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His eyes find mine first, scanning me for injuries, then sweep the room. I watch his gaze land on the broken headboard post, the handcuffs still dangling from the splintered wood, the ball gag on the nightstand. His jaw goes so tight I can hear his teeth grinding from across the room.
“I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“You’re too late,” I say. “The Sons already have him.”
Molly appears in the doorway behind Evan, her red hair pulled back, concern etched across her face. She takes in the scene, then crosses to me and pulls me into her arms. I sink into the embrace, feeling the last of my composure crack again.
“You’re okay,” she murmurs. “You’re safe now.”
“I’m fine,” I say against her shoulder, but we both know it’s a lie.
She pulls back and cups my face in her hands, studying me. “When‘s the last time you ate something?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.” She releases me and turns to the housekeeper, who’s been watching this entire scene with the weary resignation of someone who’s seen everything. “Do you have a kettle? Tea?”
“I can grab some from the office,” the housekeeper says. She looks at me, something like sympathy softening her features. “Hang in there, honey.”
She wheels her cart out, leaving the three of us in the wreckage of the room.
Evan’s still staring at the headboard, his hands opening and closing at his sides. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not the way you’re thinking.”
“Then what way?” His voice is dangerous, quiet.
“The way where he thought he knew better than me. Where he made a deal with the Sons behind my back. Where he tied me to that bed and left me here to die because he was too fucking arrogant to listen when I told him it was a trap.” The words come out harder than I intend, and fresh tears burn behind my eyes. “Evan, he just controlled me. Like he always used to do.”
Molly’s hand finds mine and squeezes. When the housekeeper returns with some tea bags, Molly sets about making tea with efficient grace. She pulls a flask from her jacket pocket and holds it up.
“Need something stronger?”
“Just tea is fine.”
While the water heats, I finish getting dressed, pulling on a clean shirt and finding my shoes. The simple acts of dressing myself, making my own choices about what to wear, feel so right after being bound and helpless for so long.
Evan paces the small space like a caged animal. “We need to report this to the Devils. Let them know Wraith’s gone to the Sons and they’ve probably taken him prisoner. Let them handle it however they see fit.”
“I know where he is,” I say.
Both of them turn to look at me.
“I overheard enough of his phone conversation with Moose. They were meeting at an abandoned truck stop south of here, then talking about taking out Irons. Irons is paranoid. I remember him being creepy as hell, but he always seemed to let his guard down any time he talked about his girlfriend. If Wraith was going to take out Irons, it was going to be there. I’m positive that’s where he’ll be.”
“Good.” Evan’s voice is flat. “Then we can tell the Devils and they can decide what to do about it. Hell, we can leave him there to rot for all I care. But you’re done with this, Junebug. You’re done with him.”
“I’m not abandoning him.”
“He abandoned you.” Evan gestures at the broken headboard. “He tied you up and left you to die. That bastard betrayed you and made a deal with the same people who held you captive and tortured you. He’s a traitor, and he deserves whatever the Sons do to him.”
“He was trying to protect me.”
“By selling you out?”
“By being too fucking stupid and arrogant to see that his way wasn’t the right way.” I take the mug of tea Molly offers me, wrapping my hands around the warmth. “I’m not defending what he did, Evan. I’m furious at him. I’m heartbroken. But I also understand that he thought he was keeping me safe. He was wrong; he was controlling; he was everything Old Dylan always was. But he did it because he loves me. And more importantly, I will not be Old June anymore.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
