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“You’re right,” Cilla said, her voice—shamefully—cracking. “You are absolutely right. I don’t belong here.” Pushing to her feet, she ignored Patriot’s stiff as a board body—avoided him altogether—and clumsily scooted past and over Stephie to get out of the booth. Thankfully, Horde stood up and let her by, helping to steady her when she finally put both her feet on the concrete floor. “I’ll never belong here. Not with people like you.”
She could hear Stephie gasp, but when she went to grab for Cilla, Horde held her back. The woman had downed far too many drinks to be able to walk on her own, so it was better that Horde take her home. Offering Horde a small smile in thanks for caring for her friend, Cilla grabbed her purse from the table, sucked in a deep breath to stave off the rush of tears barreling toward her eyes, and put one foot in front of the other, headed toward the door and her car in the parking lot.
I need to go. Need to get home. Need to break. And break. And break.
“Cilla, wait a fucking minute—” Patriot called, but she ignored him. She refused to look at Patriot, but she could feel his gaze burning into her. And she didn’t care. Never in her life had she felt so…alone. Cilla knew that club business meant he couldn’t go public with whatever they were, but that didn’t mean that he should leave her vulnerable to the snakes and scorpions that skittered through the Unchained MC nest. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t have her back, tell those women that Cilla did actually belong, because even though she wasn’t claimed or club…she was still a person. She was still human, with human feelings…and Patriot had let those women trample all over them.
Patriot’s betrayal hurt far worse than any wounds inflicted by Jaime or Sasha’s words, because he’d told her he cared about her, that he wanted to be with her, that she meant everything to him. But at the first hurdle, the first test of what she could expect from their “secret” relationship, Patriot had failed her.
And Jaime…Patriot let that woman touch him, and she spoke to him like they were a couple, like she was his ol’ lady.
Had Patriot lied, were he and Jaime really together? And if that was the case, why had he slept with her, why had he said all those things about wanting her and wanting to claim her?
Greasing up the pig….
Suddenly, it was all too much, because the only explanation was that she’d been wrong about Patriot all along.
His words from tonight echoed through her thoughts, then collided with her heart.
“…it’s not like that between us….”
Maybe that was the truth.
Cilla hadn’t been subtle with her feelings toward Patriot. Ever. He’d known how she felt from the beginning…and he’d used that. He’d used her. He’d wanted easy, wanted to keep easy on the down low so he wouldn’t run into any problems once he got around to claiming Jaime.
“…it’s not like that between us….”
…disgusted….
…annoyed….
…waiting to claim Jaime….
And, apparently, the claiming had already happened, because Jaime had basically outed them right there at the booth in Cool Hands.
Cilla was numb as she drove home, and once she was there, she locked the door behind her, kept the lights off, and stumbled her way to her bedroom, her legs unable to carry her and the weight of her pain.
Sobs, caged in her chest, finally broke free, and hours passed before she crashed into the waiting arms of sleep, still fully dressed, still weeping, still broken.
FIFTEEN
Patriot stared at the back of the woman he loved as she hurried out of the bar. Away from him. Away from what he’d just done.
He’d hurt her. Let others hurt her. And he’d remained silent…until he spouted bullshit about it not “being like that.” He’d betrayed her. Betrayed his woman. After promising her that she meant everything to him, that she was everything to him.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
Not now. Not yet. Not when there was still so much on the line.
Gritting his teeth against the rise of bile in his throat, he dragged his attention from the now empty doorway and met the gaze of the man across the table from him. His brother, his ride or die, was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.
Horde was pissed as fuck, and Patriot couldn’t blame him.
Horde, knowing what Cilla meant to Patriot, was shaking his head, his expression hard, his eyes glinting with disapproval and anger.
Two things Patriot felt soul deep a hundred-fold.
He was a motherfucking piece of shit, and he had no one to blame but himself.
