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Chapter Eighteen

Irene

A week later, Mila asked to meet us at the cafe. A moment later, she drops a bomb. “I’m helping the MC take down traffickers from the inside,” Mila says confidently, but her eyes don’t meet any of ours. “I was asked about a month ago.”

Wini, Regan, and I sit around the table and stare at Mila. Shock, anger, confusion. We all feel it, and she must feel the weight of our stares, because she shifts in her seat under our scrutinising gaze.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Wini shrieks, finally coming out of her haze of shock. “Do you realize how dangerous this all is?”

My heart pounds frantically in my chest. Thinking about having to go back there…

I shudder. I know I talked about helping with club affairs, but thinking about going back there has flashbacks surfacing almost immediately.

With each blink of my eyes, I can see my abusers, see the way they smiled at me with malice when I fucked something up, can hear their screaming…

Blink.

“You fucking cunt!” Beaker snarls, his fist raising and coming down to connect with my jaw.

Blink.

Crack! The whip lands on my back with force too hard, my skin seering as it tears in two. Midas and Snob laugh at my tears as they fall.

Blink.

“Next time, you will do well to remember your fucking place, bitch,” Bacon roars, the whip snapping on already torn skin, and warmth radiates through me.

Blink.

“You have one last chance to be sold off after that?” Kastiloff grins, his orange teeth illuminating in the dark tunnel as he leans close. “After that, you are mine.”

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I swear I jump ten feet in the air.

“Hey,” Regan asks softly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“You all right?” Mila and Wini continue to bicker in the background, but I can’t seem to focus on anything.

My brain is hazy, the coffee chai tea in front of me is suddenly bland on my tongue.

I try to clear the foggy feeling on one, two, three blinks.

“No, I don’t think I am,” I mutter back, placing my head in my hands and taking a few deep breaths.

For several years, with Ulia at my side, I worked through the trauma of what I went through there.

She helped shape me into someone I’m proud of, guided me to help others and showed them that their past isn’t what makes decisions for them.

I thought I was over it all, put that all behind me.

Apparently, it’s still like a fresh blade slicing through my resolve over twelve years later.

My trauma should not force people to walk on eggshells around me, should not be the driving force to stop hard conversations. Yet, knowing that sweet, innocent Mila is going to be walking straight into the lion’s den…

Air seizes my lungs as I fight to breathe.

With everything I can, I fight to inhale.

I refuse to let my demons tangle back into my present peace.

After a few moments of failing to get air, I reach up to my throat as my panic swells further.

Panicked voices ensue around me, and I’m frustrated because I know I’m okay, but that old feeling of fear never leaves.

Warm hands clasp my cheeks, pulling my head up and toward them.

Through blurry vision, I can barely make out Nero’s face.

His lips are moving, and his words are drowned by the blood rushing through me, the ringing in my ears.

With a movement that looks similar to inhaling deeply then exhaling, I watch his chest rise and fall.

He smiles, and his words finally sink into me as I work through everything internally.

“That’s a good girl,” his voice wavers through the rush in my ears. “More air in those lungs, and you will be set.” I nod along with him as I double down on air intake. Looking around, I see the girls have made themselves scarce.

Setting my elbows on the table, I drop my head into my hands. “What even happened? One second Mila was telling me about her new assignment, then the next…”

Nero sits next to me on the bench, wraps his arm around my shoulder, and brings me into his body. Kissing the top of my head, I can’t help but melt into his warm embrace.

“It’s a lot to process, that’s for sure,” he starts, trailing off for a moment.

“It’s something you will never get over.

You worked with Ulia over several years for a reason, but that doesn’t mean what you went through will go away.

” He looks down at me, his eyes hard but soft, his tone rough but gentle.

It’s obvious that he is upset on my behalf.

“What happened to you?” I ask quietly, moving my gaze away from his assessing one. I watch people mill around the cafe, happy to be meeting friends for coffee, people working on their laptops, some just watching others mingle. He takes a deep breath, his hold tightening ever so slightly.

“None of us commented, but we saw your scars. You haven’t seen me fully nude because of our quick everything, then me getting hurt…

” an older woman smiles at us as she makes her way to the counter to order, a small child trailing behind her with their own wide smile.

“We have matching scars on our backs. Well, close enough to matching.”

I sit silently, waiting for him to finish speaking. Several minutes pass by before he opens his mouth, but it’s not for what I thought it would be.

“I want to show you something.” Standing from the bench, he grabs my hand and walks us out the door. I wave at the teenager behind the counter as Nero holds the door for me. He walks over to his bike, which has two helmets on the back of it.

“What do you think you are doing?” I ask, though there isn’t any heat behind it.

He chuckles. “I have been in far too many accidents to let this one take me out.” Walking toward me with one of the helmets, he doesn’t wait before turning me around and plaiting my hair. I don’t comment, a mixture of shock and something else racing through my body.

Heat.

Yep, I’m horny for this man.

“The splint on your leg doesn’t really let you shift,” I comment. He looks down at his leg, then smirks.

“Good thing this leg isn’t the one I use to shift then, huh?

” A moment later, he’s easing the protection over my head and weaving the straps into place.

He grabs my hand and holds it as he sits on the seat.

Propping down one of the footrests, I take my cue to throw myself onto the bike.

It’s not as graceful as I would have liked, but I’m on. And we’re off.