Newton (Cerberus MC Book 31), page 4
This is his space, not something I can, for a second, deny with his scent lingering in the air.
The bed is made to perfection, the corners crisp with military precision.
The only thing that even hints that this room is lived in is the book about the Roman Empire on the bedside table. There are no clothes hanging out of drawers. There isn't a spot of dust on the hardwood floor surrounding the large area rug that dominates most of the room.
I sit in the oversized chair across the room, but it doesn't last long. I'm antsy, feeling like a sitting duck in this room.
Although there was no sign outside, I have to assume this is Cerberus MC's headquarters.
I heard the guy who drove me here ask where he should take me, but I never heard the answer. There's no telling what sort of conversation traveled through those headpieces they were both wearing on the fifteen-minute drive from the house my stepbrother died in to here.
I shake my hands out down by my hips, but it doesn't stop the tingling in my fingers. I make fists, clenching them and reopening them over and over, but it only helps a little.
Something tells me to run, but there's another voice that also screams at me to stay.
Nathan made his promises, and, if anything, the man keeps his word. He doesn't make idle threats. If it leaves his mouth, then it might as well be drilled into stone because he'll see it through.
It's how I know I'm as good as dead. I doubt the misery of my life will end as quickly as Xan's did. There will be no bullet through my skull, at least not before he hurts me to the point that I beg for it, and even then, he'll prolong my ending.
I feel exposed as I once again try to get comfortable in the armchair. There's no chance in hell I'll climb into the man's bed. When he comes back and finds me there, he may think it means he's able to take liberties I'm not offering.
I've heard the women in the house whisper about Cerberus. Although many of them, like myself, aren't from the area, a lot of them interact with women from town at their jobs. They bring home all sorts of stories, ones I have to eavesdrop on because there aren't people going out of their way to hold conversations with me. It's as if their instincts tell them I can't be trusted, and I guess, for the most part, that's true. Look where even the slightest hint of a friendship got Beth today.
The closet beckons to me, but I do my best to ignore it. There's no safety in there, despite what I thought as a child.
My mother married Nathan Adair when I was five and he seemed like a nice man. He’d dote on me and spoil me with gifts. I didn’t catch him watching me like many of the other men that my mother brought around.
He never faltered and never made me doubt him while they were dating. He treated me like his daughter, and Xan treated me like his sister. It lasted six months following their marriage, three months after finalizing the adoption that made me a real part of the family.
I remember the pride I felt that day, smiling for the camera as we stood beside the judge who signed the papers. The pictures from that day were still framed on my bedside table the day I ran this last time. When I tried to put it away once, Nathan made me lock my eyes on the images the entire time he hurt me.
I shudder, my eyes still on the semi-open closet door.
"There's no safety in there," I mutter, the threat of tears burning the back of my nose as I force myself to put my back to the temptation.
It took three more months before my mother would believe that the man she married was a lie, that he didn't love us as he claimed. I squeeze my eyes shut, still able to hear the whispers of love Nathan would speak in my ear when he did unmentionable things to my young body.
Within two years, my mother had swallowed a bottle of pills, leaving me to face the monsters alone.
Incapable of fighting the pull any longer, I rush across the room and tug open the closet door, flipping on the light. It's bigger than I originally presumed it would be.
I pull the door closed, shutting myself inside. As much as I want to keep the light on, I know I need to be able to see the shadows under the door to anticipate when my safety ends.
I crouch into the corner, the man's clothes offering no protection the way a row of dresses offered by a woman's wardrobe would.
My stomach growls, but I ignore the issue. I've gone longer than a day without eating, and I know I can handle even more.
I want to curse every bad thought I had about the shelter. I'd give anything to be there right now, undiscovered by Nathan and Xan.
Tears leak from my eyes, and I know better than to fight them any longer. It'll be best if I can just get them all out so they won't cause problems along the way, but even as they fall, I fear Nathan will somehow find me cowered here.
Emotions are useless. I heard him say it many times, all the while in a rage for something that happened to him.
The man didn't consider anything but sorrow and fear as useless emotions. Anger was okay because it fueled one's need to seek vengeance. Rage provided power and a certain level of equity needed to stay on top. He caught it often. He'd feed it any chance he got.
I tell myself I'm crying for me and the life I deserved rather than the life I was given, but I know better.
Tears streak down my face, tickling my neck on their trek into disappearing into my shirt. They fall for Xan. Not for the man he became but for the boy I met many, many years ago. He was already broken, his punishments already in full swing, but he never once whispered about his own pain. He'd lie and tell me that he fell off his bike when I'd catch him wince, knowing full well that he hadn't been on a bike in days.
The first time Nathan lifted his hand to me, Xan stood bravely between me and his father. He was struck repeatedly for it, but he never told me he regretted it.
When he did it a second time, I saw it the moment Nathan decided to use his son against me.
My shoulders shake uncontrollably, and despite trying to stay quiet with my hands cupped over my mouth, I can't stop the sobs.
I don't want to think of my past. There's nothing about it I can control.
I do know that Xan was a monster created by his father. He didn't start out that way.
I'll never be able to forgive him for what he did to me for years, but I can at least pray he finds peace in whatever place real-life monsters are sent to when they die.
I have no clue what the future holds for me, but I do know I'll have no control over it.
My body feels heavy with grief as I lean my head against the wall of the closet.
There's a part of me that wants to channel that strong girl Nathan tried to awaken inside of me, but I know leaving this room and demanding anything won't be received well.
Even Beth can't look me in the eye.
Everything I touch ends up broken and damaged, and I know that Cerberus will be no different.
The men and women who helped today wore those leather cuts with pride, but all it did was add their names and anyone associated with them to Nathan's ever-growing list of people who have betrayed him.
Those people don't get to keep breathing. They disappear or end up in the news because of some tragic accident that no one can seem to explain. Being here puts everybody in danger, and Kincaid, the club president, will do his best to mitigate those issues by getting rid of my ass as quickly as he possibly can. If the man was smart, he'd put a bullet in my head and deliver my body to Nathan. But then the man would want to seek vengeance because, as promised, he's the only one that can put me in the ground.
Not for the first time today, I wish I hadn't moved in closer to Beth, then maybe the bullet that struck Xan would’ve dropped me instead. The waiting to die feels like worse torture than the act itself.
I resist the urge to run my fingers over the scars lining my forearm despite the itch of need there.
Chapter 7
Newton
"What happens with all the stuff here?" Boomer asks, looking around at the full living room of furniture.
"We haven't made it that far in discussions," Emmalyn says, a frown playing on her pretty face.
I'd like to think no one who knows what's going on blames Brielle, but I've heard mumbles of discontent from several of the women as they make trips to the waiting SUVs with their belongings.
This could be the result of any issue from any former partner of any of the women. We don't have to mention Brielle's name for them to know that she's the only one missing. It's not that hard to put two and two together to understand that since she's not here, she has to be the catalyst for them being moved. I don't know if they would be as disappointed if it were anyone else in the house.
"Brielle's things?" I ask Emmalyn.
"I can gather them," she replies, and I nod my head in thanks.
It's not that I mind packing her things to bring back to the clubhouse, but that would be a rather intimate activity. The woman has been violated enough in her lifetime. She doesn't need to feel as if she's been infringed upon again if we can help it. She may not like Em doing it either, but at least she knows the woman.
I step to the side when a frightened-looking woman walks past with her hand at the back of a crying child who looks to be about eight. They've had such trauma in their lives, and it just keeps piling up. It has to be terrifying that a group of armed men show up at the place they've grown to call home and insist they gather all of their belongings so they can go live somewhere else.
"Where are we going?" the woman asks, but she's looking over my shoulder.
I turn to see Victoria, the director of the shelter, giving her a small smile.
"Across town," Victoria says as she crouches down to get on the same level as the upset little girl. "And the new place has a treehouse in the backyard."
This information seems to carry some weight with the kid, but she isn't fully convinced.
"I'm going to have to make new friends," she whispers, as if she's been made to feel ashamed for either voicing her concerns or having needs.
Victoria shakes her head, reaching out a hand. The little girl takes it immediately. "Rachel, I always encourage you to make new friends, but you won't change schools just because we're moving across town."
The child's mother breathes a sigh of relief. It's clear it was a concern for her as well, but maybe she was waiting for a different time, one that was less chaotic, before voicing her concerns about it.
Victoria accepts the hug offered by the little girl before standing to put her hand on the woman’s arm.
“Everything is going to be just fine, Anne,” she assures the woman.
Anne smiles and nods, but there’s still concern marking her features when she walks off.
“Where did Em go?” Victoria asks, turning to me once Anne and Rachel have headed outside to one of the waiting SUVs.
"She went to go pack up Brielle's belongings," I inform her.
Victoria looks down the hallway in the direction I have to assume is Brielle's room.
We've never been inside the house until tonight, and maybe that is setting off some of these emotions. We've always stayed outside, allowing the women and children who live here to understand that this is a safe space for them.
"Victoria!" a woman calls from another room. "I have a question about some things in the cupboards."
"If you need to speak with Em about Brielle, I can relay any message you might have," I say when the woman looks like she's torn on which tasks she should complete first.
"I just wanted to urge Em to stay on top of Brielle and her schoolwork," Victoria says. "She was so close to finishing and making plans to attend college classes online."
I'll be the first one to stand up and advocate for education, but Brielle witnessed her brother being shot in the head today. I know the man was one of the men who hurt her, but watching someone die is a traumatic experience, no matter their position in someone's life. I don't know if Brielle is going to be in the right headspace anytime soon to focus on school.
"I'll tell her," I say, certain I'll keep my promise, but not so sure that Brielle will have the drive to continue working on her classes.
"It's really important," Victoria continues. "It took her a long time to get to where she is, and although she still has a long way to go, if she loses too much momentum, she—" Victoria swallows as she looks away. "She needs the little victories."
"I'll encourage it as much as she'll allow," I tell the woman.
When she walks away, I have to wonder why I feel like I'm now responsible for Brielle's success.
The woman may be in my room right now, but that doesn't mean she'll be there in three hours, much less long enough to sit at a computer and complete schoolwork.
We’re at this location for another two hours before we head across town to the new house. Once again, we stay outside as the women head into their new home. The awful thing about this is that there's no real way to hide the fact that over a dozen women and children were evacuated from the previous location tonight. They had to be moved quickly, and that leaves not only room for error but it also means that if Nathan Adair had any of his goons watching this location, then they could've easily followed us to the new shelter.
We took all precautions we could, but a line of identical black SUVs with dark tint is going to draw attention. On the off chance that Nathan did get the opportunity to contact one of his men and demand retribution be taken against anyone in the house, we couldn't wait until the cover of darkness. The sun is sinking behind the horizon as we unload bags and suitcases from the backs of the SUVs and carry them to the front porch so the women can grab them.
"That's everything," I tell Boomer when he turns to head back to the SUV he drove.
"Okay," he says, drawing in a deep breath as he turns to look back at the front of the house.
"How many locations does Cerberus have in town?" I ask him because he's been involved with the formation of the shelter from the very beginning. It was something he readily took on without being asked, not that any of us other Cerberus members have to be commanded to help out around here.
The house we're looking at is huge, one of the bigger houses on the block, but they have to be to house so many people.
"I'm not sure," he answers. "Hopefully we won't have to find out if there's a third house. I'm going to stick around here for a few hours. Kincaid thinks we should work in shifts for a while to make sure that they're safe."
"I'll stay, too," I offer without hesitation.
I don't know if I'm quick to help because of the way my chest feels constricted with the idea of going back to the clubhouse with Brielle in my space.
Boomer and I stay for hours until we're relieved by Hemlock and Spade.
It's well after midnight by the time I step foot back into the clubhouse. After parking his SUV, Boomer gives me a quick wave before heading across the street where he lives with his partner Drake. I grab the two suitcases that contain everything Brielle owns before heading toward the front steps.
I’m met with complete silence, and it feels unfamiliar after a busy day. The soft glow from the EXIT signs guide my way toward the hallway and then down to my room.
I’m surprised the doorknob turns easily to my room, but then again, there's always a good chance that Em moved her to a different room or even has her at their house. The bedroom light was left on, making it very clear that there isn't a scared woman in here.
I situate the suitcases in the far corner with the plan to get them to her first thing in the morning once she's located.
I pull in a deep breath, refusing to analyze the constriction in my chest at her being gone, as I walk across the room.
With one hand, I pull up my shirt, all the while reaching for the doorknob to the closet. There's no telling what my day will look like tomorrow, so I need a quick shower and to get to bed.
It's not often that someone is capable of surprising me, but I jolt at the sharp intake of breath.
"Brielle?" I ask but then suddenly feel stupid because I'm staring right at the woman.
She's curled into a ball, her eyes lowered. I get the feeling it has more to do with trauma or training than the light making it hard for her to look up at me.
"Please don't hurt me," she whispers, her voice sounding not only broken but far away.
I don't know if she was awake already or if my coming into the room woke her up. It's possible she's a little disoriented or even in shock from what happened today.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I tell her, taking a step back so she can feel a little more comfortable.
My jaw flexes, irritation beginning to settle inside of me. What has she been through that her first thought is that she's going to be hurt? I know for a fact she's been away from Nathan and Xan Adair for over a year, but I'm also all too aware of how long abuse and trauma can cling to a person. Some people never recover no matter how much they want to.
"I'm just getting some clothes. Is that okay?"
She nods but seems to fold in on herself even further when I reach for one of the hangers above her head.
Instead of closing the door, I leave it open. I don't want her to feel as if she has to stay in the closet. I figure if she wants it closed she can pull it shut.
My shower is quick, the relief I feel from being able to take my sling off leaving me in a rush of breath as I roll my shoulders. The ache in my muscles is worse than the occasional pain I feel in my right wrist, but I've complied with all directions given to me both by the doctors treating me as well as Kincaid. The man does his best to minimize risk to everyone in the club. Not following orders could mean life or death for me or someone else on my team if my injury isn't properly healed before returning to work.
I dry off, making enough noise so hopefully, if Brielle is still in my room, she knows I'm going to be done in the bathroom soon. I grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweats from the closet because I feel like I always have to be ready to face someone no matter the time of day or night.
The first thing I notice when I open the bathroom door is that the closet door is standing open in the exact same position it was when I left the room for my shower. I expect her to be gone, to have fled from the room with how terrified she was, but she's still curled up in the corner of the closet.
