Page 91 of Straight to Me

VP scoffs. “No, he didn’t.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, mentally preparing to hear how the man I love, so caring and loving, had hurt someone else again.

“What did you do?”

“You won’t like this,” he starts, “but the guys brought him back here. Pissing in his jeans as he was dragged through the door, he knew he’d brought it on himself, knew what was going to happen next. I took a small Stanley knife, cut the tattoos straight off his skin.”

Shocked to my core, I fight not to let my jaw drop open. The tips of my fingers flex against the bed as the mental image of raw flesh dangling from VP’s hands makes me want to heave.

He doesn’t miss the sudden tightening of my body. “I told you you wouldn’t like it.” He pushes himself off the wall, his hands in his pockets.

I’m not sure what to say.

The man he’d killed back home, he’d deserved it from what I was told, if any one trulydeservedto be killed. Owning a gun, I could rationalise as well. In his world he might need to have one for his own protection. But to cut a man’s skin off, the mindset one would need to be able to do something like that, I don’t see how I can swallow this one down.

My hands tremble at the reminder that I’m looking at him through rose-tinted glasses, justifying everything for the love I feel but do not say aloud. “Was he, awake, when you did it?”

He doesn’t need to answer, his face tells me all I need to know. Swallowing hard, I bend my arms across my middle.

“Why you? Why did you do it?”

“I’m good with a knife.”

He’s not joking. The features on his face stay fixed and hard. My face however drops, eyes expanding at him.

“You’re good with a knife? Like you’ve cut someone more than once?” My voice is docile. Wary. Not of him, but at the weight of what he does.

I think to the night in the bar. He’d pulled that giant zombie killing machine from his back pocket like it was an extension of him.

Rubbing my temples, I fix my eyes to the floor, dumbfounded by another darker depth to this man. “Look, none of that matters right now. Mads, I need to know you’re not going to bolt because you’re frightened.”

I sit in silence on the edge of the bed.

How can I not be scared of the thought that he sliced off someone’s skin? It’s not exactly standard behaviour. “Are you scared?” he asks. His shoulders drop, as if he’s waiting for me to break his heart.

“Of you?” VP nods his head slightly. “No. I told you I would take the risk of knowing this side of you.”

He walks towards me, audibly breathing a sigh of relief that I’m not running for the door. “But I don’t understand.” I’m not sure if Iwantto understand, but if I’m going to trust him, Ineedto.

VP runs his hand over his face as he sits next to me.

“It’s complicated, Mads. People who don’t live it can never wrap their heads around it. The club’s a lifestyle, not a job, I can’t just change my mind about it.”

I take his hand in mine, inspecting the strong tool, crafted by years of hard work.

“No, VP. What I don’t understand is how these hands,” I strum my fingers over his knuckles, “could love me so gently, then hurt a man so violently.”

“These hands would never hurt you. Mads, I get it—”

“No, you don’t get it,” I crack, shaking my head fleetingly as I speak. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I don’t want them gettingyouhurt. Or worse.” My nose twitches, a lump forming in the back of my throat.

He’s looking at me like a man haunted.

His eyes are fixed on me; black holes lost in thought. “I tell you I’ve hurt people and you’re worried about me? Nothing is going to happen to me.” He shakes his head dismissively.

“How can you be so sure?” I gulp the burning lump down.

“Because now,” he turns to me slightly, holding both my hands in his firmly, “I have purpose. A fucking good reason to make sure I don’t let anything happen to me. A reason to be more careful.”

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