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“Excuse me…? What did you say?”

“Excused, idiot” she’s really just going to stand on that, huh? I look at her, entirely perplexed.

“What’s your fucking problem?” I spit at her

“You’re being a brat” she doesn’t even raise her voice

“You don’t even know me”

“I know you’re being a brat, and it’s boring, ‘babes’” this time with a deliberately fake smile and head tilt. If she had hair, it would hang to the side

“You might be okay with a violent psychopath fucking weirdo, that doesn’t mean I am”

“Firstly, that’s my violent psychopath, fuck you very much. And will your little innocent girl crisis fucking matter if he dies? That’s what it boils down to”

I start to inflame, getting ready to make some big impassioned argument about what a fucking bitch she’s being and she raises her palm, her black acrylic nails protruding past her fingertips.

“Remember whose house you’re in. My advice, not that you’ll listen; decide if you’re in or out, and then be in or out. Step the fuck up or back the fuck down. And my psychopath has been pulled into this shit, because of you. Just remember that when they risk their lives playing save the fucking damsel”

“I didn’t drag them into this…”

“Do you think Nik would be this involved if not for you? Or would he have just upped and fucked off and been just fine? I know these guys, they only stay for a reason” With that she takes the plates and mugs and waltzes off.

I don’t really know what to do, so I find my way back to my room. A couple of wrong doors later, I dump myself on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I’m terrified. What will I become if I stay in this life? Liska seems happy enough, but she’s deranged. Was she already like that, or is that what I’ll become? What if Nik dies? What if I die? What if we all go to jail? How can anybody possibly be comfortable with this much uncertainty?

Everything over the last few days just replays over and over again. I relive every emotion, and some new ones. And I just argue with myself. Girl, don’t be an idiot. Nik saved you. You were only alone because Nik left you. Nik only left you to handle the person who endangered you. Nik’s the only reason the men came. But Nik got dumped in your house by Harry, he didn’t choose to be there. Didn’t even want to be there.

Maybe I’ve got Stockholm Syndrome… maybe he’s got Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe none of it fucking matters because Harry’s going to kill us all anyway. Though I suppose that’s what Nik and Reaper are figuring out right now?

This is too fucking complicated, and I think that’s what Liska was trying to tell me. In or out. In or out. Everything is so fucking noisy, do I want to live without Nik? Can I live without Nik?

I’m not being a damsel in distress again, no way, fuck that shit. I lay motionless on the bed, mixing between day dreaming and deep thinking, searching for an uneasy peace that doesn’t seem to be coming.

I’m stirred back to anxiety with three gentle knocks on the door, after a few seconds it slowly opens and Nik steps in. I sit up and back to the wall, I’m not scared of him. That’s a stretch. I just don’t know if I’m ready to engage with him, where that will lead. Whatever choice I make, has to be final. And I just don’t know yet.

“Sorry to disturb,” he says, almost formally “Can we talk?”

I nod, I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I settle in the knowledge that he’s about to comfort me, tell me how everything’s going to be alright. He comes in, and sits on the chair by the end of the bed, legs wide and leant forward, forearms on his knees and interlocking his fingers. He chews on his lips and breathes in through his nose, before puffing out his cheeks and blowing through pursed lips.

“I’m sorry about all of this. I know it’s not how we thought or wanted things to go. We’ve got a meeting with Harry tomorrow, a sit down to sort this all out. He’s insisted you attend, but he’s assured us and guaranteed with the Club that you’ll be safe”

Thirty Two

Nik

I look at her face, searching for some kind of semblance of what we had, but I don’t see any. I see a lot of emotions in there, but I’m not sure any of it is for me. My feelings haven’t changed, except this weird tinge in my gut. Kind of like regret, but I don’t regret anything except leaving her alone in the house.

I don’t know how it went wrong, but it did. We got her out, but that’s not the fucking point. I told her I’d never hurt her, and then left her to deal with all of that. Thank fuck she’s unharmed.

I put my hands on my knees and puff my cheeks before blowing out, keeping myself steady. She can’t see this affecting me. I can’t let myself be affected, that’s how people die. The Bastards have done me a huge favour that I will definitely have to repay.

For now we’re safe. The Bastards are neither selling guns to the Firm nor buying any street pharmaceuticals from them. That hurts both, but the Firm more. They’re bleeding money, losing ground to the competition, and can’t arm themselves against their adversaries.

I’m not sure why Harry has insisted that we take Sawyer to the sit-down, he says it’s to apologise personally. I’m not sure I buy it, and I’d very much like to rip his fucking head off for threatening and hurting what’s mine.

With intentionally deep, tension releasing breaths I calm myself. I can’t fly off the handle now. I’ve got a few more things to tie up before tomorrow, a few errands some of the lads have said they’ll run for me.

It’s infuriating that I’m having to rely on people to help me settle this whole thing. If I had my way I’d rip Harry’s face off for going anywhere near my Goddess, and fuck the consequences. But that’s not the case now, and I’m fuming about it. So lost in my rage that I find myself stood in the main bar, having navigated there completely on autopilot.