It dawns on me she doesn’t have any clean clothes with her, she can’t put the outfit she had on before.
I grab a large tee from my bag and for the first time, I knock on the door instead of barrelling through uninvited.
“Yeah?”
She calls out keeping the door shut.
“I’ve got you something to wear, unless you want to put your dirty, cold clothes back on?”
I wait a beat and then the door opens, she hides behind the wood and pokes her head out. I hand over the fabric and her arm snakes out and takes it.
“Thanks.”
“Sure,” I shrug, “Hurry up, the brothers are going to want answers and they’re going to want them soon.”
“Heaven forbid the brothers have to wait.”
She slams the door in my face, and it makes me chuckle. She’s a feisty little thing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Libby
The darkness envelopes me when I wake, and the smell of the bedsheets wrapped around me is foreign. It doesn’t smell like mom’s laundry detergent at home.
Home.
My dad lying on the kitchen floor in a puddle of his own blood fills my mind and I open my eyes to make it go away.
I guess home isn’t home anymore. Not that I would want to return to the house that only held happiness when it was just me and my mom, perhaps Baze could come around more often now we don’t have to hide from my dad? Maybe home won’t be so bad now.
“Liss…no…don’t...please…I…can’t…”
Deep mumblings come from the corner of the room and I bolt up, holding the sheets up to my neck.
Dex, the brother from another chapter, is asleep in the chair, still fully dressed with his boots on, not even unlaced.
He looks like he’s ready for anything to happen at any time. In the darkness, I can make out ink on his hand, I can’t see what it is, but I can see his tatted up. I didn’t notice earlier, bearing in mind he had his hand around my neck. For the briefest moment, I thought he was going to strangle me. He doesn’t have steady eyes, trouble brews in them and darkness surrounds the trouble, there is a storm not only brewing in him, but raging as he looks at you. He is the complete opposite of Baze, where he has his hair grown out, Dex’s hair is shaved short around the sides and a mess on top. His Jawline is more pronounced, and his arms, from what I’ve seen, are thicker and his muscle are way more defined.
He isn’t like the guys around here, I don’t know if it’s because he listens, or because he just doesn’t fit in, but there is something about him that keeps you watching him, like now, when he’s sleeping, or suffering from nightmares if listening to his mumbles is anything to go by.
A part of me likes that he’s suffering from something, so much so, it’s attacking him in his dreams. A grown man, a guy wearing leather and a patch everyone in town fears is being haunted and can’t deal with it.
The brother’s walk around like nothing can touch them, and it’s about time one of them cracked. It’s a shame it wasn’t my dad, but he still got what he deserved. Baze is the closest to a gentleman, and even then, it’s not anything to desire. Perhaps that’s why I haven’t fallen in love with him. I want the lot. The rough and ready bad boy who has a heart of gold just for me. Baze is for sure a bad boy and he can be rough, but his heart, I’m pretty sure it’s made of coal.
Lying back down, I roll onto my side and I’m grateful I’m not outside in the shed any longer.
I’ve never been so cold in my life. My dad was a prick, but he was a prick who liked to crank the heating up in the winter.
“Lissa…”
All of a sudden, Dex is leaping out of the chair, and landing with a thump on the floor, and I sit back up.
He’s visibly shaking as he climbs up to his feet. He starts to pace the room, which isn’t very large, and doesn’t once look my way. His hands clench into fists and unclenches again. Over and over. He’s mumbling something, but I can’t quite understand what the hell he is going on about.
I jump when he suddenly drops to his knees, and braces himself on all fours, panting for a long breath.
Without thinking about what I’m doing, I slide out from under the sheets and fall to the floor before him.
Gripping onto his chin, my heart thumps heavily as I make contact with him. I don’t know how he will react to my touch, he hasn’t exactly been warm towards me, although, he does see through the lie.
I push his head up so he’s looking at me, and not the shabby carpet. I struggle to breathe, he looks so sad and because I recognise this, I’ll help him.
“Keep looking at me, and breathe with me,” I say to him, and inhale slowly and deeply.
I have to exhale and inhale again before he copies me, and after six long breaths, he’s calm. Not once did he take his eyes off me while I was trying to help him, he seemed to be trying to work me out.
He brings his hand up and covers mine for a split second, before falling onto his ass and freeing himself from me.
My fingers are damp from his sweat and after washing them in the bathroom, I dampen a face cloth and take it back out to him.
He doesn’t move to take it from me, so I drop to my knees and dab around his hairline, working my way down to his neck.
“Are you okay now?” I ask him, not sure if I’ll get a reply.
“I’m fine,” he croaks out, sounding full of bullshit.
“My mom used to have panic attacks too, they’re not very nice are they.”
Hers would occur when she knew my dad was on his way home after drinking at the club, or if she burned his dinner and didn’t have anything else in to start over.
“That’s not what that was, I just had a nightmare.”
Well, he couldn’t possibly be any more defensive.
“If you say so,” I murmur, pushing up to my feet.
I drop the cloth in his lap and return to bed. The spot I was in is still warm and I keep my eyes on Dex. He stays on the floor for so long, I’m falling asleep when he stands and comes to the side of the bed.
He tugs his tee over his head and sits on the edge, opposite to me. Unlacing his boots, he kicks them off and then throws the sheets back and lays down.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I whisper.
“About what?”
“About what wakes you in the middle of the night, shaking and pouring with sweat.”
“Love.”
“Love? That’s what gives you nightmares?”
He rolls his head on the pillow and looks at me, even in the dark I can see his disapproval.
“If you really did kill your dad, you might’ve understood. But, you didn’t, so go to sleep. In the morning, I’m taking you home.”
“Why?”
He sighs, and says, “I want to see the house and you need clothes and shit.”
“Why do you want to see the house?”
“Go to sleep.”
Fucking men. Barking orders and expecting silence. I hate them all. Rolling over, I keep my back to him and dread what Baze is going to say when he finds out I’m sleeping in the same bed as another guy.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dex
I was expecting to wake up to snow, but rain beats against the window and wind thrashes around the cabin.
It could be peaceful if I wasn’t here because a brother has died. Rolling my head to the side, Libby is still asleep beside me. She’s looking a lot healthier after a bath and a good night’s sleep.
I sit up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and bask in the chill in the air. It’s fucking freezing in these parts no matter if you’re indoors or outside.
Flicking a cigarette out the pack, I light up and inhale deeply. The nicotine hits my brain and I wake up properly. It’s after midday when I catch the time on the bedside clock and I sigh. I was hoping to get an early start.
First things first, I need to get my hands on a car.
“You managed to get some sleep then?” I hear and
look over my shoulder.
She’s woken up, but she isn’t moving to get up. She’s probably used to waking up to this coldness, plus she’s just spent three days in a shed.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve woken from a nightmare in the night, I don’t want to talk about it with her, I don’t even know her. I’m dealing with it and learning to live with it. They are my penance for what I’ve done.
“Unless you want me to go and find you some clothes, you should wear what you had on yesterday until you can change when you get home,” I say instead of answering her question.
I stand up and pull on my jeans. I catch her watching me dress and I wonder if she likes what she sees? Then I think, why the fuck do I care?
“Are we leaving now?”
“Yes.” Is all I say, and she gets out of bed.
My eyes follow her as she walks into the bathroom, my tee falls to above her knee, and I turn around before she can catch me watching her.
I finish getting dressed and sort my shit out while she takes her time getting ready.
She throws my tee she wore to bed at me across the room when she walks out, and it smells like her. It’s been a long time since my clothes smelled like a woman.
“Let’s go,” I mutter, shoving it in my bag.
She stays close as we make our way downstairs and the bar is busier than I anticipated. I spot Gabe sat up the bar and ignore everyone else as we head in his direction.
He isn’t happy to see Libby, but I couldn’t care less, if he had done a better job figuring out what happened, she wouldn’t be here now.
“I need to borrow a car,” I say.
“Going somewhere nice?” he mutters, and swigs from his bottle of beer.
“I’m going to take her to pick up some clothes, probably head into town and grab some food. We won’t be long.”
He jerks his chin at his prospect behind the bar, and the kid slides a bunch of keys across the bar top.
I scoop them up and he says, “The black pickup out the front.”
“Cheers.”
Libby doesn’t move when I go to leave, she looks sad and I follow her line of sight.
Baze is sat by the fire and has a girl straddling his waist, nuzzling into his neck. He doesn’t notice Libby watching him and he’s enjoying the girl’s attention.
Something is going on with these two for sure. I’m starting to think she is covering for him, but I can’t afford to think that way, he’s a brother and that would mean, he committed the ultimate betrayal.
“Come on, I’m sure he doesn’t want an audience.”
As soon as she hears me, her cheeks flame a bright red and she daren’t look at me.
She brushes by me and pushes the door open, the cold doesn’t bother her as I zip my jacket up. She jumps in the pickup and refuses to look at me.
“Do you have a boyfriend who will be missing you?” I ask.
“No.”
Maybe Baze isn’t a boyfriend, but he is someone to her, I know it.
She doesn’t look at me or talk for the rest of the drive, unless it’s to give me directions to her place. I quickly learn the brothers up here live in the mountain. We pass eight cabins/houses before I pull into Libby’s drive. I expect her to stall going back in the house, but she jumps out the truck and heads for the front door.
She takes the lead walking through the hall and stops in the doorway to the kitchen. Blood is smeared across the linoleum where they’ve moved Cameron’s body, the cupboard fronts are splattered with the red stuff and the table cloth that is now hanging off the table is saturated in blood.
On one of the cupboard fronts is a handprint, the club have been reckless to leave that behind.
Libby stands frozen beside me, her eyes zeroing in on the gruesome scene. I begin to watch her, picking up on the tiny movements she makes.
She isn’t sad.
She doesn’t look remorseful.
She certainly doesn’t look like she is grieving for her father.
She looks like she’s relieved.
She looks like she content with the situation, because as she said, her father wasn’t very nice, and whoever she is protecting is worth risking her own life to save.
I’ve seen this look before, it screams Melissa, and it got her killed.
“Do you know what happens when you protect people?” I ask her.
“You save them from being hurt?”
“Okay, let me rephrase. Do you know what happens when you protect the wrong people?”
She still doesn’t look at me, but I carry on regardless.
“They get you killed. I knew someone like you once and her protection got her killed.”
“No offence, but I couldn’t give a shit about anyone else right now. Everything was going to plan, until you showed up.”
“Are you having a go at me because I’m not letting anyone kill you for something you didn’t do?”
Women are unbelievable.
“I…”
“Forget it.”
Backtracking to the living area, there’s one family photo and it looks over a decade old. One thing I do notice, is how small the mother is. Smaller than Libby.
Heading back to the kitchen, Libby is still staring at the blood. I’m more interested in the bloody handprint on the cupboard door.
Taking a punt, I say, “Why didn’t you go with your mom?”
“Huh?”
“Why didn’t you leave with your mom before the club got here? You could be on the run with her now.”
“She wasn’t here.”
“Whose handprint is that then?” I ask, nodding to the cupboard.
“It’s mine,” she flat out lies to my face.
“Stop lying, for that, you can go and pack a bag and don’t take all day about it.”
“You said you were bringing me home.”
“I was hoping you was going to be truthful, since you aren’t being so, you get to stay by my side. All you have to do is tell me who killed your dad, or I come to my own conclusions and tell Gabe what I think.”
“You’re joking, right? They had to call you here to deal with me, anyone who is too close to the club they can’t handle it. You’re here to kill someone, whether it’s me or someone else. You’re going to have one of our deaths joining your nightmares.”
She spins on her heel and heads up the stairs. I’m not killing anyone, man or woman, I’ve decided.
I’m not a fucking pawn to be moved around on the fucking murder board. Fuck this.
Pulling out my phone, I hit up Cas’s number and press call. It rings out five times before he answers and when he does, he sounds distracted.
“Yeah?”
“Cas, it’s Dex.”
“I know, what’s up?”
“You need to call Gabe and make it clear I’m not killing any fucker here.”
I can feel the panic rising and he must hear it, I listen to him shuffling around and it goes quiet.
“What have you found out?”
“It’s not the girl they had locked up in the shed, I’m thinking it’s her mom or someone else completely, but it wasn’t the girl.” I add at the end to clarify. “There isn’t one person here who doesn’t think I’m not here to kill the person who killed Cameron. What the fuck, Cas? I don’t even know what I’m doing here? I’m wrapped around another chick who is protecting someone and pretending not to have a fucking clue what’s happened…”
“Calm down, Dex. Are you sure the girl didn’t do it?”
“One hundred percent sure. The mom isn’t around, she’s disappeared. There’s more to this than she’s saying, but the brothers seem content to let her take the blame. It’s fucked up.”
Cas doesn’t say anything for a beat and then he sighs.
“Dex, brother, don’t take this the wrong way, but you haven’t been yourself lately, is it possible she did do it but she’s fucking with your head?”
I hang my head and sigh myself. I should’ve expec
ted this. This is what my brothers back home are always going to think of me.
“The evidence just isn’t there, Cas. She’s protecting someone, I know it.”
“Fine, make sure they leave her alone and find out who was it. Do you need any help? I can send Pope and Rick up.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine, if not, I’ll call you back.”
I don’t know who hangs up first, but when I turn around, Libby is standing at the bottom of the stairs holding her bag.
“I’ll never tell you who killed my father,” she vows.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’m still going to find out though.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Libby
I can’t work out this guy. He’s a Lost Soul, like my father and like Baze, but he’s not one of the Mercy chapter brothers. He’s nothing like the men I’ve known my whole life.
He doesn’t say anything as he drives us back to the clubhouse, and I watch his hands as he takes the wheel. I can make out his tattoo in the daylight, across his hand are a pair of black heels is inked into his skin. What the hell is a grown ass man doing with a pair of women’s shoes tattooed on himself? How strange.
My eyes float up from his hand, gripping the wheel, to his face and find him watching me.
“Are they your favourite pair or something?” I ask, not knowing what else to say or where to look.
“Something,” he grunts, trying to end the conversation.
“Why women’s shoes?” I push on.
He keeps bombarding me with his questions, maybe it’s time to throw them back at him.
“Tell me who killed Cameron, and I’ll tell you,” he spits back.
Fucker.
I don’t let the attack in my mind and lock my dad out from all thoughts. I don’t care that he’s dead, he deserved everything he got, but the manner of violence that killed him scared me.
“If I thought I could trust you, I’d let you help me. As it is, I don’t, and I’d rather die than let anyone use me again.”
“Who used you?” he quickly asks.
“Tell me about your tattoo and I’ll tell you.”
I won’t, and I reckon he knows it because he doesn’t say another word until he stops the car outside the clubhouse.