That was what Belle needed to do with her mom—cut her off and kick her out—but she was never going to do that. She was too good and too kind to do that. It was what I both loved and hated about her, because it made her an easy target for people to take advantage of.
I rolled my shoulders as I stood up and Belle looked over again. She was standing in the little kitchenette opening and closing the cupboard doors and trying to figure out what she could make to eat.
“Heading out for a cigarette,” I grumbled. The truth was, being stuck in there with Belle’s mom was like having the air sucked out of your lungs. She was a syphon that sucked all the joy out of a room. “Don’t cook. I’ll order us takeout.”
Belle’s cheeks were flushed. “I don’t mind cooking.”
“And I don’t mind buying somethin’.” I leaned in and kissed her forehead before heading outside, leaving no room for argument.
The air was warm that night—sticky, almost—and my skin was already clammy from being cooped up in her little tin can of a home. I pulled out my cigarettes and lit one before calling Shooter for an update. He didn’t sound too happy about Belle’s mom being there, and I couldn’t blame him, but what could I do?
“We hit the warehouse we had intel on, but they weren’t there,” he said, changing the subject and moving back on to Mateo and Carlos.
I hadn’t thought about either of them in a couple of hours, I’d been so caught up with all the drama going on and making sure that Belle was okay that I’d practically forgotten that the reason I was stuck there was because of those two bastards.
I realized with surprise that this had been the longest I’d gone without thinking of revenge in over a year. The longest without thinking about who had killed Echo and how I was going to make them pay. We were so close to catching them, and yet all I could think about was Belle and her goddamned crappy mom.
I sighed, trying to get my head back in the conversation. “At some point they’ll have to make contact with Belle, and when they do, I’ll be here,” I said, not sure what else I could do right then. “And if they call, she’ll let me know.”
I was walking around the back of the trailer, trying to keep out of sight as much as I could. I lifted the tarp that was covering my bike, checking that it was still there and okay.
“Well, we’ve got her cell tapped now, so if they call her we’ll know about it anyway.
“She’d tell you,” I insisted, and he sighed.
“We’re voting tonight.”
Voting on her life. Fuck.
I wanted to be there for it, but I couldn’t leave her alone. Besides, it might not be a good idea given that I’d want to put a bullet in the brain of anyone who voted for her death.
“Whatever happens, Beast, you know I trust you and I trust your instincts, brother,” he said, and now it was my time to sigh.
“Appreciate that, Prez.”
It was going to take a lot for them to trust her ever again. Maybe they never would. The thought made my stomach tumble a little, which was pathetic of me. I’d never wanted or needed anyone’s approval before, but getting my brothers’ and my prez’s approval on Belle seemed like the second most important thing right now. I wanted—no, needed—her in my life, and for that to happen they needed to accept her. But we all had trust issues and Belle had broken the number one rule. If it had been any of my other brothers I wouldn’t have backed down, so as much as I hated it, I understood their reluctance.
I just wasn’t sure how I’d move past it if they voted the wrong way.
In truth, I wouldn’t let them harm her no matter what they voted, and Shooter knew that without me having to say it. I wasn’t sure what this thing with Belle and I was.
Inexplicable
Unpredictable.
Complicated.
It was all of those things and so much more, and I wanted more of it.
If it came to it, I’d put her on my bike and we’d leave together.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I realized the certainty of that decision in my head. I’d leave my brothers, my home—my family for her, and I wouldn’t regret it.
“Hey,” she said, and I turned to see her standing right there looking at me, like all I’d had to do was think about her and she’d appeared. The sun was going down behind her and making it look like she was glowing, and she practically stole the air from my lungs.
“Gotta go,” I said to Shooter and hung up. “Hey,” I said to her and she took a step forward, her hands clasped in front of her, her left wringing out the right. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah, she’s fallen back to sleep.” She jerked her head in the direction of the trailer. “I just wanted to say thank you for today, for helping me with my mom, for…” She looked away as she thought over her words.
“For not killing you.” I filled in the blanks and she nodded as she looked back at me. “You going to be able to get past that?” I asked her bluntly, because one of us needed to address it before it turned into a festering, weeping wound and ruined whatever was happening between us before it even started.
Yes, I was going to kill her that morning.
Yes, I would have done it.
Yes, I probably would have followed right after too, because her death was one I wouldn’t be able to get over. I’d killed hundreds of men and even a handful of women—hell, I’d killed my own mom and not felt anything but a passing thought about it—but Belle’s murder was something that would have destroyed me. And that was why it’d had to be me to do it.
“If you can get past the things I did, then yeah,” she said, but I could see it in her eyes that she was trying to convince herself as much as me. She had questions, and I already knew what they were.
“Ask me,” I prompted, and she frowned a little, playing coy. “Just ask me, Belle. It’s okay.” I sighed my chest feeling heavy.
I watched her swallow as she came closer, looking up at me with those big Disney eyes of hers. Sometimes it felt like she could see right into my black soul. Maybe if she looked hard enough she’d find the man that was worthy of her, because I sure as hell wasn’t.
“Why?” she asked, the single word sounding shaking on her tongue, and I knew what she was asking. She wasn’t asking why her death was the only option. Or why life was so unfair. She was asking why I had insisted that it be me to kill her.
I threw my cigarette to the ground and dragged a hand across the back of my neck as I thought of a way to verbalize my answer to her.
“These men,” I started, “they’re my family.”
She nodded like she understood, but she didn’t.
“They’re more than family, they’re a part of me…I’m nothing without them…I’m a bad man…they don’t judge…” I sighed, the words coming out all jumbled and fucked up.
“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to save me from my own stupid mouth.
I stepped closer to her, hooking a hand to her cheek and tilting her face up to look at me. “It actually does,” I said with insistence. And I meant it. It mattered that she understood, that someone knew all of me instead of just a part of me.