Hushed Torment (Iron Fury MC) Read online

  He’s a monster and monsters don’t play by the rules.

  “I didn’t realise I fell asleep,” I say softly, my voice a distant hum in my head, even worse now after my attack.

  Scarlett rolls to her side, and her pretty face is battered, but not as badly as her body, or no doubt, her mind. This girl is everything to me. She gave me a chance that I’ve been searching for for such a long time. She believed in me when nobody else did. I’ll be by her side until the day she tells me she doesn’t want me there anymore.

  “How are you?” she asks me.

  I smile; it’s small, but it’s genuine. “I’m okay. Missing the freedom being on the road had but glad to be back home.”

  Her brows furrow together. “You know what I mean, Amalie. After the attack? Are you okay? Do you still have nightmares about him?”

  “Are you?”

  She bites her bottom lip. “Stop turning it around.”

  “I’m okay. I’m getting better.”

  Outside of the injuries to my body, I am okay. I guess. I won’t mention to her how frequent the nightmares have been. Or explain the horror of what it felt like in those few terrifying hours that Treyton had me. I won’t tell her because it’ll only haunt her more, and she doesn’t deserve that. She knows how it feels.

  We both know.

  We’re just choosing not to say it.

  “You’re a terrible liar, but so am I, so I guess we’re even.”

  “We’re going to be okay,” I say to her, squeezing her hand. “We’re home now, we have the club watching over us, and we have this amazing ranch to explore and an album to create. Life is a whole lot of sunshine and rainbows, Scar.”

  She laughs, and I can only faintly hear the pretty sound, but I like it all the same. I smile at her.

  “You make everything sound like a dream, Amalie. And speaking of those bikers looking out for us ...”

  My heart slams into my ribcage. I know what she’s asking. She’s seen the way Malakai looks at me—we all have. The last few days that I’ve come around here he smiles at me in that way that makes my tummy feel funny. A way that I haven’t felt for so many years I’ve lost count.

  But she doesn’t understand a smile is all he’ll ever be to me.

  The darkness of my past still haunts me.

  There is no escaping it.

  There is no time for love.

  Only music.

  “I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” I say softly, staring at her.

  She grins. “You know what I’m talking about. Mal. He is infatuated with you.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. About those horses you have in the barn, when can we ride them?”

  I’m not even being obvious about my change of subject, but I don’t know what she wants me to say? I have no way of explaining to her why Malakai and I can never be, without opening up a door and having her ask millions of questions. It’s best if we just don’t talk about it. And I forget about the handsome biker that stares at me like I’m his sunshine.

  She chuckles low. “You’re incredible at changing the subject. We can ride them when we’re both better.”

  Horses. She’s talking about horses.

  I smile.

  Then, I roll back to my side, exhaling and closing my eyes. I can’t wait for that freedom, to gallop down the middle of a paddock, the wind in my face, not a care in the world.

  It’ll be heaven.

  “Yo.”

  I only just hear the deep, masculine voice, and that’s purely because it’s rather booming. Scarlett and I both sit up to see Koda striding into the room, brown paper bag in his hand. He stops at the foot of the bed and looks down at us. “You two would be any man’s fantasy right now if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re both spoken for and the repercussions would be deadly.”

  Scarlett giggles, and I flush.

  I don’t know how to take these men sometimes. They’re so bold. So forward. So intense. And so incredibly beautiful.

  “Thank you, Koda,” Scarlett says. “Now, what goods have you got in the bag today?”

  “Muffins, cupcakes, and some other girly rubbish Maverick told me to get you. Don’t know how you stay skinny eating that shit all the time.”

  Scarlett opens the bag, pulling out a large chocolate muffin. The smell hits me straight away, assaulting my nostrils, and god, it smells incredible. Warm chocolate. Sugar. Heaven.

  “It’s called running,” she says, breaking off a piece and sticking it in her mouth, moaning.

  I reach for the bag and pluck one out, too.

  “You too, huh?” Koda says when I meet his eyes.

  They’re all learning to speak directly to me, after I didn’t respond to them a few times. I appreciate it, because it’s extremely embarrassing to have someone speaking to you and think you’re ignorant because you don’t acknowledge them.

  It’s even worse having to explain why you didn’t acknowledge them.

  “Chocolate is a girl’s best friend.” I smile at him.

  He grins at me. “Too sweet you are. Right, ladies, I’m out of here. I did my duty for the day. I have pussy waiting for me at the club.”

  My cheeks burn again.

  So ... brutal.

  “Gross, Koda,” Scarlett mutters, and I laugh at the horrified look on her face.

  I glance back at Koda, and he’s grinning wide. “Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  “You’re making the club sound like a giant orgy.”

  He winks. “It is.”

  I giggle.

  Scarlett looks to me. “We need to go check this club out again soon.”

  I glance back at Koda and he winks at me. “Sure Mal would love you precious little gems being exposed to that.”

  My mouth forms an O and I look to Scarlett, who rolls her eyes. “Goodbye, Koda.”

  Koda waves and then leaves the room, all six feet of him, stomping out like his weight is too much to carry. I bite into my muffin again, sighing as the gooey chocolate melts on my tongue. I think about the club, and I wonder what it is like there. Scarlett has been once, but she said she was too angry to take notice. Since then she hasn’t been back.

  I glance over at the clock on the wall, and sigh.

  I have to go.

  I turn to Scarlett. “I have to go, but I’ll come back tonight, okay?”

  “Okay. You know I can come to your place sometimes, you don’t always have to come here.”

  But I do.

  Because if she came to my place, she’d know that I’m not as pure and innocent as she believes. And I can’t have that. I need her to believe in me because she’s the only person I have left. The only person I can count on. If she knew what I really kept inside, she might not trust in me anymore.

  “Someday.” I smile, hopefully putting her off the subject.

  “Text me later, okay?”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  I take my muffin, wave goodbye, and leave the cottage. I step out the front door and run straight into a hard chest. A loud oomph leaves my throat and my hands automatically go up, muffin in one, and push against the object I just slammed into. Horror slowly washes over me when I realize that object is a man in a leather jacket and I just crushed my muffin all over it.

  I step back, mouth agape, shame washing over me as I see Mal standing in front of me, chest covered in chocolate.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, God.

  “I-I-I-I ...,” I stammer, letting the muffin slip from my hand and crumble onto the floor.

  My other hand goes up to my mouth and presses over it. I’m such a clumsy idiot. God. I avoid his eyes, horrified at what I’ve done. There is probably something against washing those leather jackets. Isn’t that what men do? They don’t wash them to keep them special? Now he’s going to have to wash it. All his memories. Everything. Boom. Because of me.

  And my muffin.

  A strong hand cups my jaw, and I shut my eyes.

  Is he going to yell at me?<
br />
  I would.

  Not watching where I was going.

  His calloused fingers shake my face, just a little, until my eyes pop open and I look up into his. Dazzling green. Just like Maverick’s. His hair is longer, curling around his shoulders, and it’s thick, so, so thick. He’s big. Bigger than any of the other members I’ve seen. His muscles strain beneath his tight black shirt. He’s terrifying, and utterly beautiful.

  “Amalie.”

  I can’t hear his voice clearly, but it penetrates enough for the smooth, husky sound to make my skin prickle. I stare up at him, cheeks burning with shame, and stammer, “I’m so sorry, Malakai. I didn’t know you were there. I’ve ruined your jacket and—”

  He grins.

  Grins!

  I blink in confusion. Why is he laughing at me? I feel terrible.

  “Jackets can be washed, darlin’,” he says, eyes dropping to my lips. “The look on your face right now ... worth all the chocolate currently residing on it.”

  I clench my eyes shut. His fingers are still curled around my jaw. And it feels nice. Protective. Safe.

  “I’ll pay for it to get washed. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  I meet his eyes again, they’re dancing with humor. “Stop stressing out about it, you’re goin’ to send yourself into a state. Breathe, sweetheart.”

  Sweetheart.

  God.

  “Right,” I whisper, stepping back.

  I stare down at the crumbled muffin on the floor. “I can’t say I’ve ever done that before, at the very least.”

  He chuckles, and I can hear it even though I’m not looking at him. I lift my eyes again, staring up at him through my lashes. “I guess it’s a welcome snack for you later ...”

  He bursts out laughing, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. His laugh. The way it makes his face look. It’s heaven.

  “Duly noted. I’ll be sure to save myself a piece.”

  I flush again.

  “Where are you headed in such a hurry?” he asks me, and I try to avoid staring at the chocolate stain on his jacket.

  “I just have to get home,” I tell him.

  “Need a ride?”

  I glance behind him at his very large, very beautiful, very angry looking motorcycle. “No, thanks,” I murmur.

  “Scared?” he asks me, and my eyes hold his. I can feel his words, right to my very core.

  I shouldn’t feel them.

  Time to go.

  I glance down and say in a soft voice, “It was good seeing you, Malakai. I have to get going.”

  I rush past him quickly and to my car, only glancing back once. It’s a mistake, because he’s watching me, eyes intense, small smile on his lips. I’m not trying to, but I’m succeeding in making myself a challenge for him.

  That’s not a good thing.

  I should probably stay away.

  But holding those green eyes, watching the way they speak for him, and I’m not so sure I truly want to stay away.

  ~*~*~*~

  “Where have you been?”

  The second I step through my front door, my mother’s voice assaults me. I wish, more than anything, they didn’t call her when I got attacked. She came straight down to look after me, but now I’m having a lot of trouble getting rid of her. She seems to think I’m not safe and that I shouldn’t be going out until I know more about what happened. She doesn’t understand I already know what happened, and I know who happened. I also know I have a motorcycle club watching over me.

  A small fact I’m not willing to share with her just yet.

  “I was visiting Scarlett,” I tell her, walking into my small two-bedroom apartment and heading right toward the kitchen.

  “Have you visited him today?”

  I flinch.

  It hurts me when she does this. She brings guilt into my life. She makes me feel bad for trying to fix myself. For trying to make something of myself. She knows I carry blame. She knows I’ll never recover. So she pokes the most sensitive parts of me until they’re bleeding.

  “Not yet,” I say softly. “I was planning on going over this afternoon.”

  “Amalie, you’re the only person he has. You owe it to him to make visiting your first priority.”

  She knows nothing.

  Nothing of what it’s like to go in there and hear his abuse. I get better, for a few hours, when my music takes me away, and then he rips me to shreds in a matter of seconds. His scorn. His angry words. His bitter attitude. Everything about being near him kills something inside of me.

  I might deserve it, but I’m tired of it.

  “He doesn’t want me there,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice calm and gentle. I don’t want to fight; I’m so tired of fighting.

  She scowls at me. “Of course he doesn’t. Would you want someone around that did that to you? But it’s beside the point, you owe him. I’ll take you to visit now.”

  I swallow, pain and guilt swarming my chest. I live with it daily, but when she’s here, she makes it so much worse. The worst part, is she supposed to be my mother. Isn’t it her job to be on my side, even when I’m wrong, even when I’ve done something that is unforgivable? She’s supposed to have my back through thick and thin. But she doesn’t. That hurts more than she’ll ever know.

  “And I think you should be limiting the time you spend with Scarlett. You don’t have time to be disappearing, chasing some music dream. It was bad enough you went away for a month. You need to look for work. Settle down here.”

  I exhale, inhale, exhale. “Okay,” I say, my voice small.

  There is no point in arguing with her.

  It’ll only add fuel to her already raging fire.

  Besides, I can talk until I’m blue in the face. She won’t hear me.

  She never does.

  “Good,” she tells me, nodding her head. “Let’s go then.”

  I exhale quietly and nod, grabbing my purse that I only just put down, and turning to follow her out the door. My mother walks with grace—she was born into wealth and even though she no longer obtains it, she lives as though she does. She moves as though she has money dripping from her fingers, she holds her head up like she has not a financial care in the world. Like she is the best. And there is nothing beneath her.

  My father is a hard worker, and he covers everything she wants and needs, but it is no way near the lifestyle she thinks she’s entitled to. My dad is a good man. Loving. Kind. And I’ll never understand, for the life of me, why the hell he sticks around with her. I love my mother, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll never see eye to eye with her. She’ll always make me feel like the accident she wished never happened.

  We reach her car and she glares over at mine. “You know you’re not supposed to be driving, Amalie.”

  I’m fully aware of that. But part of conquering my demons was getting behind the wheel again. It healed something within me. And although my hearing makes it hard and I have to be on high alert, there is no reason I can’t drive to and from basic places. I wouldn’t go long distance, but I do need some freedom.

  “I was cleared to drive,” I tell her.

  She shoots daggers at me. “Well, you shouldn’t have been.”

  I swallow.

  That hurts.

  I wish I knew why she hated me so much.

  We get in her car and I say nothing as we drive into town toward their house, the house I hate walking into, the house that no matter how many times I enter makes me feel like the devil has just waltzed through its doors. Nobody there likes me. I can’t say I blame them. But I go, every single day when I’m home, because I owe him that much.

  Even if it slowly eats away at my soul.

  We arrive at the mansion that is lacking in nothing. His parents are both rich, and thankfully so, because the care he requires is around the clock. They provide the best for him, though none of it is what he wants. He doesn’t leave the house. He doesn’t go outside. He doesn’t work. He stays inside, refusing
help, refusing to allow life to be lived again.

  I can’t say I blame him.

  I slide out of the car, swallowing my anxiety and following my mother to the front door. The house is big and luxurious and nicer than anything I’ve ever been into. My mother comes here purely because she thinks she fits in. I don’t think it has anything to do with compassion and care but merely some hope she might gain something out of acting like she’s being the woman to push me into doing the right thing.

  “Carmela, Amalie,” their butler, and the only kind man in the house, Theodore, smiles when he opens the front door.

  “Hi, Theo.” I smile at him, and he reaches out, giving me a warm squeeze on the shoulder.

  “How are you, Amalie? You’re looking a little worse for wear.”

  I only recently got the cast off my broken fingers, but I’m still not able to play for a few more weeks. It feels like a piece of my soul has been taken from me. Everything else is healing slowly. My face is no longer terrifying to look at, because I was so badly beaten. Everything is healing well, all my stitches are out, now it’s just the road to recovery.

  “I’m getting there. How are you?”

  “Doing well, as always.”

  Theo glances at my mother, who strides past him, tossing her coat in his direction.

  “They’re in the tea room,” Theo says to her back, clutching the coat and giving me a look.

  I sigh. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck, Amalie. Don’t let him treat you poorly. Contrary to what you believe, you do not deserve it.”

  He tells me this every time I come here, and every time I smile and say, “Thank you, Theo.”

  I move down the familiar halls, ignoring the expensive paintings and the lush rugs, and step into the tea room. My mother is already in and chatting with Caiden’s mother about some expensive gala coming up that she simply must attend. My eyes move straight over to Caiden sitting by the window. He doesn’t turn when I walk in. He never does.

  His mother, Chantelle, looks over to me with those piercing blue eyes that make my blood run cold. She rarely speaks to me now. She allows the visits, I suppose for the same reason my mother pushes them, because they think it’s the least I can do. But she makes it loud and clear she has no time for me. She does not like me. Because I ruined her son’s entire life.