Page 32 of Pink Poison (The Butchers MC #1)

Chapter twenty-two

Kash

Thank fuck.

A smirk tugs at my face as displeasure writes itself over Atticus’ with Stone’s arrival.

If he thought I’d sit through this shit show myself, he’s dumber than I thought.

Breathing a sigh of relief that I finally have backup, I pull Stevie closer to my chest. Her muscles tense, the same way when she walked up to the booth with Lennon.

Pain spears through my chest, knowing that something happened to her, something that she's refusing to acknowledge right now.

I hate it. I hate that I don't know what happened, and because I don't know, I can't fix it.

Not yet, anyway.

“Mr. Markstone,” Atticus sneers.

Stone grins, antagonizing the beast sitting across from me. "Suit," he greets .

“As I was telling Mr. Reid,” Atticus says, composing himself, “I require additional assistance that he can provide.”

This fucker doesn’t know when to quit.

I grit my teeth, annoyed to hell by his incessant persistence. “And I told you that I would bring it to the table. I’m not making a deal outside of what we’ve already concluded.”

His colorless gaze snaps to mine. The dark glint in his eye is tempting to bite back against, but I rein myself in. I won’t put Stevie in danger again. “I urge you to make a good case. I’d hate for something to happen if you fail.”

“Is that a threat?” Stone snaps.

“A threat? Of course not,” Atticus mockingly scoffs. “I’d never do such a trivial thing.”

My teeth grind to the point that I can hear them shifting from the pressure as he spews his second brazen lie of the day.

I knew he was full of shit when he said that Stevie was unharmed.

It didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to figure that one out.

And now, this. It was undoubtedly a threat, plain and simple.

He's lucky that my only concession is in my arms right now, and is the sole reason that I refuse to draw this out longer than we already have.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” I say, effectively cutting the building tension.

Atticus sighs, bringing back his dramatics. “I’ll expect to hear back from your president, then.”

Lowering my head, I give him my wordless answer.

It’s as much respect as he’s going to get from either me or Stone as I've been pushed beyond the limits of niceties.

His mouth curls cruelly, to the point that I'm convinced his face will crack when a rapid beeping snags his attention.

He reaches underneath the table, quietly silencing the noise with a bored expression.

The way he can flip his switch back and forth so seamlessly is unnerving.

I wouldn't be surprised if the sick fuck got off on it—on terrorizing people within his vicinity just because he can. Relief sweeps through me as he slides out from the booth. “It seems I’m needed elsewhere. Gentlemen, Ms. Waters…”

Stevie moves herself stiffly as if to turn her head away from me again .

I don’t think so. I catch her chin with my free hand and lower myself to her face.

Her gorgeous eyes widen as the fire in her diminishes.

My nostrils flare, refusing to accept that this place has the ability to snuff her out—that she would give up in the safety of my arms. Slowly, I graze my lips over her soft, lipstick-smeared ones with a whisper, “Didn’t I tell you those pretty blues weren’t going to look at anyone else? ”

Her tiny exhale puffs against my mouth, carrying a hint of something sour.

It only confirms the notion that something was and is wrong.

I press forward and seal our lips together as tenderly as I possibly can.

She stiffens at my touch, refusing to mold her mouth to mine.

Silently, I beckon her to relax, reminding her that we have eyes on us and this is for show, not pleasure.

It takes a beat, but she heeds my request. Her lips soften just enough for me to deepen our kiss.

It takes everything, every atom that sparks in my body, to pull away from her, but I do it in time with Lennon's official exit.

Fucking prick.

“Pretty doll,” Stone rasps as he rolls his stare over her body, likely checking for any obvious injuries.

“B-Butcher,” she stammers as her cheeks flush.

“You had us worried,” he reprimands softly. “You knew you weren’t supposed to see Hill again. What the hell were you thinkin'?”

Her quiet scoff tells me she’s slowly coming back to herself. “As if someone like Creed Hill would take no for an answer. ”

Her words are harsher than her typical snark. They're pointed, serrated—inflicting more harm than she could ever possibly understand to my chest. As if someone like Creed Hill would take no for an answer.

Fuck!

“We need to leave.” I need to leave before I fucking kill someone who will inevitably get me killed. “Now!”

“Jesus,” Stone hisses.

My heart constricts over the rush of adrenaline pumping through it.

I knew something was wrong. I knew it, and I still sat here while doing nothing.

I was too worried about pissing Lennon off, too distracted by what was happening around me that I didn't consider that she was already hurt—that she was hurting.

Guilt overcomes me, sticking to my insides like boiling caramel. This is my fault. I said that I would protect her, I put my fucking cut on her and I failed.

Pathetic. Stupid. Useless.

“Kash,” she mumbles, simmering my self-inflicted rage.

“Sweetheart, I’m so fucking so—”

“N-Not here. Not n-now.” She swallows harshly, her eyes swimming with pain, pain that I caused her to endure. “Please.”

Silently, I slide us from the booth and pass her to Stone. If I keep holding her, I’ll be tempted to blurt everything I’m thinking out. It’s selfish of me to want to unload my regret on her right now, and I don't want to be selfish. Not with her.

Stone pulls her to his chest, his eyes set fiercely. “I got her, brother.”

I wait until he walks away with her to roll my neck, cracking the joint twice before moving through the crowd.

Creed Hill isn’t making it out of this club.