KICK

I’m chugging back a beer and staring off into space when Indie comes back down the stairs. She pauses when she sees me occupying the lounge. I move my feet off the end of the couch and shift so that the side she favours is free, and then I kick my feet up on the coffee table. She’s wary at first, sitting down like a kitten that can’t decide if it’s curious or fuckin’ terrified.

“Does your face hurt?”

I laugh. “Yeah darlin’, it hurts like a fuckin’ bitch.”

“Good,” she says, taking a swig of my beer before setting it on the table.

“By all means, help your fuckin’ self.”

“Oh, I will,” she replies, giving me a stubborn-arse fuckin’ glare.

“You wanna help yourself to anything else of mine, then go right ahead,” I mutter, staring pointedly at my crotch.

“You’re a pig.”

“And you’re a pain in my arse.” I smirk and snatch up my stubbie, downing the rest and putting my mouth to good use before it gets me in trouble.

“Thank you, though,” she says, “For the lesson. It was still an arsehole move, but I understand why you did it. Next time, maybe give the rape victim a little warning before you drag her across the room, throw her to the ground and attack her.”

“If I’d given you warning, you never would have known what you were capable of.”

She thinks on that for a minute, biting her bottom lip as she stares off into space. Finally, she nods and says, “I want you to teach me how to fire a gun.”

“Slow your roll, spitfire. To do that I’d need to take you outside. Prez said outside is off limits.”

“Your prez isn’t here.”

“Lucky for you. Otherwise he’d beat you down for sayin’ that shit. You have to trust that we know what we’re doing here. If it were safe to take you outside, I’d take you out-fuckin’-side.”

She lets out a sigh, opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it again.

“Out with it, spitfire,” I say.

She glares at me for a second and then her face crumples. “Tell me about the tooth, Kick.”

I’m not wearing it anymore. I took it off and threw it across the gym the second she left. And then I walked over and picked it up, threading the necklace through my wallet chain and then pocketing it so I wouldn’t lose it.

The roar of motorcycles up the drive has my head snapping around towards the kitchen where I can see through the front door. Saved by the fuckin’ bell. Though I know we’re not done here. She’ll be bitchin’ at me later to answer the god damned question.

“Cavalry’s here,” I say, standing up and stretching out my tired muscles.

After she’d left me in the gym, I’d taken some of my self-loathing out on the bag. I’m not wearing a shirt because I’d soaked it through with sweat, and hadn’t seen the point in putting on the only clean shirt I had left. I liked the way she looked at me when I wasn’t wearing one, her sweet and innocent gaze roaming every inch of my tattooed flesh, as though all the answers to my secrets were written within. I didn’t have the heart to tell her there was no mystery when it came to me. Just selfishness. And shit. And betrayal.

“Stay,” I say, as I head for the front door.

“Where the fuck do you think I’m gonna go?” she yells after me, and I can’t help but turn so I see her exasperated expression. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be babysitting the brat, but a part of me is gonna be reluctant to let the bitch go.

I step outside to find Killer, One Eye, Prez, Squeals, and motherfuckin’ Country. I shoot a questioning glare at Prez. “The guy that wants the bitch dead, the blind old coot, and the motherfuckin’ prospect? Where the hell is Tank and Raphe? Hell, Prez, even fuckin’ Diesel would have been a better choice than these three fuckers?”

“Tank’s out. Takin’ Ivy home and attemptin’ to get her clean again after this motherfuckin’ idiot stuck his coke under her nose and she ODed. Again.” He smacks Killer in the back of the head, who’s been here since yesterday without a wink of sleep. The fuck-knuckle mumbles another apology, some shit about not knowing she was Tank’s property. “Raphe and Diesel are busy cleaning up your shit. We got more to deal with than your old lady.”

My head snaps up. “She’s not my old lady.”

“Wearin’ her claw marks on your neck, aren’t ya?”

“That’s not what it looks like.”

“Dude, what the fuck happened to your face?” Killer says. “Did you let a girl beat you up?”

 “Shut up, fuck-stick.” I smack him upside the head, and he sneers, slinking back to his post.

“If that’s not what it looks like, and she’s not your old lady, then what the fuck are we all doing here?” Prez asks. He tries to push past me, but I glare at him and tilt my chin towards One Eye.

“What about him?”

“Can I enter my own fuckin’ house and sit down to a meal at my goddamn fuckin’ table, kid? Or are you gonna forbid your prez from goin’ near your pretty piece of flesh in there? One Eye knows what’s fuckin’ up and what’s fuckin’ down, and if he doesn’t play nicely, he’s gonna be ridin’ off into the sunset minus a cut.” He shoulders me out of the way and enters the house.

“Grub’s fuckin’ up, fuckers,” Prez announces as he heads into the kitchen and throws a black duffle bag on the table. He pulls out two buckets of chicken and a bag containing a couple of containers of coleslaw and sits them on the dining table. The brothers file in, each taking a seat and diggin’ in. Fuckin’ animals. I head into the lounge to warn Indie that if she wants to eat today she better haul that sweet fuckin’ arse in here, but when I see her staring blankly at the TV, I quit talkin’ and step up beside her, giving her a little shake. She’s utterly transfixed on some news programme.

There’s a police officer on the screen. The expression on her face is the same one I saw earlier today when I’d thrown her on the ground and attacked her. I already know, but I have to ask anyway. “Is that him? Is that the fucker that took you?”

She doesn’t answer. “Indie!” I grab her face in my hand, and she wrenches out of my grasp. “Don’t touch me.”

“Is. That. Him?”

The dead motherfucker talking on the TV says, “We have reason to believe that Kayla Kennedy is alive. We’re investigating leads after witnesses reported sightings of the woman earlier this week at a three car pile-up with a notorious Sydney-based motorcycle gang. These people are dangerous, and shouldn’t be approached. Anybody with information should come forward.”

“Prez! Get the fuck in here!”

Kitchen chairs scrape against the tile, but they aren’t quick enough. The image on screen has already changed to that of a middle-aged woman, with grey hair and tired-arse eyes that are puffy from crying.

Indie covers her mouth. “Mum,” she whispers.

A string of pearls decorate the woman’s neck. Her face is painted up with bright coral lipstick. Her makeup runs with her tears, trailing down her cheeks in black lines and splashing onto her no doubt designer threads. That’s what I don’t understand about rich folk. Your kid is missing, and you’re taking the fuckin’ time to look pretty on TV instead of getting out on the streets and looking for her. The chump standing behind her is decked out in a fuckin’ suit. He’s obviously Indie’s dad because he too looks as if someone just ran him through with a fuckin’ sword. Starin’ at her parents, I decide if I ever meet either of them I’m gonna beat their heads together until I knock the fuckin’ sense into them.

Indie’s face is stricken as she watches her parents speak. New tears form in her mother’s eyes as she pleads with the camera. “Please, just return our daughter to us. And Kayla, honey, if you’re out there watching, come home. Please? We love you, and we just want you safe.”

The image cuts to a reporter standing on the deserted country road where we took down the men who were hunting her. “The police strongly advise against approaching these people. Call Crime Stoppers on 1300—”

I hit the off button and throw the remote at the wall. “Fuck!”

Indie jumps as if she’s just now noticing me for the first time. She’s white as a fuckin’ ghost.

“I didn’t get his name.” I turn to Prez.

“So we’re just as fucked on leads as we were five minutes ago?”

“Hit up the news sites. Someone is bound to have that fucker on there,” One Eye says. He’s standing at the entrance to the room, just behind Prez, with his massive arms folded in front of his chest.

“Someone get a fucking laptop out here,” Prez orders.

“Sergeant Cole,” Indie whispers.

“What’d you say, sweetheart?”

“Sergeant Cole, from the police department. He said he’s been working with my parents to bring me home.” She sits down heavily on the couch and stares up at me. “You were right; I can’t go home. I have no one.”

“Hey,” I say, ignoring the fact that my brothers are all watching this exchange. I sit down on the couch beside her and offer my hand. She glares at me but places hers in mine. I wrap my fingers around her hand, squeezing hard, so she’ll feel it. “You have me. We’re gonna find these fuckers, and we’re gonna end them.”

“You’re sure that was him?” Prez asks. “We go in there shooting up coppers we’re all as good as dead. We gotta be certain that’s the right guy, and we gotta be smart.”

“That was him. I’d know that voice, that face, anywhere.”

“Alright, boys, let’s go shoot another motherfuckin’ rapist.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say, which of course prompts Indie to agree.

“I wanna be the one to take him down,” she says.

“No fuckin’ way. You two are gonna stay here out of damn sight.”

“He did this to me.” She shoots up off the couch. “I appreciate your help and everything you’ve done for me so far, but I should be the one to kill him.”

Prez laughs in her face. “Oh darlin’, have you ever put a gun to a man’s head before? It’s not like throwing a couple of punches. That’s the kinda shit you can’t erase.”

“I held a gun to Kick’s head.”

“And you’re still fuckin’ standin’?” Prez looks at me with his brows raised and a smug-as-fuck expression on his face.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’re stayin’ here. You and your new pussy-whipped boyfriend, get to play hide the fuckin’ salami while we risked our arses with this shit.” Prez turns to the boys and says, “One Eye, Grim, and Killer, will ride with me. We’ll swing by the club and pick up Trigger and Diesel. Country and Squeals, you’ll stay here and guard the perimeter, though you probably won’t be needed.

“I’ll stay.” One Eye says. “Can’t have a geriatric and a fuckin’ blind man on patrol, Prez.”

“Yeah fine, whatever. It’s only gonna take one of us to get this motherfucker alone and put a bullet in his skull.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Indie shouts. She steps up into Prez’s personal space. “I should be the one to do it.”

He dismisses her, looking straight over her head at me. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, control your mouthy little bitch, Kick. Before she says some shit she can’t take back.”

“He’ll be taken care of.” I grab her shoulder, attempting to turn her so she can see the pleading in my eyes for her to let this go. “Little faith, spitfire.”

She yanks her arm out of my grip. “Don’t touch me.” She stares accusingly at me. “You said you’d help me find them. You didn’t say you’d take the right away from me to drive the knife in his gut myself.”

“There’s more at stake here than just your revenge,” I snap back.

“Kick, deal with this fuckin’ shit,” Prez says, giving us his back. “We got ourselves a rapist to kill.”

“No!” Indie says and lunges at Prez, her fists up and ready for action, the way I taught her. I scoop her up and throw her over my shoulder, stalking away as she kicks and screams blue bloody murder. As I struggle with her up the stairs, I hear the laughter from my brothers below. Fuckin’ bitch. Now I’m never gonna live that shit down. I move along the corridor all the way to her room, where I shove open the door and stalk inside, throwing her down on the bed.

“Calm the fuck down!” I roar.

“Fuck you!” she spits back, scrambling to her knees on the soft comforter. “You fucking promised and you lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” I shout. “I meant it when I promised you and me would go get him together. Prez promised me that. But things fuckin’ change, bitch. You can’t go around attacking the fuckin’ president of a damn motorcycle club. Shit like that is gonna get you killed. And likely me too, ’cause I’m fuckin’ responsible for ya.”

“You are not responsible for me. You are nothing to me,” she shouts, and fuck me if it doesn’t hurt.

It’s not like I don’t understand why she’s so fucking distraught over this decision. When it comes to revenge, karma or someone else doing the job for you is just as bad as never getting your revenge at all. I felt it when it came to Lauren. I’d have likely died if Ethan hadn’t lost his shit and started shooting motherfuckin’ Angels in that farm house. There were eight of them to one of me, but that didn’t matter. I wanted to put a bullet through the skull of my oldest friend because he took the right away from me to kill Lauren’s murderers. They were all dead. At the end of the day, it’s the same result, but you feel that loss as keenly as a fucking noose around your neck.

Indie launches herself at me, and I catch her up, stumbling back a few paces into the door. I hold her fists at bay to keep her from giving me another black eye.

“Stop fuckin’ hittin’ me, woman. I didn’t do this. It’s beyond my control. If I could have, I’d have strapped that bastard into a chair and let you exact whatever punishment you wanted, but it’s no longer up to me. The lives of all of my brothers are at stake here if we don’t handle this carefully.”

All at once she sags against me and lets out a gut-wrenching sob. I walk us over to the bed and sit down. She curls her shins back against the mattress, so she’s straddling my waist and then I lay down, taking her with me.

Is it the smartest move I can make? Fuck no. But I do it ’cause I don’t have a fucking clue what else to do. I don’t relish her tears the way I did Ivy’s. I feel them. And I fuckin’ hate that. I hate her for that, for making me feel.

When she’s done drenching my shoulder she slides off of me and lies on her side in the hollow of my arm. My hand rests against her hip, and her thigh is hooked over mine … and my heart is skipping like a fuckin’ schoolgirl’s.

How the fuck did we get here?

I not only managed to screw shit up completely by taking her instead of putting a bullet in her head, but I went from being her captor, her tormentor, to what? A fuckin’ boyfriend? Her old man? Her saviour?

Jesus Christ, I need my head checked.

I don’t know how to process any of this shit. Her tired body sags against me, and sleep takes her over as I hold her and breathe in her sweet clean scent with her hair all up in my face. I stare at the ceiling and wonder where the fuck I go from here. ’Cause any way I look at it, I’m completely fucked.