Chapter Seventeen
Gage
Riding always improves my mood. Not this time, though. I don’t go straight to Amelia’s work. Instead I take off into the mountains, where there’s nothing but me and the road.
Still doesn’t help. I skid to a halt and stare across the valley below, but all I can hear in my head is Amelia saying we need to talk about it.
Because she wanted to know who the hell Rex Abbott was and why he’d attacked her. That’s all.
Just promise you won’t get too mad.
Why’d she say that? It didn’t make sense last night, and it doesn’t make sense now. There’s no way she’s involved with Abbott, because if that’s true it means she is Hank Crane’s daughter and the only reason she came to work at Odin’s is to get some twisted kind of revenge.
She’s not that girl. Fuck whatever the Wolves think they know.
…
It’s almost time for Amelia to knock off work when I stroll into the diner and lean against the doorframe. She’s behind the counter, and when she sees me, she gives me that smile that makes her whole face light up, and a hard pain grinds deep inside my chest.
She’s not playing me for a fool.
I hang around while she gets changed, and within five minutes she’s tucking her arm through mine and snuggling up to me. “This is nice.” She gives me another smile as we leave the diner. “Didn’t think I was going to see you until tonight.”
I grunt and shove my hands in my pockets. The gift I bought earlier today rubs across my knuckles. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“Sure. Well…” She goes onto her toes, and without thinking I lean down so she can whisper in my ear. “My butt’s a bit sore.”
A reluctant smile cracks my face, and my dick twitches in response to her comment. “What about your arm?” Anger stirs again at how Abbott marked her. Christ, is he going to pay.
“Huh? Oh, it’s fine. I told you I bruise easily. Don’t worry about it.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes, with her leaning against me as though—fuck, I don’t know. I’ve screwed more girls than I can remember, but she’s the only one I’ve walked down the street with like this. It’s like there’s an unspoken agreement between us as we go into the small park at the end of the block and find a graffiti covered bench.
I sling my arm around her shoulders and haul her against me as we sit on the bench. It’s quiet and cold and kind of peaceful, except there’s this sick sensation in the pit of my gut.
After a while she tips her head back to look at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I don’t want to talk. Don’t want to think. I just want to sit here, holding her, but we need to straighten things out. Not because I believe the Wolves, but because I need to know whatever it was she wanted to talk about. “You got anything to tell me?”
“Um.” Is that guilt that flashes across her face? The knot in my gut tightens. “Well, I guess I should tell you how I knew about the job in Odin’s. It was Rex Abbott who told me about it.”
It’s like the world freezes, and there’s a strange rushing noise in my head. I can’t move, just stare at her, as she gives a small smile as though she thinks it’s no big deal that she’s just admitted betraying me in the worse way.
“Abbott.” My voice sounds dead. I didn’t believe for a second any of the shit he spewed at me in Ty’s club, but now graphic images of Amelia fucking him shred my mind and my stomach cramps. “It’s true, then.”
Her smile slips. “What’s true?” She doesn’t sound nearly so sure of herself now. I drag my arm from around her shoulders before I’m tempted to crush the life from her sweet, lying body.
“You’ve been working with him to bring down the Bastards.” Deny it. For Christ’s sake, give me another reason why you know Abbott…
Her cheeks go pink, and she grips her hands together on her lap. I’m fucking dying inside. My girl. Amelia. Setting me up.
“No, I haven’t. Well, I mean maybe at first that was the idea, but I was never going to go through with it. Not after I met you.”
I breathe through my mouth, trying to keep control, but my vision’s narrowing, turning dark, and there’s a thundering in my head. I defended her, told my brothers they were talking shit, walked out on them for her. And she was lying the whole time.
“Why?” My throat’s raw. I should just walk away but I’m paralyzed, as though I need to hear her admit everything before I’ll really believe it.
She leans toward me, and those gorgeous, lying green eyes kill me a little more. “I’ve wanted to tell you the truth, Gage. You have to believe me. My dad—he was Hank Crane. When Rex suddenly reappeared after ten years and said he needed me to find proof that the Bastards were gun running, I jumped at it. You have to understand—I’ve hated the Bastards for nearly half my life. But that was before I met you.”
It’s like she reached inside my chest and ripped out my heart. I can’t breathe anymore, can’t think.
She’s Hank Crane’s daughter, and she came back to finish off what he and Abbott’s father started ten years ago.
A harsh laugh flays my throat. “What was the plan, to cut my throat in my sleep? Looks like you failed.”
“Of course not.” She looks stricken, as though I’ve just said something outrageous. “Look, I was wrong. I’m sorry, I really am. But he turned up just after I lost my last job, and it seemed like—I don’t know, like a sign.”
“Spare me.” I grind the words between my teeth. “To think of you and him together”—my guts heave—“disgusts me.”
She jerks upright. “We’ve never been together. I told you. How can you even think that?”
Disbelief curdles through me. How does she have the nerve to be pissed by anything I throw at her?
“I don’t think it. I fucking know. Crane’s daughter and Abbott’s son. Whatever you cooked up together isn’t gonna work.”
She sucks in a ragged breath, like she’s trying to hold on to her temper. Her nerve is seriously unbelievable. It’s like she thinks I’m the one in the wrong, calling her out on her deception.
“We didn’t cook up anything. His police contact needed evidence before they could act, and Rex said all I had to do was get close to you.” Her face flames, and she can’t look me in the eyes. Not that it matters. Nothing matters anymore. “It sounds so bad when I say it out loud. It’s just…I loved my dad so much. I’ve never gotten over the way he died. I know it’s not your fault, Gage. I see that now. Honestly, even if I had suspected you were into something illegal, I’d never have told Rex. It’s like, I don’t know, being with you—things became clear to me for the first time in ten years.”
What the fuck is this chick on?
“Quit with the innocent act, bitch. It’s not working anymore.”
“What did you call me?” She leans in close again, fury glinting in her eyes. It takes every last atom of self-control I possess not to grab hold of her and squeeze the life from her throat. “Okay, so I knew Rex, and yeah, I was stupid to listen to him. But if I hadn’t, we would never have met.”
I give a bitter laugh. “If only.”
“Well, fuck you, Gage Reynolds. Sitting there like you’re God or something. How the hell do you think I feel, falling for the guy whose old man killed my dad?”
Her words don’t even register. No one talks to me like that. Definitely not some cheap little whore who’s managed to mess me up so bad I put her before everything that’s ever mattered in my life.
“Be careful, Amy Crane.” I spit her name at her and rake my gaze over her, hating the way part of me still wants to wrap her in my arms and never let her go. “Or I’ll be the one exacting vengeance for the way your cowardly son of a bitch father murdered my old man.”
I half expect her to try and scratch out my eyes, but it’s like she’s frozen. The blood drains from her face, and if I didn’t know it was all part of her act I’d—fuck, it doesn’t matter what I’d do. I stand so I don’t have to look at her anymore, but even that doesn’t work. I still glance back at her and then can’t look away.
“No.” Her hands are fisted on her thighs and she’s looking everywhere but at me. “Don’t try twisting this back on me. That’s not how it happened. You’re just—just—”
I crouch down until I’m at eye level, and she finally meets my gaze. I’m not taken in by the threat of tears, or her familiar scent, or the hollow memories mocking me. “Finally seeing you for what you really are.” I finish her sentence for her, loading each word with the contempt that’s gnawing through me like acid. “Be grateful I’m letting you crawl back to your crackhead screw. If I ever see you again, Amy”—Amelia, but I can’t call her that name because she was never that girl—“you’re going to wish you never crossed me. You understand?”
She doesn’t answer. I didn’t expect her to. She knows the game’s over. I walk away and don’t look back, but it doesn’t make any difference. The image of her sitting on that bench, looking as though I just crushed her world, is scored into my brain.