Page 45 of Sold to the Bikers

"She'll be fine." This isn't the same situation that I was in. Not really, but the whole topic brings up memories I’d rather not think about.

"Animal—" She stops, whatever she was going to say left silent. Instead she takes another swig.

"So, I guess this means your path isn’t out the door," breaks in a new voice with barely suppressed laughter. "Did our talk help, sweet stuff?"

I turn to find Preacher standing with Devil, Viking and Wild Child. He nods my way.

"What talk?" I eye him curiously.

He grabs a beer off the bar as soon as Chef puts it there. "Seal of confession," he says with a wink, then whirls away again, heading deeper into the room.

I glance at Devil, who probably knows Preacher better than anyone, but he shrugs. "No fucking idea. He didn't say anything to me." Viking and Wild Child, who're talking about little kid shit now that they're both parents, are even less help. A moment later, we're left alone again.

Natalie slides a hand over the front of my shirt, stopping when her palm's right over my heart. "I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a pain in the ass. I just worry about her."

"Listen, I'll ask the guys to swing by your place every so often, low key. Just see if there's sign of her being around. That way, we've at least got some eyes in the area."

She nods, but it doesn’t ease the fine worry lines around her eyes. Fuck, if I could wipe the damn Unwanted off the face of the Earth tonight, I'd fucking do it. I know Eagle-eye wants to do this right, but I hate this waiting shit.

She looks up, examining my face. Normally, that makes me uncomfortable. I've learned to live with the scars, but it's not like I forget they're there. But there's no fear, or disgust, in her look. It's funny. Most people just assume I'm a scary motherfucker, and they're not even wrong, but her? Sure, she was nervous when we bought her, and after too, but the scars never seemed to bother her. So when she moves her hand to my face and traces one of them with her fingertips, I don't shy away.

"How did you get these? Can I ask?" she asks quietly, so I barely hear her over the party.

"Fuck." I look away. Not caring about my scars and making me talk about them are two different things.

She draws her hand back like she's been burned. "I'm sorry. Probably not something you want to talk about, especially at a party. This is going all wrong. I wanted to get dressed up to have fun and fit in, but I’m just dragging you down. I’ll go back to the room."

Fuck it. "Come here." Grabbing her under the ass and around the waist, I yank her out of her seat and drop her across my lap. She looks up at me with big, surprised eyes. I tuck her against my chest so I don’t have to see the emotions I’m sure she’ll feel when I tell this story.

"We didn’t have the greatest childhoods," I say. Fuck, I haven't told hardly anyone about this. Obviously Badass knows, and Quickshot's heard it. Eagle-eye and Doc, obviously, but no one else. And I guess now, Natalie.

She puts her arms around me, as far as she can get them, at least, and holds me tight. I can see how she ended up taking care of her sister and got herself into this mess. She’s a fucking born protector.

"Badass got his nickname because he was basically born swinging. He was always big, and in our neighborhood, people would take that as a challenge even if he didn’t do shit. He got good at it, though. MMA, street, whatever had a payout that put food on the table. I fucking idolized him, you know?"

She nods. Of course she knows how this fucking works. Only she's the big sister.

"As he climbed the leagues, he got noticed. The Mob started really fucking courting him. Getting him trainers, better fights, the whole nine yards. For a while it was fucking amazing, but then they started asking him to throw matches when they wanted. When I think back on it, he was still a fucking kid himself, but he was even more stubborn then than he is now. No way he was going to take a fucking fall just because some asshole bookie wanted to make money. So fucking proud. Stupid, but proud.”

“It was brave,” Natalie whispers.

“Yeah, but they weren’t happy with his answer. They came for me instead.”

"Oh God," she whispers and I can feel her shiver against me. She squeezes me harder, and fuck if it doesn't actually help a little. The only other one who's done that is Badass and not for a long fucking time.

It takes a good while before I can make myself continue. "They came in the night and busted down our door. I was seventeen, but Badass had gotten us the hell out of our parents' home and into a ratty apartment over in Blackworth. It's where the fighting rings were, but it's also Mob territory."

She sniffles. Fuck, is she crying? No fucking way. Not over me.

"Anyway, they threw me into a street match that Badass refused. Said that if one brother wouldn’t lose, they’d just use the other one. I could hold my own back then, but I wasn’t a fucking pro. I didn’t have a chance, and the guy I was up against was in on it, too. I almost bled out that night. They called Badass and left me in the alley with the phone. Badass got me to the ER, and they patched me up, more or less. Doc was the surgeon on duty that night, and once he understood what was going on, he's the one who got us in touch with the Screaming Eagles. Eagle-eye had only been the prez for a couple years then, but Doc thought it’d be a good fit. He fucking saved us. Once we were under the Eagle’s protection and Badass dropped out of the leagues, the Mafia lost interest, but fuck, if I ever get the chance, I'm going to tear those fuckers apart."

She looks up, and her eyes are full of tears. "That's terrible."

I try to shrug it off. I buried that fucking trauma years ago. At least I thought so, but when she looks up at me like that, it's hard to not still feel the cold slickness of blood drying on my skin in the alley that night. "It's why Badass is so fucking protective. I don't think he ever got over not being there when they came. He blames himself, you know? But fuck, sometimes shit just happens. Maybe if I’d let him train me, or fought back when they showed up—”

"No. No." She looks up, her expression tight and her fine brows knit in a deep frown. "You were seventeen. They knew what they were doing. If you’d resisted, they might’ve just killed you! The blame is on them, not you guys. You were doing the best you could. Both of you.”

I kiss her square on the forehead. "Listen to your own advice. You did the best you could when you had to fucking take over for your parents. I know you’re worried about Sandra, and I get it, but you gotta stop feeling like every single fucking thing that goes wrong is on you. We’re all just doing the best we can.”