Page 31 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)
Chapter twenty-one
Stevie
A tidal wave of nausea crashes into me, rousing me from whatever haze of confusion I fell in. Despite the dryness in my mouth, a pool of saliva gathers under my tongue, signaling the immediate need to vomit. What the hell happened to me?
“I require another shipment, Wilkinson.” Creed’s voice breaks through the cloudiness in my mind. “Your support of Everest Hill is greatly appreciated.”
I don’t know who he’s talking to, but I do know that the sound of his smug voice makes my stomach clench.
A gag wretches its way out from me, spurring tears to well over my waterline while I attempt to roll off the bed.
My body freezes, to the point I refuse to take a breath as I recognize an eerily, familiar wetness sticking between my thighs .
“Angel,” he coos softly, as if that's supposed to make me feel any better about what happened. “How are you feeling?”
I groan as I sit up. "S-Sick."
“Take your time.” He smiles.
I nod, fighting against the rise and fall of the acid in my stomach. The tingling in my hands fades, replacing the sensation with a tremble. Time and space don’t feel real as I stand from the bed, stumbling over my heels. Shakily, I make my way towards the door before mumbling a slurred excuse.
Something is very wrong.
“Stevie,” Creed says. At least I think he does—I can’t tell since it feels like someone shoved cotton balls in my ears.
Walking through the door, the dark atmosphere and low lights make it hard to see where the hell I’m going.
I lean against the wall briefly before straightening my spine and dragging my feet forward, hoping like hell that someone else on this floor doesn’t find me in this state.
The subtle thumping of music leads me toward the staircase where the hulking bouncer stands like a statue.
His head snaps in my direction as I approach the ropes to be let out.
“Locker room,” I rasp.
He gives me a sharp nod before unlatching the rope.
My vision blurs with each step, and it feels like I'm walking through a clown house with uneven, moving stairs.
I don't know how long it takes until I make it to the second floor, but it doesn't matter when the ground feels like it's moving just like the stairs.
Fuck.
Wisps of black tease my peripherals, teasing my subconscious to swallow me whole as I reach the middle of the floor. My world tilts as my body sways when a small hand grips my wrist. "Stevie," Mae whispers before the darkness takes me.
“It's okay—you're okay. L-Let it out,” Mae’s hushed, tender words shake as she pats my back.
Another clench of my stomach sends me falling forward into the porcelain bowl, forcing me to heave foamy bile and what little remained in my stomach.
How did I get here?
“I saw you stumbling and wanted to make sure you got to the locker room,” she says, answering the question I thought I said in my head.
“Thanks.” I sniffle as I flush the toilet, tempted to go another round in it. “I-I’m okay now.”
"Are you sure ?"
I look over my shoulder, met with Mae's irate stare as she takes in my distressed appearance. “Mhm,” I mumble before pasting on my stage smile. I don't want her to worry, not when she has her own shit going on. Something tells me that she would go to bat for me, risk her safety for mine.
She still has some fire in her.
The thought makes me smile a little more naturally.
Her eyes narrow, boring into mine as she speaks, “If you’re sure…”
“I a-am.”
If she notices my stammer, she doesn’t mention it as she turns to leave the stall—exposing the backs of her thighs.
It takes all of my restraint to withhold the gasp of horror building in the back of my throat as I see fresh lines of bruising on them.
It doesn't take much to tell what caused them.
Not when the lines are obviously thick, resembling far too closely to a belt.
“I wish I could stay with you—” Her voice breaks while she walks out of the stall, and I wish that I could say it doesn't bother me to hear, but it does. It pulls me back to a brief window of clarity before I blacked out.
My voice broke.
The reminder digs at my stomach, forcing it to clench since I have no more bile left to expel. Pushing past the feeling, I pull myself together as best as possible. I'll fake my way out of here until I make it out. “You should go before someone realizes you're missing on the floor.”
She looks back to me, the fire in her stare still burning strong. "I'll cover your shift tomorrow."
I blink, unsure of what to make of her command. Because that's what it was. There was no suggestion in her tone. It was authoritarian, not Mae; the meek woman I met the other day. No. This was Mrs. Lennon .
"W-Why?" I ask.
"Because you get one day . One day to break," she says calmly despite the anger written over her face. "One day to pack everything into a tiny box and seal it in your mind before someone here turns your pain and suffering into a weapon."
Understanding washes over me. She's giving me the advice she never received. She's helping me in the only way that she can. "One day," I confirm.
Pride takes place of the anger in her stare before she walks away.
I find a semblance of strength in the muffled clicking of her heels against the tile floor, enough to pull myself off the floor.
I don't know how long it's been since I've been in here, but I hope it was long enough for Creed to have left.
Pushing out of the locker room, I walk onto the second floor.
No one bats an eye at me as I strut down the staircase that leads to the first floor.
Thank fuck. My platforms click with each step, one more closer to freedom from this hellish day.
One step, two steps. I'm so close to leaving that I can taste it.
Only one more floor to walk through.
“Ms. Waters.” My head whips to the side, dizzying me in the process.
Double images of Atticus dressed in all black, from his three piece suit to the stupid matte black Rolex on his wrist, plays over my sight.
Huh. I didn't know he had a twin. The idea of him having a twin sends a shiver down my spine.
He— they —he steps closer, his freaky ass mask firmly in place with brows drawn with faux concern. “Are you alright, Ms. Waters?” he asks.
“I'm fine,” I clip, desperate to cut our conversation short.
“You should come sit down with me and my guest. I’d hate for something to happen to you if you’re unwell.
” Scrunching my nose, I prepare to decline until he and his visual double give me a disturbing smirk that makes my skin itch, until my eyes adjust to his thankfully solo body.
“I insist,” he drawls, offering me his arm.
Gritting my teeth, I accept his shitty offer and loop my arm through his.
With a smug chuckle, he leads me towards the back of the room where a cluster of booths sit preferentially to view the hosted activities .
A head of familiar blond hair sits facing away from me, a head of hair that I couldn't be any fucking happier to see.
Kash.
“Look who I found,” Atticus announces as we approach the table.
“ Stevie ,” Kash breathes my name like I'm the answer to his prayers. Any other day, I'd find humor in it, but I can't seem to now when he's the answer to mine. Jumping out from his seat, he eyes me softly— too soft. “Are you okay?”
No. “Yu-p,” I pop dramatically.
His deep blues darken like a damn bloodhound, sniffing out my deceit.
I can see him stripping through my facade.
I feel him digging around for an answer to the bigger question that rests unspoken between us.
Everything in me screams for him to stop, to get the hell out of my head.
I need him to stop because I refuse to break here with Mae's warning still echoing in my head.
“She says she’s fine,” Atticus drawls. “I invited her to join us while we finish up our discussion.”
Darting his gaze between me and Atticus, Kash grits, “We can finish this another time.”
The snake on my arm pushes. “Nonsense. You’re already here, and I know you’ve been dying to see your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? Who the fuck?
I pinch my lips tight, eyeing Kash with a look that I only fucking hope translates well to, I'm not your girlfriend, you fucking creeper.
Kash’s eyes narrow, challenging my look with one of his own as he holds out his hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”
An invisible string pulls me to him. No, not invisible.
Nothing about Kash could be, despite his ability to hide in the shadows.
Everything about him is red, dark, crimson.
He's a walking, talking, red flag, but I'm fucking colorblind, and green is all I see when compared with our present company.
His arms wrap around my shoulders, engulfing me in a warmth I didn't know that I needed—offering me a semblance of protection from the hell that surrounds us.
He moves us towards the booth, him sliding in before me.
Before I can even blink, he swoops me onto his lap and cradles me to his firm chest.
“Now that you see she is completely unharmed…” Atticus laughs, and if I didn't hate the dick bag before I, without a doubt, hate him now.
Turning from Kash's chest, I face the dick bag . Maybe it’s the eerie calm he radiates or the fact that he dared to lie so casually, knowing good and well that I’m not unharmed, but I have to see his face after blatantly lying.
Gently, Kash’s warm, callused hand strokes my cheek before turning my face back to his chest. His words come out soft but firm, leaving zero room to argue. “Until Stone gets here, those beautiful blues aren’t lookin’ at anyone else.”
I feel Atticus' stare burning a hole in the back of my head, but it doesn't stop me from answering Kash. "Okay."
“Good girl,” he praises under his breath.
“Mr. Reid,” Dick bag interrupts. “In addition to our agreement, I’d like you to aid me with something personal.”
“No offense,” Kash bites. “But, I don’t suck dick.”
Atticus clicks his tongue with what I can only hope is irritation, because that means Kash got under his serpanty skin, and that brings me a morsel of joy—something that I’m sure I won’t find often around here.
“No need to be so crass. It’s a personal project of sorts.
I could use a man with your talents. Word is you’re quite handy with certain materials and their uses. ”
Kash’s grip on me tightens, his temper shortening drastically. “I’ll bring it to the table.”
“Bring what to the table?” a familiar, gravelly voice asks.