Page 17 of Wild Night (Vicious Reapers MC #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

POSEY

I’m not sure how long I’m out, but when I wake up, the room is bathed in darkness and I’m alone on the bed with the sheets covering me.

The towel is gone, and I’m naked. Lifting my hand, I touch my head.

My hair is still damp and a tangled mess.

I can’t even run my fingers through it without it getting caught and pulling.

Gripping the sheets at my chest, I slowly sit up. I don’t know what the hell is going on. Why would Lucian choke me and then place me in the bed, covered up completely?

This is some mindfuck stuff that I have no desire to understand, except this is my life, so I’m going to have to figure something out.

“You’re awake,” his smooth voice murmurs.

Even though the room is dark, my eyes have adjusted, and I shift my attention to the corner where he stands. I hadn’t felt his presence. This is concerning because he was sitting there watching me, and I didn’t realize it.

“What is going on?” I ask softly. I have to ask softly because my voice is gone. He literally choked it out of me.

“You tell me,” he snaps. “You ask for a divorce. I come home to you, and then you take off to North Carolina and shack up with a motorcycle gang?”

“You’ve been watching me,” I state.

It’s not a question because, obviously, he has been.

Again, I hadn’t realized it. I hadn’t felt his presence.

A chill of dread slides up, then down my spine at the thought.

What did he see me do? I thought I had been so very hyperaware of this man.

I haven’t been, and now I can’t help but wonder how long he’s been watching me… Months? Years ?

“You come home to me?” I ask.

He pushes off the wall, walks to the other side of the room, and flicks on the light. The stark difference between the dark and bright room causes me to hiss as I pinch my eyes closed.

Slowly, I open them and quickly find him in the space. He is still standing by the light switch, no doubt diabolically planning something. I’m just not sure what. I don’t want to know, either. In fact, I want nothing to do with him or anything he is involved with.

“You didn’t come home to me. You were never really with me. I don’t know why you pretended to love me or why you married me.”

“Pretended to marry you,” he clarifies my words.

I want to tell him that, as far as I was always concerned, we were indeed married.

So, if he pretended to do anything, it was him, not me.

It was him lying to me. It was him deceiving me.

I had no idea it was happening. But I didn’t ask questions, either, not until he vanished, and then again, not until he came back.

“Why did you deceive me?” I ask, making it so he can’t skirt around that question.

He nonchalantly shrugs a shoulder, and I want nothing more than to claw his freaking eyeballs out. I don’t, of course, because if I did, I would have to release the sheet covering my naked body. I would also probably have more than just a sore throat because he would no doubt hit me over that.

“I needed an in and not just making a deal or two. I needed a way to appear as if I wanted to be part of the operation forever.”

“What operation?” I ask.

I’m exhausted by the way he’s talking in circles. I’m also just plain exhausted. I want him to get his shit and leave, leave me alone, and never, ever look back.

“The operation.”

Those two words don’t clarify shit. In fact, they only confuse me more. Opening my mouth, I start to ask him what he’s talking about, but thankfully, he doesn’t make me. He continues.

“You really think that the winery is just a winery, don’t you?” he asks.

Lifting my chin slightly, I look down my nose at him. God, I didn’t think I could ever hate anyone as much as I hated my parents, but Lucian is climbing to the top of my list rather rapidly.

When he laughs, the sound comes out not only harshly but also mockingly. If a laugh can be mocking, his is right now. Pressing my lips together, I don’t respond to his question. He doesn’t want me to anyway. He’s too busy treating me like an idiot.

Maybe I am an idiot, but I’m not going to be his fucking idiot for another minute longer. If we aren’t legally married, then absolutely nothing is keeping me here except for him, physically.

The minute his back is turned, I’m walking out of this hell and starting my life over again.

Hopefully with Ivy, but if not, then I’ll go it alone.

It wouldn’t be the first time I started life all over again.

I’m just a little older than I would like to be for that, but the reality is that right now, I have nothing.

If Lucian doesn’t replenish my savings account that I drained paying bills while he was doing whatever it was he was doing, then I’m fucked anyway. So, at the end of the day, it will be nothing more than a wash.

“It’s headquarters for the largest cocaine distribution on the West Coast, baby.”

I hate it when he calls me baby. I’m not sure I ever liked it. I miss being called princess , but mainly because I miss the man who called me that. I’m one-hundred-percent certain now that I shouldn’t have left North Carolina.

But his telling me that the winery is some sort of drug hub?

I cannot even begin to fathom that. I’ve worked there for years, and I’ve never seen a single shady thing happening.

I don’t say any of that, though. If he is trying to poison me against anyone who gives half of a shit about me in order to break me in some way, it won’t work.

“If I’m not your wife, then why the hell are you here? Why did you come back? Just to hurt me? Why are you here now?” I pepper him with questions as my anxiety rises to new heights I didn’t know were possible.

His lips curve up into a grin. “You’re collateral damage, Posey. I’ve come back to get this shit under control, and you need to go.”

“Why?” I ask in a whisper.

I’m trying not to panic, but I’m basically failing because I feel like I’m panicking right now—overly so. My body starts to tremble, and I know he can see it from where he stands, but I can’t control it. I’m scared to fucking death that this means… well, death .

I need Ivy. I need Justin. Now .

IVY

“We’re tapped out of manpower, brother, but we got a nomad we can possibly send there to get her.”

I’m sensing a but, so I don’t respond to him immediately. Instead, I wait, wondering what the fuck he’s going to say to me. There is a reason he’s not going to be able to send a nomad to her, and I’m bracing myself for some bad shit.

“But,” he begins, “we have an alliance with that group. We cannot send someone in there guns blazing.”

I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends in frustration. “You know that the guy who married her is undercover, yeah?”

My contact chuckles before he speaks. “Not surprising. The Feds have been trying to get that group for years. They’ve had more men attempt to infiltrate them than I can count.

If they got this guy in there, odds are what they have on him would make him incredibly unreliable.

It would also mean that he would be killed in jail before he even testified.

There is zero witness protection for him. ”

“So what do I do?” I ask.

“She your old lady?”

“No.”

That response is met with silence, at least for a moment. Then he clears his throat and speaks. “I’m not sure what you’re calling me for, Ivy. She’s not an old lady, and that group is not one to fuck with.”

“What about the douche?”

“They will deal with him,” he states.

This is infuriating. Beyond fucking infuriating. “Can you extract her?”

“Possibly.”

I’m about to fly to California, not only to get my woman back but to also slap the shit out of this fucker. I might actually do it when this is done because this shit is goddamn exhausting.

“Just tell me what the fuck can be done. I don’t know who this Lucian guy is or what he wants with her. But they aren’t really married, and she thinks they are. She doesn’t know who he is, and I doubt she knows what her bosses are up to.”

“I’m not really sure what you want from me. She’s not your old lady, and Bullet isn’t around to ask any favors. As far as we know, she’s not hurt in any way. She’s a thirty-something-year-old woman. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

The way I wish I could reach through this phone and choke this motherfucker. But at the same time, I know we would all say the same thing. The only reason we sent a nomad to protect Ralph’s sister was because we weren’t sure if we could use her for anything.

“Give me what you can. Any information. And if you have a nomad anywhere near for hire, let me know.”

“Will do,” he quips, which means he won’t be responding to me at all.

I’ll be lucky to get any information on the syndicate, let alone anything else. I end the call and shove my phone in my pocket, trying to keep my anger at bay. It’s not in the slightest as I walk toward my car, sink into the driver’s seat, and start the engine.

While I race toward the clubhouse, anger climbs up my throat, threatening to spill out. I need to get this frustration out. I’m not sure how I’m going to do that, but as I pull into the clubhouse parking lot, I park beside that fucking red Mercedes.

Goddammit.

Fucking hell.

My anger slides away immediately, and I’m filled with frustration and worry. Straight fucking worry.

What is happening with Posey?

Is she safe?