Page 27 of Ruin (Hell’s Mayhem MC: Maine Chapter #2)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Kolton

Riding sucks.

Not because of the pain but because every time I hit a bump, it reminds me what we did—what I allowed him to do to me.

My stomach flutters and my head gets fuzzy, when I should be getting angry.

And I am angry, but I’m also… relieved. I find myself spacing out instead of watching where I’m going, which is dangerous enough, never mind on a bike. I almost ran off the road twice.

When I get to the clubhouse, boisterous laughter floats from the open windows. I’d almost rather hear them shouting at one another, because at least that’ll stop. When they’re laughing? They’re going to be loud all day, and I’m not in the mood to deal with loud or happy moods.

I have enough anxiety over what happened, but I’m also concerned about leaving Anastacia while I’m here.

She’s worried about being left alone for so long, and I don’t blame her.

I told her about the security system, and that’s all well and good, but it isn’t going to stop someone from hurting her.

It’ll only alert me when someone arrives.

They’d have her dead before I even got out of the clubhouse door.

The raucous gets louder when I pull open the door, and I bite back my groan.

“Yo, Snapper!” Grizz shouts with a grin.

I can tell by his rosy cheeks that he’s drunk. It’s barely nine in the morning. Perhaps he hasn’t slept yet.

“Morning,” I say calmly, walking past him to get my laptop.

“Morn—fuck!”

Something large slams into me and I bang into the wall. A sharp pain shoots up my finger, through my hand and wrist.

“Fuck!” I shout, shoving at Grizz, who stumbles into me.

“God fucking damnit, Grizz, you bull,” Shark barks, shoving Grizz further away and coming over to me.

“Sorry,” Grizz grumbles. “You okay?”

I look at my hand and the way my finger is bent. I grit my teeth. It’s fucked.

“Oh, shit,” Shark says, then huffs out a laugh. He looks at Grizz. “You better fucking run, bro.”

“Fuck you,” he says, coming over on unsteady legs. “Lemme fix it.” He reaches for me, but I glare at him and he backs off, holding his hands up in surrender. One of them is holding a bottle of Jameson.

“Hey, maybe you can call Lucian,” Shark says with a knowing smile that I want to smack right off his face .

“Maybe you can fuck right off,” I spit, shouldering past him and gripping my finger to yank it straight. Maybe it’s just dislocated. Despite what’s wrong with it, it hurts like hell when I fix it.

“Fucking Christ!” I shout at the top of my lungs, then let out a low growl, bending over to breathe through the nausea.

Shark mutters something and then people shuffle around. My vision went black over the momentary pain, but I’m good now. It’s slowly going away, though there is still an ache there.

“I’m calling him whether you like it or not,” Shark says, shoving a bottle of Jameson at me. Probably the one Grizz had. Good. The prick doesn’t need more alcohol. He needs to go home and sleep it off.

“Don’t,” I say. “It’s fine. Just dislocated. I popped it back in.”

By the look on Shark’s face, it’s too late.

What I really want to know is how Shark has his number. Jealousy swirls in my chest, and I wonder if Kaison knew about me and Lucian because he was with him too. Is this a thing Lucian does? Fuck’s his friend’s sons? How many others were there?

For a long time, I trusted Lucian more than anyone in the world.

He was the only person I trusted with everything.

Then one day, all the lies hit me at once and I realized how much of an idiot I was for believing anything he said.

Now? I don’t believe a single word out of his mouth.

He could have been fucking half the town and I’d never know.

Not unless someone came out about it. But he has this way of getting you to do what he wants, so I doubt anyone would say a word. He’s charming like that.

Then I remind myself that I’m the one that came on to him. Still, that could have been his plan too. There was a reason I wanted him, so maybe it was part of his plan all along.

It’s just… not him. Or maybe he’s just convinced me of that.

Fuck off, he has me so fucked.

“He’ll be here in twenty.”

“Fuck you,” I growl before gripping the bottle cap with my teeth and twisting the bottle to loosen it. I spit it out of my mouth and swallow three gulps before dropping onto the couch.

I’ve had worse happen and plenty of scars to prove it.

But I should have let it be. What if it is broken and not just dislocated?

It still hurts like a bitch. Broken bones, no matter how small, can lead to worse problems if not treated.

I’d be dumb to ignore this. Ignoring any kind of illness doesn’t make you tough or cool—it makes you a fucking idiot.

It’s still pulsing with pain, my body trembling because of it.

My tolerance level is high, but breathing through pain only lasts so long before your body wants to give up and pass out.

Though this is nothing compared to some of the shit that’s happened to me, like being shot or stabbed, it isn’t a walk in the fucking park either.

The last thing I want is to see Lucian today.

Not after what we did early this morning.

Not after my body is still aching with the memory of him.

Not after I can hardly look at myself because I’m so ashamed for being so weak.

He won’t look at me that way though. He never did.

But it doesn’t make me feel any better because I know what he’s thinking.

He’ll be thinking about it when he’s here.

He’ll imagine everything he did to me and want to do it again.

I know that because it’s always what he did.

All the texts and late night phone calls were always rehashing what we’d done earlier in the day.

Lucian loves talking about it, loves reminiscing about it.

He has me again, and he knows it. Only he’s wrong because I’m not falling into his trap, no matter how badly I want to. No matter how badly I crave the silence he gives me, I won’t allow him to take that part of me again. This morning was a mistake—a huge fucking mistake.

I take another swig of the whiskey, hissing as it goes down. It’s never too early for alcohol, but I do like to get my stuff done before I get shit faced, but I guess if there is a reason to get fucked up this early, a potentially broken bone is the reason.

“Took you long enough,” my brother growls some time later.

My body stiffens and I pray it isn’t noticeable on the outside. The last thing I need is Lucian noting how I react to him. It’s fuel for him.

I take another swig, the bottle much lighter than it was when it was handed to me a little while ago. My body feels warm and light—same way it always does when I’m on my way to getting drunk.

“What happened?”

His voice is smooth and low, and way too fucking close .

I force my eyes open and find him standing in front of me with a frown, my brother at his side. It’s hard not to shift under his gaze.

“Got shoved into a wall. Must’ve hit it the wrong way.”

Lucian crouches down in front of me, holding out his hand. “Can I take a look?”

I blink, not moving.

“Snapper, give him your fucking hand,” Shark barks. I hold it up, trying to hide the shaking, and give him the middle finger.

Lucian sighs but snatches my wrist to look at my finger that is already purple. I don’t fight him because his touch is nice. Soft but firm and warm. My stomach flutters like butterflies have taken up residence, so I take another swig of whiskey, needing to drown those fuckers.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go…” Shark says awkwardly before turning and heading out.

Now we’re alone. Great.

I focus my attention on the door, refusing to look at Lucian directly, even though I see him in my peripheral—even though I feel the heat of his body on my legs from being so close, and smell the spiciness of his cologne. His breathing is slow and soft—calm and in control.

Always in control.

Lucian turns my hand over, and I glance down. He’s frowning slightly, brows pinched as he studies my hand, running his fingers along mine, carefully feeling around .

Is he remembering all the times it was wrapped about this dick?

Because now I am.

“If you wanted to see me, you could have called,” he says quietly, his gaze staying on my hand.

My finger is already the size of a sausage.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Funny? No.” He shakes his head, then looks up at me. “Cute, maybe.”

I scoff, then take another mouthful and swallow harshly.

“Well,” he begins, putting my hand down on my lap gently and standing up. “Without an x-ray I can’t say it’s not broken, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Dislocated likely.”

“I already popped it back into place,” I say.

“As I assumed. As a doctor, I want you to know how stupid that was. I’ll wrap it, just try not to use it. If it is broken, it’ll take longer to heal. Messing with it will have it setting wrong. It may not be pretty when it heals.”

“I don’t give a fuck with my finger looks like, I just want it to stop hurting.”

I grit my teeth when I realize what I said.

“How badly does it hurt?” he asks, brows furrowed.

I don’t answer him, and instead take another swig. His gaze stays on the bottle.

“This was full,” I say by way of explanation.

Now it’s half empty .

He gets his bag from the table behind him, digs in it and pulls some things out.

“This is going to hurt,” he says as he kneels in front of me again, setting the items on the couch beside me.

I look down at him as he opens packages, focusing on what he’s doing.

He never did care about being beneath . Never cared about coming across as weak.

He was weak for me, so many times, and I loved it.

It made me feel powerful. Important. He was never ashamed of that.

He owned his desperation and his need. Maybe if I had done the same, he would have left her back then.

Maybe if I wasn’t so needy, if I was more put together, a little more in control, I would have been worth more.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“Yep.”

He grabs two popsicle sticks, putting one on either side of my finger.

The pain is… awful. My head falls back, and I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

Nausea rolls in my stomach as pain shoots up my hand.

I try my best to stay still, but even I can feel how badly I’m shaking.

I’m still hoping it’s only dislocated, but all this pain makes me think it is broken.

“Almost done,” he says, wrapping a piece of tape around to hold the sticks in place.

I take in slow, deep breaths. Let them out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I so badly want to chug the rest of this alcohol, but by the time it hits me, he’ll be done .

There’s something soft on my finger, then a little more pressure, then, “All done.”

He gets to his feet, but my eyes stay closed. I’m going to have to find some pain pills.

“You did good, Kolton.” My heart pounds as I try to keep from passing out, the pain turning into a dull ache. “If you weren’t so stubborn, I’d reward you for it.”

My eyes shoot open, to glare at him. But his focus is on closing his bag. He stands, and turns to leave.

“I’m done fucking around with married men who don’t give a fuck about me!” I call after him.

He stops, and looks at me over his shoulder. “I’ve always cared about you,” he says softly, then he’s out the door.

It’s not what he said that fucks me up. It’s how he said it. Hurt. As if how dare I act like he never cared?

I whip the nearly empty bottle at the door. It hits the back with a thud then falls to the ground, not breaking. If only I could be so strong.