Page 58

Calli

Eighteen Years Old

Mason pressed against me, trapping my body between his and the cold steel door of his truck. If it wasn’t for Mason, this part of Kingston City would have scared the shit out of me. Old buildings and brick factories—some still in use, while others hadn’t seen workers in years. And on top of that, none of the streetlights worked—but that was the appeal.

It was a place we could hide in the darkness.

A place where we weren’t constantly looking over our shoulders, but instead, could just focus on each other. Though even then, there was still a sense of urgency between us, his hands gripping my waist and his mouth devouring mine like he was trying to make up for all the time we didn’t have.

A week.

That’s all we ever got.

Every year, we met at Scorch, pretending like it was enough and that it didn’t tear us both apart every time the season ended, and we had to head back home.

“This shit drives me crazy,” he muttered, his breath warm against my skin as he dragged his mouth along my jaw. “Having to wait a whole goddamn year just to touch you is fucking torture.”

I tangled my fingers in his hair. It was longer than last year, by a few inches at least, and I managed to get a tight grip on it. “So don’t stop.”

He let out a low, rough laugh, his hands sliding lower, gripping me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. “Baby, all I’ve though about for the last fucking three hundred and sixty-five days is you. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you fucking moan my name when I’m buried deep inside you.”

Last year at Scorch was the year things had changed.

Where things between us had turned from learning each other’s favorite ice cream flavor, to learning each other’s bodies. And while Mason had been my first, I wasn’t under any false impression he was some kind of saint.

He was a biker—a fully patched member and on his way to being the damn club president. While I tried not to think about it, I knew I wasn’t the only girl he’d fucked during the past year. But this time around, when I got back home from Scorch, I’d be packing up and moving for college.

And the college I’d chosen?

The University of Arizona.

In Tucson.

Things were about to change, and I couldn’t wait to tell him.

I smirked, shoving at his cut and reaching for his belt buckle as I sunk to my knees, or at least tried to.

He caught my wrist, pulling me back to my full height and shaking his head. “As much as the thought of my dick in between those pretty, pouty lips sounds enticing, I want to fuck my woman.”

My woman.

My entire body felt like it was weightless.

Growing up in the club, I was never really sure if I wanted to be someone’s old lady, or someone’s woman. It always sounded a little degrading, and I believed I’d been raised to be stronger than that.

But since being with Mason, I understood the terms so much better.

I understood why it felt good to feel like you belonged to men like him.

It was safety and comfort—knowing that being theirs didn’t mean being owned—it meant being cherished.

I buried my hand into the cross-body bag I’d sneakily borrowed from Aja, one of the club girls, knowing she never went anywhere without a handful of condoms and a packet of chewing gum. But when I dug deep inside to pull one out, my fingertips brushed over something different.

Blinking through the dim lighting, I pulled the baggie of weed out, holding it pinched between my fingertips.

Mason barked out a laugh, taking it from me and holding it out further so we could see it in the street lights. “Jesus. You been dealin’ on the side, Cal?”

I giggled, snatching it back and shoving it back into the bag. “I guess I should have checked, I didn’t take off with someone’s stash when I borro—”

“Hey!” A sharp beam of light cut through the dark alley.

“Shit,” Mason cursed, stepping in front of me.

A deep voice rang out, echoing loudly in the silence. “What are you two doing back here!”

Mason glanced back at me. “Hide.”

I didn’t argue, darting into the shadows and zipping in and out through buildings and across a couple of streets until I honestly had no idea where I was. Ducking down behind an old concrete loading dock, as my lungs screamed for oxygen, my heart felt like it might explode at any moment, and my throat was dry and sore. That, plus the thick scent of grease and dust in the air, did not help me catch my breath.

I crept slowly along the side of the loading dock, keeping my head down because the roller doors leading inside were rolled up just slightly, a gentle light shining out from underneath.

I just needed to hide until Mason handled the cop.

He would.

He was good like that.

Always knew the right thing to do and say.

But then I heard voices. Low, angry voices.

And I couldn’t help but pop my head up just enough to see past the old truck parked in the loading bay and make out two men standing outside near a stack of wooden pallets, their bodies rigid.

It took a moment, and a few breaths where I second-guessed myself and what I was seeing, but eventually, I was sure.

It was Mason’s Dad, Cipher, and his brother, Dime.

Cipher was the president of the club, and from what Mason had told me, Dime hated that their father didn’t pick him to be in charge when the old man stepped down.

“You never fucking listen,” Dime snapped, pacing back and forth.

Cipher crossed his arms, holding his stance. “Because you’re not talking any sense.”

“That’s where the money is, man!” Dime insisted, his arms flailing. “That’s how we’re going to make our name. It’s how we’re going to become kings!”

Cipher huffed out a laugh. “The club is about brotherhood! It’s not about how to fill our fucking pockets, Dime. We have codes we live by, and I’m not about to break them because you want to be cashed up.” Dime stilled, his hands clenched at his sides. “Now, I could have fucking told you this shit back at camp, so can we head back now. I have shit to do.”

“No, you don’t,” Dime replied, raising his arm—the gun he was holding sparkling in the light.

Cipher didn’t even flinch, the look on his face never changing. “You kill me, Mason steps up, and then you’re fucked.”

Dime shrugged almost lazily. “That’s fine because he’s next, and the president’s patch is mine.”

BANG.

I gasped, stumbling back, my feet skidding on loose gravel and dirt as I fought to get away, to run, to hide, to get the hell out of sight. Once again, I was stumbling through the darkness. This time, though, I knew where I needed to go.

I needed to find Mason.

To tell him.

To warn him.

“Hands where I can see them!”

I turned suddenly, high beams blinding me for a second before a couple of cops appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my arms and dragging me with them.

It was less than a block of trudging, the cops asking questions I couldn’t even comprehend before we reached Mason’s truck. Only, it wasn’t just Mason’s truck.

There were two police cars, a handful of cops, and a security guard.

Mason was leaning against the hood of a patrol car when they shoved me forward, his jaw clenched and his arms folded across his chest.

“You kids can’t be out here,” one of the officers said, stepping forward. “Security here has asked you be trespassed. So you need to get the hell out and don’t come back.”

“Fine,” Mason answered, rolling his eyes.

The cop turned to me, narrowing his gaze. “Are you eighteen?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Can you prove it?” he challenged.

I couldn’t.

I took Aja’s bag, my ID was in mine.

“I—”

“Didn’t think so,” he interrupted, nodding toward the patrol car. “I’m taking you back to whoever you belong to.”

“Wait a fucking second!” Mason protested, but he was quickly shoved back, two cops slamming him into the side of the car.

“Search his vehicle before you let him leave,” the cop next to me ordered. He grabbed my arm, pulling me away, but I dug my feet in, my pulse racing and my mind screaming at me to do something. Anything.

I couldn’t leave like this.

I wouldn’t be able to warn him.

I won’t be able to protect him.

He couldn’t go back to the club’s camp.

Dime would be waiting for him.

Swallowing hard, I looked up at the cop holding me. “Can I just grab my phone out of his truck? I’m gonna need it to call my dad.”

He hesitated but nodded, giving me a gentle shove toward the vehicle. “Hurry up.”

I walked over, unable to look at Mason, as I pulled the truck door open and reached a shaky hand into my bag. My chest tightened as I slipped the bag of weed out and carefully eased it under the driver’s seat before crawling out again.

I wanted to be sick.

To throw up and tell Mason I was sorry.

Surely, he’d just do a few hours in lock up, and by then, I could have been waiting to tell him why I did it. He’d understand. He would know it was for his protection.

Dragging my feet, I walked over to the patrol car, the officer holding the rear door open for me. The other cops were already on Mason’s truck, digging around as he watched on.

“Got something!” one called, just as the car door was slammed in my face.

Mason’s head snapped toward me, his eyes wide in disbelief as they descended on him, the bag of weed in hand.

Tears dripped down onto my cheeks as I buried my face in my hands, unable to watch them cuff him and haul him away.

All I could do was repeat to myself internally…

“I am doing the right thing.”

“This is keeping him alive.”

“He will understand.”

And hopefully, I’d just protected everything we’d built together.

Not destroyed it.

“Because I saw the man who killed your father.”

The look on Mason’s face was something I couldn’t explain. All I knew was that I instantly wanted to take it back. I wanted to erase that pain in his eyes.

But I couldn’t.

There was no going back now.

It was all coming out…

No more secrets.

No more lies.

“And before he pulled the trigger, I heard him say he was coming after you next.”

Mason grabbed the glass vase off the table, launching it at the wall. “You’re lying!” he hissed, but it was my turn to stand my ground. It was my turn to show him I wasn’t running away. Not this time. I was ready to face this head-on.

His chest heaved up and down, his breathing growing heavier by the second.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I was going to get you to drive us to my dad so we could ask him for help,” I rambled, fighting to get the words out before he lost it completely. “Then that cop separated us before I could tell you what was going on.”

I was eighteen.

I was scared—fucking petrified.

Not just of being killed for witnessing something I never should have, but of losing Mason and knowing I could have done something to stop it. To stop him from being murdered.

“Tell me who did it,” he demanded, stepping closer.

His hands were clenched into fists, and the look on his face was deadly.

“It was all I could do to keep you safe.” I could barely get the words out as every single one felt like a knife in my stomach being twisted. “I did it because I loved you. I did it because I wasn’t about sit back and do nothing while some monster hunted you dow—”

“Who. Did. It!” he roared, reaching for me. His fingers threaded into my hair, twisting in the strands until he had a handful.

It was painful, but not physically—Mason, even in his fury, didn’t have it in him to hurt me.

No matter how hard he’d tried with his words a few minutes ago.

With a gentle tug, he forced me to lift my chin and look up at him, walking me backward until I bumped the wall. There was nowhere left to go, and yet, he continued to press forward, his body pinning me there.

I licked my lips, and his eyes dropped, following the movement of my tongue as it glided from one side to the other. “Mason,” I whispered while his hand moved from my hair to my neck, his thumb gently grazing my pulse. “Please. We can go to my dad. This time, we can get it right. This time, we can ask him to help.”

He leaned in, his forehead touching mine and his breath grazing my skin.

I needed to get this right this time.

This was the second chance I never thought I’d get, to prove to him that I wasn’t the villain he thought I was.

“Calli,” he murmured, the sound of my name on his lips again casting a wave of goose bumps across my skin. “Tell. Me.”

“Mas—”

“Tell me who killed my dad!”

My heart slammed against my ribcage, making it hard to speak, or breathe, or even damn well think.

But there was no going back now.

The shit was out of the horse.

And nothing I did or said was going to put it back in.

“Dime.” This was the point of no return. “Dime killed your father.”

If you enjoyed this book, you will love:

The Exiled Eight MC – Detroit

Click here to purchase

Sacrifice (The Exiled Eight MC -Detroit Book 1)

Seize (The Exiled Eight MC – Detroit Book 2)