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Lynch’s body goes still, and he looks ready to commit murder. “Exactly what pictures are you talking about?”
“Ones of you with the women that come to the clubhouse. You know exactly which ones considering they’re there to jump your dicks whenever told to do so,” I spit out, trying to block out the memories. The warnings those girls would give to me the first few times I’d been at the clubhouse.
The pictures my aunt sent to me hurt to the point I cried those weeks when I didn’t take his calls. I’d finally had enough crying and allowed the anger I felt at him to seep in. I’d sent him a message saying we were over and that I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t want him visiting me or contacting me again. That very same night, I went to a frat party where he evidently saw me making out with someone.
“Camilla, explain to me these pictures, ‘cause I’ll tell you now, I didn’t cheat on you when we were together. Hell, I hadn’t fucked a bitch from the day I met you until after we were separated.”
“I don’t believe you.” I can’t, even if a part of me wants to. Lynch was never a liar. He much preferred to keep it real rather than bullshit.
“Fuckin’ explain, damnit,” Lynch roars, causing me to jump.
“My aunt sent them,” I blurt, tears streaming down my face as I do this and let it all out, giving him the explanation he’s looking for. “She sent them to me. There were pictures of you with two of those clubwomen. Another picture of you and some woman on the back of your bike . . .” That one really hurt because I knew what it meant to be on the back of his bike. For him to have another woman there, it meant that I was nothing to him. “I saw the pictures of you and the women. I saw the picture of you and a woman embracing each other, and I saw the look on your face when you looked at her.”
Lynch stares at me for a moment before he pulls his phone out and looks at it while doing something. He then turns the phone to me. “Was the picture any of these women?” he asks.
I glance at the screen and immediately see the one in the middle and remember her from the picture. “Yes. The middle one.”
“That’s Harlow, my sister,” he answers and points out the other two. “One on the right is Raven, my cousin, and to the left is Chains’s sister, Victoria.”
I knew he had a sister, but I’d never seen her. Whenever he and I were together and around his family, it was always his aunt Ela and uncle. Pitch Black came around some, but not much. Lynch kept me away from the clubhouse most of the time. Mostly ‘cause I was still young, and he didn’t want anything to happen to me.
“Harlow doesn’t visit much, and whenever she used to visit before she got with her ol’ man, I did give her a ride on my bike. She loves riding but didn’t have one of her own. Raven and Victoria both are like sisters to me. Those three women are the only ones back then I’d have given the time of day to. They’re my family, just like the women who my brothers claimed are my family. I don’t know what your aunt’s game was with those photos, but I didn’t fuck around on you. I never once thought about it.”
“I have pictures, Lynch. How am I supposed to believe you when I’ve seen the pictures?” I thought about them being fakes, but I looked at them so many times. Even over the years, I’d looked at them to see if it was possible for them to be photoshopped. Lynch has a very in-depth tattoo on his back that can’t be easily copied. Then there’s the ones on his chest and his arms.
“You still got these pictures?” Lynch asks.
“Yes.” I don’t bother hiding the truth. I have them and will admit they’re in my briefcase right now. I’d been carrying them around with a new set of papers to give to Lynch because he balled the other ones up.
“Where are they?”
“My briefcase in the backseat of my car, why?”
Instead of giving me an answer, he turns away from me while doing something with his phone. A moment later, he’s got the phone to his ear and talking to someone on the other end, ordering them to go to my apartment building, get in my car, and bring my briefcase. The other person on the line speaks for a moment, and then Lynch grunts something else and pulls the phone from his ear.
He doesn’t immediately turn back around, he lowers his head and plants his hands on his hips, like he’s trying to calm himself.
With the way he’s acting, a part of me wants to believe him, but the part refuses to even think about it.
Slowly, Lynch finally turns around and lifts his gaze to mine. “Prospect gets your briefcase here, then we’ll talk more. Until then, go find something else to put on. Last room on the left. The bathroom’s got a toothbrush you can have in the top right drawer. Help yourself to whatever you want to put on,” he says and spins on his heel, walks to a set of sliding glass doors, pushes them open, and steps through onto the back patio.
I suck in a breath and take a moment to get my bearings. The tension in the room doesn’t ease. It doesn’t dissipate. It lingers and swirls around me, threatening to suffocate me. I’m not sure if I can handle any of this, and Lynch seems bound and determined for us to talk things through.
Shaking my head, I followed his directions, deciding I was more than ready to get the hell out of my skirt. One I might add, he cut slits in so that I would be able to get on the back of his bike. It pissed me off, but secretly I enjoyed it. Just as I enjoyed being on the back of his bike. The freedom in it has always been a thrill to me. I used to love it when he’d take me for rides. We’d spend all day out on his bike.
I’m not worried about the toothbrush in the bathroom right now. It’s good to know for later, at least. As I make my way into the bedroom and search for something to wear, the vision of the room is something. The bed in the middle is hand-carved. I’m willing to bet the wood is cedar. Same with the dressers. I’m also sure it was Lynch who carved the furniture himself. I’d seen him doing smaller things. In fact, I have a jewelry box he made for me and a wolf statue he chiseled out. I never got rid of either. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I look in Lynch’s closet, to find it a massive walk-in. It didn’t contain much, but there were boxes situated on the floor against the back wall. One of them had my name on it, and I sucked in a breath.
He kept my things?
I moved to it, opened it, and found a handful of my old clothes. A few shirts I’d left at his place at the time. Some shorts. A dress that I wore. It’s the same one I wore the day we got married. A couple pairs of leggings. All of it old, and I don’t think any of it would fit me anymore. Well, maybe the leggings, but I’m not as small as I once was. Granted, I’m not big, I would say that my body matured, hips rounding just right, my breasts filling out completely. Mostly, I learned that I liked to do certain workouts that did wonders to my body.
Grabbing a pair of the leggings, I figure I’ll give them a shot. If they don’t work out, then I will just steal a pair of Lynch’s shorts, which I’m sure he still wears whenever he’s hanging around the house or doing yard work. There’s no way the shirts he kept would fit, so I’ll snag one of his tees. It’s something I used to love doing. Every chance I had, I’d take one of his shirts. I still have one or two that I kept of my own.
I luck out when I take the skirt off and pull on the leggings to find they fit. They’re tight, but still, I’m able to get them on. I unbutton my top, slide it off my shoulders, and let it fall on top of my skirt. I don’t bother checking to see if Lynch is around. I walk straight to his tall dresser and open the third drawer to find his tees. I snag one and pull it on over my bra as I walk out of his room in search of him.
I find him still sitting outside. His gaze comes to me as I move to the glass door. Before I can get there and open it, he’s there and coming inside.
