Unbreakable: Unrequited Part Two (Fallen Aces MC Book 2) (35 page)

I’ve got the most important business to date heading my way.

Elena

The young one, who I’ve learnt is Ramona, was shot making sure I got away. I’ve never felt worse. A woman who I argued with, and made life difficult for, put herself in harm’s way to help me.
Me.

The man she rode with, whose patch says his name is Mighty, carried her through to the kitchen to get the bullet taken out and stitches put in. I stand shell-shocked in the center of the main living area, Dante huddled to my hip, unsure where the hell I should go.

“Elena.” The guy who brought us back here, the VP, waves us over from where he stands beside a circle of old sofas. “Take a load off.”

He holds out a chilled bottle of Coke to Dante when we approach. “Thirsty?”

My boy nods, taking the offered drink and curling into a ball on one of the seats.

“You?”

I shake my head, taking a seat beside Dante. “I didn’t get a chance to take any of our stuff,” I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you think we’ll be able to go back soon?”

He smiles and shakes his head, curly blond locks bouncing as he does. “Nope. Sorry, darl.”

I look him over as he shouts across the room to one of the prospects, asking for something to eat for us. His cut reads “Callum” over the VP badge. He’s classically handsome in that rough football-player way. If I saw him on the street without his club gear, I wouldn’t have picked him as a part of the Fallen Aces.

“Thank you,” I say as soon as he brings his attention back to us.

He shrugs, dismissing the sentiment. “Just doin’ what we do.”

The door behind us crashes open, King marching through, while a shorter gray-haired man shouts behind him. “Could have parked the fuckin’ thing properly.” The old guy’s eye catches mine, and he nods once. “Ma’am.”

King rounds the sofa, dropping to his knees before Dante. “Hey, buddy.”

Dante stares, his little fingers twisting the lid from his Coke half off, half on, over and over.

“You okay?”

I sigh in exasperation. He has to be kidding, right?

King levels me with an icy glare. “I wasn’t talkin’ to you, woman.”

Dante glances between us both and taps King on the arm to grab his attention. “I’m okay, Dad. Your friends helped us.” He pauses a moment, his lips twisting as he picks his words. “It was scary, though. I thought Mom would be dead.”

King nods, swallowing repeatedly. “You’re safe now, little man.” He turns and looks to Callum. “Can you take him upstairs and get him settled?”

“On it, boss.”

“I’ll come too.” Both men stare at me. “What?”

“Stay here,” King instructs, eyes on the floor. “I want to talk with you.”

Damn it.
“You need me, you ask somebody to come get me, okay?” I reach out and touch Dante’s chin as he nods.

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Callum assures as he leads Dante away.

I pull my knees to my chest as the contrasting pair head up the stairs to our left, presumably to where the living quarters are, considering down here is one over-sized bar.

King’s back remains to me. His breath whooshes out his nose and he pinches the bridge of it with his forefinger and thumb. “I wish you’d let me help when I first asked.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warn in a low tone. “Don’t you put this on me, you conceited asshole.”

“Admit fault, Elena.” He spins around and pushes up to full height. “You knew the danger Carlos was, and somehow you thought you could fight that off with your fuckin’ mop and bucket.”

“It was a shotgun, King. A fucking shotgun,” I yell.

He backs up as I stand, matching his stance.

“Whatever it was,” he hollers, “it wasn’t enough. You could have both been killed.”

“And what of it? Going to tell me you would have missed us? Because you sure as hell don’t seem to while we’re alive.”

He frowns, tipping his head to the side to utter, “You think I don’t miss you?”

I purse my lips and stare him down. “Sure feels like it.”

“You wanted me to leave you alone,” he roars. “You wanted that!”

“I also wanted a fucking life with you, with kids, with it all.” My fists ball at my sides, the pent up frustration aching in my limbs. I strike out at the arm of the sofa and grumble, “But we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

He rubs the heel of his hand against his forehead, ducking his head in jerky movements, his jaw set firm. “Fucking hell, woman.”

“What?” I snap. “Did you think I was going to leap into your arms crying ‘my hero’?”

“Would have been nice,” he sasses. “A bit of gratitude wouldn’t go amiss to start with.”

“Thank. You.” I narrow my eyes, my bitch level one thousand as I smarmily say the words he wants to hear.

“Nope. No way.” He stomps close and leans down so our faces are level. “Like you mean it.”

Clutching my hands together at my left shoulder, I flutter my eyelashes and put on a sickly saccharine-sweet voice. “Why, thank you, Mister. You saved me.”

I gasp as he knocks me off balance, towering over me after my ass hits the sofa. His corded arms cage me in, one on the edge of the sofa, one on the seat beside me. “Have you always been this rude, or did I just choose to forget that part?”

“Only with the men who piss me off, baby,” I bite back.

His nostrils flare, the green of his eyes a deep shade of emerald. My skin flushes, my stomach flopping about like a fish out of water.
No way.
I can’t still feel something for him. After all that’s happened. After how mad he made me these past years.
I can’t.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he drawls. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Were you always such an asshole?” I whisper in a feeble comeback.

“Nope.” He grins, lop-sided and panty-melting.
Bastard.
“Only after a certain little woman ripped my heart out and danced over its ashes.”

“Sounds like a real bitch.”

“She is.” His eyes stay on my lips, his breath hot on my face. “Real piece of work.”

“Better put her in her place then.”

He smirks again, leaning forward to place his head next to mine. I’ve got nowhere to go, nothing I can do but let him drag his full, soft, bottom lip along the shell of my ear.
Every time.
Goosebumps break out as his breath tickles my neck. “I think I have.”

I jerk away from his touch, pushing against his arm to get free. Cool air rushes in as he steps back and looks me over from head to toe before turning and walking out of the room.

Holy hell.

I think he just made me hate him more.

King

It was there, an undeniable chemistry between us. She felt it. I fucking know she did. It wasn’t just my body going haywire having her that close. Her cheeks were flushed, her pupils giving away that she noticed the return of what we’ve always had—a magnetism that can’t be denied.

And she pushed me away.

I thought I had her; I thought for sure that was the moment she’d finally, after all these years of lies, admit that she’d made a huge mistake in wanting nothing to do with me. I’d honestly believed I’d have her in my arms right now, and that we’d be talking through all of the shit and giving ourselves a fresh page to start on tomorrow.

She came fucking close to breathing her last with those assholes chasing her down, and yet she still can’t admit that we shouldn’t waste any more time pretending there’s nothing worth salvaging.

Warm water streams over my back, pushing my hair into my eyes and running off my beard in rivers. I thought a shower might freshen my mind up a little, but if anything, it’s fed the dire need in me to simply drown and let it all go.

I can’t be the man people think I am anymore. I can’t live the lie. They think I’m some infallible creature who’s always got the answer, but I’m not. I’m human. I love, I hurt, and I need to be repaired from time to time as well.

I’m so busy looking out for the club, but who’s there for me? Where do I turn when I need someone to just listen and hold me close? Who do I go to when the only woman I want that from can’t stand to have me touch her any more?

Jesus, I’m done.

I sit on the shower floor and watch the water run down the drain for an age, long enough that the cylinder runs dry and the water turns cold. Still, I’ve got no motivation to get out, to rise. Drying off and walking downstairs is only going to shove my biggest problem in my face front and center.

The club’s in debt over its head and the payback from this “favor” for Carlos is yet to arrive. The issue itself wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we only owed the bank. They’d foreclose, our assets would be sold off, and we’d either disband, or start up again smaller and better equipped somewhere else.

But we don’t owe the bank. We owe a damn gang of thieves who’re sitting quietly in the wings, sharpening their knives, waiting for our time to run out.

I’ve got six months
—
twenty-four fucking weeks to round up a six-figure sum that at the moment seems like no more than a pipe dream.

My teeth chatter, my flesh pebbled from the cold.

Would anyone care if I just disappeared?
I’m so tired of all this. I can’t do it. I can’t fix things.

“King? What the hell, man?” Callum rips the shower door open and cranks the taps off.
When the fuck did he come in?
“I came to get you a while ago but heard the shower on so left you to it.” He steps across the room, his movements jerky and agitated. “That was fuckin’ close to an hour ago.”

I growl some incomprehensible word at him, swatting him away as he drops a towel around my frozen frame. Heck, I don’t even know what the hell I was trying to say. Seems being able to speak is something else my mind’s decided to give up on.

“What’s the issue, brother?” He jams hot hands under my arms and forces me to stand. “Dry off and come out here. I want to know what the hell that was I just witnessed.”

I take my time, hoping by some small miracle he would have given up and left by the time I emerge from my bathroom. But there he is. Annoying as ever. And I still love the guy for it.

“Get into bed.”

I damn near jump out of my skin at the sound of Sonya’s voice. I didn’t see her hiding off to my left.

“Now,” she says, firmly.

I frown at the two of them and slip a set of boxers on under my towel before dropping it and climbing into my huge, fucking empty bed. Callum leans on the footboard while Sonya perches on the side. I pull the covers over my head.

“What is there that we can help with?” Sonya asks softly.

“Nothing,” I bitch like a petulant child.

“People who ain’t got anythin’ to worry about don’t sit in the bottom of their shower until they begin to melt away, man.”

I whip the cover down and glare at Callum. “I’ll sort it out, okay? I just . . . I need some time.” I roll to my back and drag a hand over my face. “Can you cover for a few days?” I hate asking him to do it, but I need the break to get my ducks in a row.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Nothin’ important to worry about,” I tell him, desperately hoping it’ll mean he won’t interfere in the fucking financial mess. “Just make sure the boys are happy and sign off anythin’ that needs it.”

“You got it.” He nods. “I know what I’m doin’, King.”

“Yeah, I know.” I roll my gaze to Sonya. “Can you turn the light off on your way out?”

She frowns a little. Words are poised on her lips, the twitch at the corners giving away her indecision. She huffs and smiles forcibly. “You need anything, you call out, okay?”

I want them to fuck off—that’s the basics of it all. I’m lying here feeling sorrier than a teenager who missed out on tickets to his favorite band. A real man would quit his fucking sulking and man the hell up. Damn it, I want to. I really do, but the desire to quit on life is ten times stronger when there’s no point to doing anything I am anymore.

Elena doesn’t want me.

I can’t get the club in the black.

Carlos is after our asses again, which makes all the risks I took years ago pointless.

My parents are disappointed in me.

And I’m doomed to die after breaking my back to try and make it all better, alone.

Fuck life. I’m over it. I get no favors from this shit. I get no kickbacks. Shit, I ain’t selfish, but fuck this. I’m committing the slowest form of suicide ever. I’m working myself to death. And the sad part? I don’t know what the fuck else I’d do if not this.

Callum follows Sonya from the room, and I’m plunged into darkness as he shuts the door. The general hubbub of the club carries on beneath me: bikes rumble in and out of the garage, music ebbs and flows in volume, and voices drift through the corridors.

All the while I feel like a butterfly in reverse. Wrapped up in my sheets, holed up in my cocoon, I can feel the life drain from me as I slowly quit life. The longer I stay up here, the less desire I have to rejoin society.

This shit was supposed to work the other way around. I was supposed to take the time out and wake up feeling a fuck-load better. I’m supposed to be recharging the batteries, yet all that happens is that life drains from my reserves.

A day passes, judging by the patterns of light on my bedroom floor. I watch the sun recede and the moon creep in, drifting in and out of sleep. Sonya knocks, asks if I need anything. Callum comes by when I don’t respond and stands beside my bed while I stoically ignore him.

And then the fuckers send in the big guns.

Sunlight is at the mid-point on its way back out of the room when I feel the bed dip behind me. I sigh and pull the sheet over my head.

“I’m not in the mood, Sonya.” It can’t be Callum; the person is too light.

“Good thing it isn’t Sonya then.”

Fuck
. I groan into my mattress and close my eyes, hoping she’ll go away.

“When you coming out of your wee fort there?” Elena asks.

“Never,” I mumble.

She huffs. “Even Dante isn’t this childish.”

I slam the blankets down so they sit under my arms. “I’m not being childish, Elena. I’m fuckin’ over never bein’ able to fix anything.”