I frown at her words, not liking the tone of them or the insinuation behind them. Drinking at breakfast time suggests a problem.
“You didn’t do enough drinking the other night?”
Pink rises in her cheeks as she recalls the evening I had to pull her ass out of a bar in the Sic Bastards’ patch.
“Like you don’t drink, hypocrite,” she mutters, a hint of petulance in her tone that has my mouth lifting at the corners. She goes to bratty kid in nought point five fucking seconds. It makes my dick hard as fuck when she pouts like that, and I hate myself for getting caught up in emotions I shouldn’t be feeling for a brother’s sister, especially one as young as Brie.
“I drink,” I say, “but I know when to stop.”
“So do I,” she snaps back, on the defensive. She might look like a kitten, but she definitely has claws. “Since when did you become a judgemental dick anyway? Oh, I forgot. It’s one set of rules for the Sons and another for everyone else, right?”
Her angry gaze goes back to the window. Briella never had a problem with the club, that I know of, but I don’t miss the bite as she says it. I don’t miss the torment in her eyes either, the fury mixed with something else I can’t name. I hate seeing that shit and I wonder how none of us saw it before now. How the fuck did we all miss it?
It’s there, clear as day.
“Ain’t judging,” but I am worried about her destructive behaviour. She’s definitely on a path of self-destruction. It’s a matter of what pressed that button to start with.
“Sounds like you are,” she mutters.
I’m stopped from responding as Fern returns with two cups of coffee. I watch as Brie dumps enough sugar in to rot her teeth and so much milk it’s practically white.
“Got enough sugar there?”
She gives me a smile that makes my fucking cock jump behind my zip. She might be the fucking death of me.
“I have a sweet tooth.”
Fuck me. I turn my attention to the window myself, just to avoid her gaze, which is making me feel shit I shouldn’t be feeling.
“You want some?” she asks, holding the sugar out towards me.
I shake my head. She shrugs and dumps another load in the mug then stirs the steaming hot liquid slowly.
I watch her for a moment, before I say, “Your friend doesn’t think much of me, does she?”
Her attention snaps to my face and I don’t like what I see crawl over it. There’s definitely anxiety in her expression as she dips her head. I hate losing her eyes. I can’t tell what the hell she’s thinking when that happens.
“Layla’s just protective,” she mumbles, pushing the spoon around her coffee mug.
“She ain’t got reason to be. Ain’t going to hurt you, ever. You know that, right?”
Her gaze shifts anywhere but to me. I snag her arm.
“You know that, right?” I repeat, my words cracking out of me.
Her eyes raise and meet mine. I watch her throat work before she nods. “Yeah, Daimon. I know.” There’s a slight wariness in her tone that I don’t like.
I let her go and sink back into my chair, my thoughts racing. Does she really think I’d hurt her? Is that why she’s so on edge around the club? We’re a lot of things, none of them particularly good, but not one of us would ever hurt a woman. Ain’t how we play things. Women and kids are off limits, and we’d go to the end of the earth to protect the women in our club. We murdered Sin to protect Sasha and Lily-May, we destroyed Blackwood’s entire empire to keep Lucy safe. Whatever shit Briella is running from, we’ll take on too. I meant it when I told her she’s family. She’s part of this club and club takes care of its own. I just have to get her to come clean first, and that’s going to be a challenge on its own. She ain’t exactly keen on talking about herself and what the hell happened to her.
Could she have heard about the shit that went down lately? We keep that crap under wraps and the girls were told not to gossip about it in the aftermath. I can’t see Lucy or Sasha opening their mouths. I can’t imagine Levi sounding off either and telling Briella all our secrets, but it could explain why she seems so uncomfortable around them lately.
Or maybe it’s just me she’s weird around.
I push that aside. Something in my gut tells me this shit goes deeper than any of that.
“Brie, you’re family. Don’t forget that. Your shit is our shit, and we’ll protect you from anything.”
It’s not discreet, but I’ve gone past that now. I want her to know she has support from the club, no matter what she’s wrapped up in. I want her to know that if she’s still in trouble she doesn’t have to face that alone. I want her to fucking open up and tell me what the hell is giving her nightmares. It can’t still be fear of her father. She’s been away from him for two years now, living with Levi, and she was getting her shit together, her life on track up until just before Sasha came home. Did she hear what happened between Sasha and Sin? No one has mentioned why he’s gone, or that he’s gone. He’s just not around. No one wants that fucker’s name on their tongues.
She spins the spoon in the mug. “You say that now.”
“I say that no matter what. You need help with anything you only have to ask.”
Desperation fills my words and I hate that it does, but I’m feeling pretty desperate right now.
She opens her mouth and before she can speak, Fern is at the side of our table with the food and I watch Brie shut down.
God-fucking-damn.
I glare at Fern, who scurries away as fast as she can. Smart girl. My mood is quickly deteriorating. I hate being in the dark.
I watch as Briella picks at the food before shoving a piece of pancake into her mouth.
“Why’d you join the club?” she asks after a moment.
Jesus. What a fucking question. I should tell her to mind her fucking business, as I would with anyone else, but Briella isn’t anyone else. I want her to know me, to understand me. I want to know everything about her too, but I don’t think she will trust me with that part of her yet.
“That’s a hell of a question, babe, with a lot of answers.” I scrub a hand over my face as I think about how to respond. I don’t care if she knows, but my past’s not something I’m proud of. “Dad was a nasty bastard. He’d hit my mum and me. Did it for years, until I grew up and got big enough to hit back.”
“We share that in common,” she mutters and my jaw grinds as I think about her being hurt by her father.
“Levi got you out.”
“Yeah, he did.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Did your mum ever get out?”
I nod. “Once Dad realised he couldn’t keep hurting us, he stopped. I would have eventually killed that fucker if he hadn’t.” I watch her face for a reaction, but she doesn’t give me one. She put up with a tormentor for years too. She, of all people, understands the situation I found myself in. She probably fantasised about killing her own father on many occasions. “Mum eventually divorced him. Ain’t seen that cunt in years. I was seventeen when I found the club. Sons changed my fucking world.”
“The same age I was when I found them too,” she comments and I like that we share that. “Do you like it?”