Ruining Me: The Insidious Seven MC, Book Two, page 4
Apparently, I’m a complicated man.
When Li steps out of sight and Sofee follows, I release a pent-up breath. The last thing I want is for her to meet my brother. I frown at the thought. Why does it bother me to have her know I have a twin included in my dark past? Would she look at me differently if she knew my truth?
I shake my head to clear the questions bouncing around in there. It doesn't matter how she looks at me. For all I know, she already sees me as nothing more than a deceitful criminal she wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. I should introduce her to Rome just to ensure she stays the fuck away from me.
So, why does the thought of her knowing the sordid details of my darkened past make me want to guard my secrets more fiercely?
“We should all get out of here before they come back. Don’t need her cluing into anything now.” Owen’s deep voice jolts me back to attention.
Murmurs ensue as my MC brothers slowly file out of the room until it’s just Rome and me left alone. Neither of us says a word as we look at each other, neither willing to be the first one to speak.
Together, we take a step toward the door and then another until we're both standing at the threshold. I wait for him to step out first, but he seems rooted in place. When I finally muster the courage to look up at him, he’s staring at a picture on the wall.
I watch him as he studies the photo taken not that long ago. Before all the shit with Antonio, before Sofee was forced to live across the hall from me. Back when my biggest concern was what our next paying job would be.
I don’t remember the night it was taken or who even memorialized the moment. But as I look over all the smiling faces of my brothers as we’re gathered around the club table, I remember the feeling. The purpose I felt in that moment and most of the moments I’ve had since leaving home. The feeling of belonging, of being cared for by people who have no moral obligation to do so.
I shift uneasily on my feet as I watch Rome study the photo with a distant look in his eyes. His expression reveals nothing of the thoughts streaming through his mind.
When it feels as though this moment will last forever, he finally speaks. “You know, taking down the Pelosis isn’t the only reason I’m here.” His violet gaze finally meets mine, but I stay silent. I force myself to maintain eye contact until I can no longer bear it. Looking at him only brings back memories of the past. I tear my gaze away and focus on the picture instead, not really seeing it.
I hear him scoff before he flicks the framed picture and steps past the door. “You may not want to remember me when you look at your new family,” he says the word as though it sours on his tongue. I continue to look anywhere else but at him. “But that doesn't mean I don’t remember you, Fratellino.”
I finally glance back at him as he calls me the name I haven’t heard in years. I still say nothing as he chuckles, but it holds no humor.
“I need you to remember that I’m not Papà,” he murmurs before walking away. “See you soon, little brother,” he throws over his shoulder before disappearing out the door.
As if he's the sole reason I'm standing upright, I slump heavily against the doorframe, allowing myself to finally relax since the moment he first walked through those doors and back into my life.
THREE
SOFEE
“I still don’t understand why she wouldn’t just give it back to me,” I mumble to my brother's back as we cross the parking lot. It’s hot today, hotter than it’s been all summer, and it's only mid-morning. I can already feel sweat beads forming on the back of my neck. I’m glad I put my hair up; otherwise, the tight ringlets would have exploded the moment I stepped outside into the sweltering humidity.
“I don’t know, Sof. Tate just picked it up and took it to our apartment to give to you later. Maybe you were asleep, and she didn’t want to wake you,” Liam says as he leads me to the shop door.
The big bay doors are closed today, indicating that Hayden isn’t inside tinkering as usual. We step through the heavy metal door, and I sigh as the sun finally stops beating on my back. It may not be much cooler inside the dark interior of the building, but it's better than being outside on a day like today.
I look around briefly. For a motorcycle shop, the place is clean enough. Hayden does a fantastic job of keeping his tools put away and organized, as well as the floor somewhat swept. I know it’s impossible for the place to be completely spotless, what with the oil stains and the overall smell of brake cleaner, but it’s not too bad. The hydraulic stands are free of any loose tools or oily rags. The big trash cans near the entrance are empty apart from a few energy drink cans.
Though it’s dim, I can still see the long line of old motorcycles along the west wall. These are the bikes the boys use when theirs are out of commission. My gaze lingers on the newer maroon Fat Boy furthest from the bay doors. I briefly admire the impressive, sleek machine before moving on.
Further back, I spot the small office where Owen keeps a majority of the security firm's files. Even though I have always been curious about the types of deals The Insidious takes on, I know better than to go looking for clues in those files. I wouldn’t like what I saw if I did.
Liam thinks he’s done a well enough job at concealing what he does for a living, but I know the truth. My brother is many things, but discreet is not one of them. I'm aware that everyone in the MC is willing to work on the wrong side of the law to finish the job. I also understand that the particular clientele the MC attracts are not good, law-abiding citizens.
But all that being said, I realize that my brother and his friends are the lesser of the evils in this world. More often than not, if The Insidious Seven didn’t take the dangerous, morally questionable jobs, someone else would. And that someone may not have the best interests at heart.
Sometimes, choosing the lesser of two evils is the only option.
That’s not to say the MC doesn’t take on legitimate jobs here and there. It’s just that they’re notorious for not asking too many questions. They are willing to do most jobs and not bat much of an eye when it toes the line of legality.
Do I agree with what my brother and the others do for a living? Hell no. But Liam is his own person, and if there is one thing in this world I know, it's that you can't stop a person from showing their true colors. It's better for everyone's sanity if you just trust that when they’re pushed against a wall, they’ll ultimately do the right thing.
I pull my gaze away from the locked office door and watch as Liam opens another interior door near the shop entrance. A soft light shines above the set of stairs that ascend to the second level of the old warehouse. The apartments that the MC has been renovating to accommodate everyone are up here. Since I moved into his room a few months ago, Li moved up here with Tatum.
Ever since Liam’s woman came back into his life, he’s been tending to everything needed in order to make sure she stays this time. I never met Tatum the first time she was thrust into Liam’s life, but I've heard enough bits and pieces to put them together and paint a picture. From what I’ve gathered, she entered his life under false pretenses but has since made up for it.
Unfortunately, my brother keeps most things from me, so I don’t exactly know all the details of their love affair, but it seems as though everything worked out for them.
One would think I've become accustomed to seeking out my own answers by now. Growing up with three older brothers has its nasty little side effects. Sure, one could say I’m well-protected, even overly so. But I pay the price for protection with forced innocence and being kept blissfully ignorant.
I nearly snort to myself. Blissful my ass. As if I ever asked for their protection in the first place.
Since the day our father abandoned us, all of my brothers have always handled me with kid gloves, as if I’m too precious to deal with harsh realities. When in actuality, I face these harsh truths every fucking day. I work as an emergency room nurse, for Christ's sake. I’ve cared for babies put in the ICU by the very people whom they depend on the most. I’ve witnessed the aftermath of elderly men being shot down for the contents of their wallets. I’ve seen the vulnerability in the eyes of young women after being raped by despicable men who couldn’t control themselves.
The depraved always find a way to taint the innocent. But even with all the darkness I’ve seen, I’ve also witnessed things that can only be described as miracles.
There is beauty in ruination; you just have to fight long enough to see something beautiful rise from the ashes.
But rather than letting me see the darkness, my brothers would just as soon shield me from it. They think I’m innocent, and maybe by some standards, I am. But I’m also strong enough to handle all the bad things they think I don’t see.
I watch as Li jogs up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He seems rushed today, as if he's nervous about something, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
I shake off the thought as I follow him. Unlike him, I take each step one at a time. I’ve been up here before, but it’s been weeks, and as I crest the top of the stairs, I realize how much it’s changed since then.
Last time, they had only two apartments completely sheetrocked with the doors attached. Now, I see that two more apartments have been enclosed. The doors still need to be hung, and trim needs to be put in place, but other than that, it actually looks like a livable space now.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Li open the door that leads to his and Tate’s place. He disappears inside as I step up to an empty apartment. Poking my head inside, I scope out the area.
It’s open and airy in here. Of course, a lot of that has to do with the fact that there is no furniture. The concrete floor is dusty, likely from the sheetrock being mudded and sanded smooth. The space may be on the smaller side, but it's large enough to host a long row of windows that let in copious amounts of natural light—much more light than I get in my current living quarters. I can envision a variety of houseplants hanging around the large windows here.
I used to have so many indoor plants in my old house, it bordered on obsession. But that was before my house burned down, taking everything I had ever collected or held precious in this lifetime and making it vanish within the embers of an inferno.
Some stray power tools, extension cords, and dirty rags lay on the makeshift table in the middle of the room. I spy some empty flooring boxes near what I assume to be the bathroom, judging by the floor drains.
I walk over to the small bathroom and smile down at the dark flooring. It's a deep mahogany color with intricate wood grain that will match just about any paint color they choose to put on the walls. I flip on the light switch by the door, and surprisingly, the pretty golden-colored light fixtures flicker to life. I study the fixtures and realize they look a lot like the ones I installed in my old house.
When I originally bought my small two-story house, it was a fixer-upper. I gutted almost everything and gradually transformed that house into my home. Every detail within those walls was precisely the way I wanted it. The dark flooring, gleaming fixtures, rich colors, and new appliances. I cherished the sanctuary I made for myself, and it still makes me extremely sad that it’s all gone now.
I pull my attention away from the familiar lights and look around the small bathroom. There’s no sink, shower, or toilet yet, but I can assume those will come after... “Paint,” I murmur to myself as I spy a couple of paint cans sitting in the corner, and curiosity gets the better of me.
Thinking quickly, I step back into the main room and spot what I need among the power tools. Grabbing the small paint can opener, I return to the would-be bathroom. For some reason, a smile plays on my lips as I pry open the can, eager to discover the chosen color.
The insurance check for my house finally arrived a couple of weeks ago, and now I have important decisions to make. Do I purchase another house or build one? The thought of buying a place in a different neighborhood makes me want to pull my hair out. On the other hand, the thought of building a new house gives me hives. Sure, if I build I could make everything exactly the way I want it, but the stress alone makes me want to stay right where I’m at.
You can’t stay at your brother's clubhouse forever, even if the idea of being near his best friend both excites and scares the shit out of you. My inner voice chimes in.
I pause my prying for a moment. Where the hell did that thought come from? I don’t actually want to stay here, do I? I’ve always loved living alone and if I lived here permanently, I would never have alone time again. But even as I think it, the idea of having other people around does sound intriguing.
I’ve been here for a few months now and I have grown accustomed to the company. Even made tremulous friendships with Tatum and Max. And I would never admit this to Li, but I have enjoyed watching him with his found family. Experiencing how everyone interacts has made me start to crave the joy that comes with being together like this. They may be a family of misfits, but somehow they make it work.
Liam is the closest family member I have here in New Orleans, but does that mean I want to live in the same place as him? Surrounded by his MC brothers, nonetheless. So close to the one I should stay far away from.
I shake my head and sigh heavily as I continue to pry the can open. I’m being ridiculous. Of course, I should start looking for a new place. Thinking of living across the hall from Declan for any more time than necessary should make me want to find that place right now. But for some reason, the thought of not seeing him once a day leaves a dull ache in my chest that I don’t understand.
I hate Declan. He’s an inconsiderate prick who never has a single nice thing to say to me. And he detests me as much as I do him. He’s forever scowling at me and makes fun of the fact that I’m well-educated. He’s constantly instigating arguments with me that always end with name-calling.
Although, I pick fights with him just as much as he does with me. And I would absolutely die if he knew this, but when he calls me a brat, it kind of sends a small thrill through me. Like being called a brat is the pet name I’ve never been given.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had boyfriends before, and they’ve always called me things like “babe” or “sweetie.” But when they called me those endearing names, it never made me weak in the knees like when Declan does it. When he calls me a brat, it ignites a desire in me to behave like one just to see what he’ll do to me. And seeing the darkness gather in his violet eyes fuels my curiosity about the other demeaning things he might say to me.
What would happen if he called you worse things than a brat. Would you get excited if he called you a slut?
At the thought, my hand slips and the lid suddenly pops open. Large droplets of paint splatter onto my fingers and the knee of my scrub pants.
“Shit,” I groan as I throw the tool to the ground. I must have been prying a little too hard. I glance down at the mess I made and growl in frustration, but then stop as I see the color. It’s the same shade I painted in my living room in my old house. A dusty olive green, my favorite color. I rub the matte paint between my fingers with a stupid grin on my face.
Are you smiling because you like the color or because you’re thinking about Declan calling you a slut? His slut. My inner voice coos.
I suck in a sharp breath at the thought. What the fuck is wrong with me? He despises me, why would he ever call me his? And why does the thought of him calling me his slut make me want to drop to my knees suddenly? I can’t be thinking about things like this. Even if those thoughts make my nipples pucker painfully underneath my bra and my thighs clench tight. Or cause my breath to catch and a deep heat to settle in my core.
“You just need to get laid,” I mutter to myself as I stand. Practically running from the bathroom, I grab a dirty towel from the table. Feeling a deep flush race up my neck, I swipe angrily at the paint on my fingers.
It’s been entirely too long since I last felt the intimate touch of a man. Even before I moved into the clubhouse, I’d been in a dry spell. In fact, my dry spell makes the Sahara Desert look like a tropical rainforest.
My last boyfriend was nice, too nice by some standards. He was a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy, and maybe that was sweet for a while. But when we came together in the privacy of my bedroom, I always found myself craving more. I didn’t want tender kisses and soft questions for consent. I wanted him to pull my hair, spank my ass, and call me a filthy whore. I wanted him to force me to my knees and choke me with his cock. Don’t ask me if you can fuck me, just fuck me.
At the end of the day, he was genuinely a nice guy who would never mistreat a woman, even if she was begging for it. But that doesn’t mean I need someone like Declan to fulfill those desires. Surely, there are other guys out there willing to sexually degrade me while still respecting me as a person. And if there’s one thing I know about Declan Morelli, it’s that he does not, nor will he ever, respect me.
I’m still wiping my fingers as I walk toward the door in search of Li. I need to grab my name tag and head to work soon.
As if on cue, he steps into the hall at the same moment I do, name tag in hand. I notice Tatum's deep purple locks behind him as she leans against the doorframe, and I find myself admiring her natural beauty. She truly is a perfect match for my brother. A tattooed badass who can knock any grown man on their ass. And not only is she one of the smartest, nicest people I’ve met, but she's also a fucking knockout. Slim and tall with perky breasts and an ass tighter than a tucked hotel bed sheet. Much to the opposition of my short and pudgy stature.
She’s dressed in a plain white tank top and panties as if she just rolled out of bed. It’s mid-morning now, and most people would be up and already at work for the day. However, with the lifestyle the MC leads, sleep cycles are anything but normal.
