21
I end up staying the night at the clubhouse, and then having to rush my ass home to have a quick shower before work. Luckily, I make it, my red heels walking through the doors just as the clock strikes 9:00 a.m. When I sit down at my desk, something catches my eye. Quickly, I grab the freshly printed newspaper in front of me, my fingers crushing the paper as I read the headline.
MY TIME WITH THE CURSED RAVENS BIKER GANG
By Celina Hutton
Those slimy, backstabbing bastards.
They have printed “my story” on the first fucking page, and stated how I was arrested on the clubhouse property and that I was borderline hostile to a certain Officer Keeton. I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself as I continue reading. They go on to say that I have family ties with the MC and apparently that “the MC member who was arrested is guilty, and the whole club knows it.”
I’ve never said that.
But here’s the real kicker.
Some of the paragraphs in the article were taken from my draft write-up. I was trying to cast the MC in a positive light, and they changed my words and turned them into something completely different.
They stole my fucking notes. They must have taken my laptop when I went out for lunch, because that’s the only time I leave it on my desk. I remember when Robert was watching me closely when I was logging in on the day he asked me to write the article.
Add plagiarism to the list of fucked-up shit they’ve done to me by publishing this article under my name.
I cannot believe this shit. The nerve of them.
This is highly illegal, defamatory, and straight-out lying just to get a story. They threw one of their own under the bus, just because I refused to write the story they wanted. I’m shaking I’m so angry, my fingers trembling as I lift them in front of me.
They think they’re going to get away with this, but they’re not.
I love this job, but there’s no way I can stay here now. How can I? If I quit though, does that let them win?
I don’t want them to win.
Robert steps into my office and glances down at the newspaper in front of me.
“It was Tim’s idea,” he tells me, but it doesn’t sound like he opposed it at all. “You already had the story, Celina, you just didn’t have the balls to publish it, so we did. You should be thankful.”
He has to be kidding me right now. “I never gave you those quotes, or any of that information. You stole my draft, copied it, and changed it to be something I never wanted it to be and slapped my name on it,” I seethe, teeth clenched together. “That’s illegal.”
He has the nerve to shrug. “So what, you going to call the owner of the newspaper a liar?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Just let it go, Celina. And next time, maybe you should do what your boss tells you. Oh, and congrats on an amazingly written article.”
He walks out, and I pull my phone from my lap and press STOP on the record button. I’ve never used this recording app before, and I’m glad that it’s seemed to work perfectly.
Got you, you fucking pieces of shit.
I pack up all my things and leave my desk knowing that I’m never going to come back to it. This isn’t the end for me, but it is the end of working for Tim and having to see my loser ex-boyfriend every day.
Good riddance.
Instead of driving home, I head to a law firm. Bentley and Channing law firm to be exact.
They fucked with the wrong woman.
By the time I get home, Knuckles’s Harley CVO Breakout is already parked out the front of my house. I guess he saw the newspaper. I should tell him that if he wants to go and give them hell, he can do it now because I don’t give a shit anymore. I find him standing at my front door, back against the wood, helmet still in his hands. He pushes off the door and comes over to me.
“I know,” I say, arms up to try to calm him down. “I don’t know what—”
“How did this happen, Celina?” he growls at me. “Shovel doesn’t need this while he’s waiting to go in front of the court, and we don’t need the exposure when we’re trying to lay low right now.”
“I know,” I repeat. “But it—”
“It’s on the fucking front page,” he continues, cutting me off. Okay, I get that he’s angry, but he’s not listening to me or letting me explain. This isn’t my fault, nor did it get my approval. It’s just a shitty thing that’s happened, but something we can get through.
Together.
I take a deep breath.
“The truth is, I was going to write a story, but it wasn’t what they published. They stole it and changed it,” I admit, but from the look on his face, he only heard the start of that sentence.
He shakes his head and laughs without humor. “There were things in the article only you would know, Celina. They couldn’t have known any of that stuff. So don’t try to say it wasn’t what they published. I should have known. All along, you were planning on writing a fucking story. What? Fame over loyalty? I hope the fame keeps you warm at night.”
“We can fix this,” I tell him, speaking quickly to get my words in. “I’m sorry it happened but let me explain—”
“You know, Prez warned me that getting involved with a journalist wasn’t a smart move, that it won’t be good for the club, but I brushed him off,” he continues, completely ignoring what I have to say. “Probably too distracted by all . . . this.” He gestures to my body, and I go still, looking him dead in the eye and daring him to continue.
I was never distracted by him, just drawn in like a motherfucking magnet, and if he’s going to turn around and be an asshole right now, I guess this is the I told you so moment, when I tell myself I should have known better. I think he has a right to be angry, his MC name along with mine is splashed all over the front page, and he’s right, with Shovel’s hearing it’s not the best timing for a newspaper to post that false quote by me, all but incriminating him, but it’s just that, false.
I was loyal to the club.
I guess he’s right though, if I wasn’t a journalist, there’d be no risk and the MC would never have been put in this position. The draft I wrote on the MC, positive or not, was also warped and thrown back into my face by my employer. I would never have said those things.
I guess it’s insignificant.
Knuckles said he’d go to war for me if I needed him, but at the first sign of battle, he’s turned on me.
He has just as much faith in me as I had in him in the beginning, except he changed all of that, and I let him in.
I fucking let him in.
This is the moment I feel stupid, like I always do, and this is also the moment I go numb, shut off all my emotions, and go dead inside.
“I told myself I’d never completely trust another woman after Flora,” he mutters to himself, shaking his head in self-hate. “I thought you were different, I thought I’d won the fucking lottery this time around, and look what happened.”
And there it is.
I’m not the only one with trust issues, apparently Knuckles has some of his own, baggage well hidden and unshared.
“Well, lucky for you there won’t be any more distraction from me,” I tell him.
Run, run, run floods through my mind.
When things get hard, I bail. I leave. I seek higher, safer ground. To self-preserve.
“I’m sorry the article was printed,” I tell him. “Tell everyone else that I’m sorry too. Now kindly leave me alone and don’t come back here.”
He makes a scoffing sound. “You won’t have to worry about that.”
Now I know why he had his helmet in his hands.
He never planned on staying.
He storms to his bike, and I unlock my door and go inside, leaning back against the door and sliding to the bottom until I hit the floor.
This whole situation is fucked, but you know what? It’s going to be fine. I force myself to get off the floor and pull myself together. When I touch my cheeks I realize they’re wet, even though I didn’t know I was crying. I fill the tub and put a rainbow bath bomb in, hoping it will cheer me up a little, but when I climb into the hot, bubbly water, I just cry more.
I told myself I was falling, but the truth is it was already too late—I was already in too deep.
And now he’s gone just as fast as he came into my life.
After about an hour I force my wrinkly body out of the bathtub and into my fluffy white robe. I’m about to throw on some clothes and take the dogs for a long walk when I hear someone knocking at the door. When I reach the peephole, I see Erin standing there. I quickly open the door and let her in.
“Here to yell at me, too?” I ask her, sounding subdued to even my own ears.
She closes the door behind her and tilts her head to the side, shoulders raising and lowering. “You should know me better than that. I’m not an idiot. You didn’t write the article. I’ve read every single article you’ve written, starting from back when you wrote for your high school paper, and I know your writing style, and it clearly wasn’t you. I don’t know how they knew that information, but I know that you sure as hell wouldn’t have just given it to them, so tell me what happened.”
We move to the living room and sit down. I give her a quick rundown of the situation, and even play the recording I took.
“What total assholes,” she whispers, head shaking in disbelief. “I can’t believe this. I think Knuckles feels guilty, he knows it’s not your fault—you know that, right? He will come around when he realizes it was as out of your control as it was his. Sure, you writing the draft was a little shady, a good story or not, the MC wouldn’t have wanted the publicity, but you didn’t publish it.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, leaning backward. “He didn’t even let me speak. Maybe it’s for the best. I knew it from the moment I met him he was going to be trouble.”
“All the good ones worth fighting for are,” she fires back, smiling sadly. “No one blames you, Celina, know that. I spoke to my dad, and Ace, and they know the deal. It’s a shitty situation, but it is what it is, and you didn’t write that article. Those assholes played you, and you know what? They’re going to get what’s coming to them.”
“Oh, I know that. They’ve definitely messed with the wrong girl; I’m going to take them down,” I promise, crossing my arms. “I just can’t believe they’d be so unprofessional. This isn’t some small paper, it’s the biggest one in the city, and if this comes out, which it will, it’s going to destroy them. They made false accusations, used made-up quotes, and don’t have any kind of proof to back up their statements. They basically thought I was just going to take this because they know I love my job, but they underestimated me.”
That reminds me, I’m now unemployed and I need to start looking for another job first thing tomorrow. I also need to send them my resignation in writing so they can’t use that against me later.
“They totally underestimated you. And hello? You were at the Cursed Ravens’ clubhouse, like the headline says, do they think that they’re untouchable? They are seriously going to regret their life decisions, and I don’t care if it’s me who has to make them do that,” my previously innocent baby cousin threatens.
I hold my hands up. “It’s fine, Erin. I’m going to get them in the courtroom. I have the evidence, I made sure of that straightaway, so there’s nothing they can say to get out of it. I bet Robert will play the ex-boyfriend card, saying I’m holding a grudge or something along those lines, but what he says in the recording implicates them both for knowing what happened and going along with it.”
“Fine, I guess we can do this the legal way, but for the record, both my dad and Ace offered to step in and do whatever they need to do to put these guys back in their place,” she says, looking smug.
And while I appreciate the offer, it’s Knuckles who should be offering it to me, just like he promised.
Except he’s not.
My first letdown from him, and if I have any sense, it will be my last.