesn’t matter. The gate is slammed, and the lid is brought down. The click of the lock confirms there’s no escape. I’m stuck here, on this metal bed, in the dark, until they decide I can come out.

***

Opening my eyes, I feel groggy. Something in the truck hit me in the head, and I don’t remember about ninety percent of the ride here. Looking around, attempting to gather my bearings, I realize I’m in a barn. My arms are killing me. I try and move them, but they’re stuck. Looking up, I see my wrists are cuffed—with my fucking cuffs—to a ring that’s connected to the pole I’m standing against. I pull against them, even though I know it’s useless. “Fuck,” I mumble.

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