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"Protect me? By keeping secrets? By coming home covered in blood?" I'm on my feet now, my fists clenched at my sides. "That's not protection, that's danger!"
"You don't understand what I'm dealing with!" Hunter's voice booms through the apartment, causing Charlie to cry harder. "There are things you can't even imagine — "
"Then explain them to me!" I scream, my throat raw. "Stop treating me like I'm too fragile to handle the truth!"
"The truth?" Hunter laughs bitterly. "The truth is that sometimes, to keep the people you love safe, you have to do things you're not proud of. Things that haunt you. But I do them anyway, because that's what it means to truly protect someone."
"Don't you dare act like you're some noble martyr!" I spit the words at him. "You're just as secretive, just as dangerous as you accuse me of being. Maybe even more so!"
We're face to face now, both of us breathing hard, the air between us crackling with tension. Charlie's cries have turned to whimpers, but neither of us moves to comfort him.
"I can't do this right now," I say, suddenly feeling drained. "I'm going to take a walk. Then I have to finish my paper. When I get back, I want you gone. Got it?”
“Oh, trust me, I can’t wait to get out of here.”
Without even sparing a look over my shoulder, I storm out the door, down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of my building and onto the sidewalk. My heart is running rampant in my chest, my nerves are frayed, torn, every part of me feeling absolutely fried with anger and with heartbreak. What just happened between Hunter and me is the end. I know it; there’s no way we can patch things up after I shot his friend in front of Charlie. And how can I trust him again after knowing what he’s done?
I walk. Aimless. The occasional car rolls by, sometimes slowing down, probably to look at the crying woman covered in blood. Pedestrians cross the street to get away from me, also probably because I’m crying and bloody.
My wandering takes me out of my regular neighborhood, and it’s not until some time that I look up through tear-streaked eyes and see that I have no idea where I am. There’s nothing around that I recognize, most of the buildings look dark and empty, and there’s only a single car on the street rolling slowly along nearby. A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I should get home.
Then I hear a voice behind me. A familiar voice. Jay’s.
“Hey, Emily. Did you miss me?”
I have only a moment to open my mouth and let out a half-scream before a hand clamps over my face and I’m dragged toward the waiting car.
Chapter Fifty-One
Hunter
“You’re more bloody than when we left you. And you brought your baby. What happened? Did he shoot someone?” Mayhem leans down and tickles Charlie. “Someone has a bright future as an assassin. Oh yes, he does.”
I pull my son away from him. Maybe it was a mistake to come to the clubhouse. But, after everything that happened with Emily earlier, and that Diesel is still in surgery, the last thing I want is to be alone with my thoughts. I was so close to having it all — a club, a son, an ol’ lady — and now, I’ve lost a significant part of the reason I was putting down roots here. There’s a black mood on me, and it seems to be so thick that it’s infecting everyone around me.
Charlie goes into my lap, my beer goes in my mouth, and Mayhem gets a withering glare.
“Don’t touch my kid and call him a murderer.”
Mayhem raises his hand and takes a step back. “I was kidding. Relax, Hunter. We did well today. I gave Rabid a breakdown of everything. He’ll be talking to you soon. You’re in. And there’ll be a party later in the week to celebrate.”
A dark-haired and angry-looking man with an aura that’s about as welcoming as a skull nailed to a front door looks up from his beer on the other side of the bar and says, “Mayhem, never tell someone to ‘relax.’ It never works. You want someone to chill out? Try to stop being a lunatic, or at the fucking least, stop with the unwanted touching of their kid.”
“Whatever, Bishop. Mind your own business.”
“It becomes my business when you do it right in front of me.”
“Unless you both want to be cut off for a week, you’ll simmer down. Got it?” The bartender, Molly, says. When Mayhem opens his mouth, she levels a finger at him. “I go to Hotcakes all the time, Mayhem, so don’t even start or I will drag Stacy into this. And, Bishop, before you even say a fucking word, I will talk to Eden, too. I’m supposed to get coffee with her on Friday. Don’t think I won’t make sure she whips your grouchy ass raw.”
“Sorry, Molly,” both men mumble.
The two men could have disappeared for all the attention she pays them. Instead, she leans across the bar and looks at Charlie. “And what happened to you today, little Charlie? Did you and your daddy get into trouble?”
Charlie giggles and reaches for her, so I hand him over. It takes effort; of everyone here, Molly’s the only one I even feel like I can talk to, but answering her — putting into words the pain I’m experiencing, the loss — feels like I’m putting my heart through a woodchipper.
“Day started great, surviving the fucking mess with Havoc and Mayhem, then it went straight to hell.”
Molly says nothing. She simply nods and fills my glass.
