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As she was taken away, secured until we could decide her fate. Rage’s focus wasn’t just on the bigger picture, she complained, Cowgirl had been working with a Slayer.
“Not how you’re teaming up with a Slayer,” she clarified, looking in between me and Riptide. “Her and Blade, I hear… They were… together.” She whispered the last part like it was the greatest of all sins. “That was Cowgirl’s first mistake, getting mixed up with one of yours,” she said, pointing her finger at Riptide. “My girls are forbidden to mess with you Slayers, ever since you betrayed your club.”
Riptide laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Betrayed? You mean we took back our name and our freedom from your overlords, the Gods? My Slayers aren’t allowed to mingle with your women, either, Rage. I didn’t sanction this pairing. I am more worried about who Blade and Cowgirl are working for.”
“Who the fuck was she talking about?” I wondered out loud.
We all spoke at once with different theories.
“Could it be your ex?” Rage’s question cut through the murmurs, sharp and unexpected. Her eyes were on me, probing, searching for a reaction.
A jolt of surprise made me jump. “You mean Justin?” I asked, my tone dismissive. “Justin’s trouble, and violent, sure, but not on this scale.”
Riptide, standing beside me, stiffened. “Justin?” Confusion laced his voice, tinged with an edge of something else. “The punk I just dealt with?”
Rage shook her head, a wry smile curling on her lips. “No, not him. I’m talking about the other one, the mafia hitman guy.” She was snapping her fingers, searching her mind for a name I knew all too well. “You know, your baby daddy.”
The room seemed to spin for a moment. That part of my past, the dark, dangerous chapter I had closed off and buried deep, was suddenly front and center. I saw the realization dawn in Riptide’s eyes, the pieces clicking into place.
His expression pure anger, he turned sharply, and stormed out of the office. I heard my name, a question in Rage’s voice, but I was already moving, chasing after Riptide, my heart pounding.
I caught up with him outside, under the harsh lights of the parking lot. “Riptide, wait!” I called out, reaching for him.
He spun to face me, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched. “A mafia hitman, Brat?” His voice was low, a controlled fury that was almost worse than shouting. “How could you not tell me something like that? The fucking answer to all our questions was in your head all along.”
Struggling to find the words, I sought to bridge the rift of misunderstanding. “It was my past, Hudson. I left that life behind. I thought it was over,” I tried to explain.
“You thought wrong,” he shot back, the hurt in his eyes cutting deeper than any physical wound. “If we’re going to survive this, if we’re going to protect our clubs and each other, I need to know these things, Star. I can’t fight an enemy I can’t see. Who is he? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
I took a deep breath. “His name is Marco Michael Azarian,” I started, my voice unwavering despite the chaos swirling inside me. “He’s part of my stepmother’s family, connected to the mob. It happened five years ago, while I was still in college, before I joined the Hell on Heelz.”
Riptide’s brow furrowed, his stance softening slightly as he listened. “How did you get mixed up with someone like that?”
I shrugged, the memories I had long buried now resurfacing. “I was young, naïve. I thought I could handle it, that I could play in their world and not get burned. I never loved him, Riptide. It was a power game, and I was just another piece on the board.”
His eyes narrowed at my admission. “And the baby?” he asked, the words hanging heavy between us. “You have a kid with him?”
The pain of that time pinched at my heart. “I got pregnant,” I confessed, looking away to hide the flicker of old grief in my eyes. “But I lost the baby. It was a stillbirth. It was a wakeup call, a chance to escape that life. Marco and I, we were never married or anything like that. It was all just a twisted arrangement, and when it ended, I was relieved.”
Riptide’s expression shifted, the anger giving way to understanding. “Why don’t you think he’s behind this, then?” he questioned, his voice softer now, laced with concern.
I met his gaze, the streetlight casting shadows across his softening face. “Because Marco is many things. He’s evil, manipulative, but he’s also a pragmatist. I haven’t heard from him in a very long time. He wouldn’t care enough to come after me now, not after all these years. I was just a temporary diversion in his world of schemes.”
Riptide stepped closer, his presence a solid reassurance. “But someone from that kind of life might still have a grudge, Star. If they think they can use you to get to the clubs, to your dad…”
Nodding, I felt the reality of our situation sinking in. “I know. And that’s why I should have told you sooner. I joined the Hell on Heelz right after I left Marco, looking for a fresh start, a real family. And for protection from Marco. After I pissed Marco off, my father insisted I was either with the Heelz or back in Tucson with him. But it’s been years, and I thought I’d left that world behind… Maybe it’s not that easy to escape.” Saying it all out loud, I felt stupid.
He reached out, his hand brushing against mine, a silent offer of support.
I took his hand, not caring if my sisters were peeping out the window.
Riptide’s posture relaxed slightly, the initial surge of anger giving way to a resigned understanding. “We’ll deal with it together, Star. No more secrets, okay? We need to be honest with each other if we’re going to survive this.”
I squeezed his hand, the connection grounding me. “No more secrets, I promise. We’re in this together, Riptide.”
Cradling my head into his chest, he spoke into my hair. “Whatever comes, we face it as one.” His words were a sobering reminder of the stakes, of the invisible threads of my past life that were now entangling us both.
“I’m sorry,” I said, the words inadequate to convey the depth of my regret. “I thought I was protecting you, protecting us, from that world.”
