His words were briefly met with silence, and then Patrick—one of Silas’ buddies—stood up and said, “And we’re just supposed to believe you?”
In one quick, smooth motion, Mac threw his drink at Patrick’s head. The man dodged it, and the glass shattered on the wall behind him. Before a fight could start, Mac waded through the messof people and stood in front of Patrick. “Get the fuck out of my club.”
Patrick, who looked about two seconds away from pissing himself, was stupid enough to say, “It’s not your club. You’re not the pres, and you can’t just kick me out.”
Mac never looked away, and Jackson rose to his feet. “I motion for an emergency club meeting. All members present to vote on presidency and this son of a bitch’s patch.”
Diego didn’t move, but said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I second that motion.”
Mac turned away from Patrick, and Jackson moved to stand next to his friend. “All those in favor of Maverick Mills for presidency, say aye—those not in favor, say nay.”
A resounding “aye” filled the room.
“All those in favor of every bastard who said nay to get the fuck out and not come back, say aye.”
An even louder “aye” rang out, this time accompanied by cheering. For a moment, pride filled my chest until I remembered who I really was. But I pushed that all aside to watch Mac take the mantle he had always been meant to have. Jackson, Diego, Rodney, and several others I had grown fond of began pushing Silas’ supporters out the door—both literally and figuratively. It should’ve been a great victory, but the man who should’ve looked like he was on top of the world just appeared lost. I stood, and he looked over at me as I made my way through the crowd.
He blamed himself for everything. I could see it on his face, and it broke my heart. “Mac, baby,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear, placing a hand on his arm and willing him to open up to me. “This is not your fault.”
That muscle in his jaw flexed like it did when he was upset. “I handed him everything, Vixen.”
“You trusted a man who was your father’s best friend. Someone you once called family. That’s not weakness—that’s not your fault. That’s just being human.”
“He killed her. He might as well have killed my father. He almost killed me. He destroyed everything this club stood for. You should’ve seen the look on Dalton’s face. I didn’t stop him.”
“No,” I said, my voice firm but gentle, “he did this, not you. Your brother knows that. And your parents wouldn’t blame you either, I just know it. You can’t punish yourself for not seeing through him sooner. You did what you could as soon as you realized what was going on. You rescued all those people.”
He didn’t answer, but I could see him slowly start to accept what I was saying. The tightness was leaving his eyes, and when he looked at me, I knew he was going to be okay. Now for the other Mills brother…
“Where’s Dalton?”
Mac gestured with his chin towards the back of the clubhouse, where their rooms were. “Processing.”
“I should go to him.”
“He needs you more than he knows, gorgeous. We both do.” He kissed me and then pushed me gently towards the door. “Go.”
Chapter 22
I headed towards Dalton on heavy feet. The motel rooms I passed were filled with children, sleeping or snacking or just huddled together for comfort. They seemed to finally realize they were safe, but I knew they would never be the same. I glanced in a few of the rooms, searching again for a familiar face. But, unfortunately, I didn’t see any signs of the girls who had started this whole thing.
I made my way up the back stairs, not really sure what I would find. The hallway was dark, except for a sliver of light peeking out from underneath his door. I knocked, then pushed the door open. Dalton sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. “Hey, you. Thought you might need some company.”
His voice was quiet, rough. The charming, funny man I knew was hidden under a river of pain. A pain I felt as strongly as if it were my own.
“Not sure what I need right now.”
I walked over to him, and knelt between his knees. Reaching up, I held his face between my hands and coaxed him to look at me. “You’re not alone, Dalton. I’m here. It’s okay.”
“How could I not see it? Why didn’t we do something sooner?”
“Baby, those kinds of questions are only good for stirring up ghosts. They don’t do anything for the living. You survived. You took it back. And now you will rebuild.”
He leaned into my touch, just barely. A sort of surrender. Then he surged forward, wrapping his arms around me and picking me up. He turned us both around, laying me in the bed and hovering over me. I ran my handsdown his back as he buried his face in my hair.
One last time, I told myself. He needed me just as much as I needed him. One last time. I held him close to me, letting the silence fill all the places words couldn’t reach. When he leaned back and his lips found mine, I kissed him eagerly. At first, it was a desperate, aching need for each other. But the desire soon heated the moment beyond something sweet.
When his tongue swept across my lips, I opened for him and wrapped my legs around his waist. He devoured the taste of me as I began to move, rubbing myself on the hardened length of him I could feel through his jeans. He kissed a trail down my jaw and over my throat, before pausing at my collarbone. He sat up, reaching for his shirt, but I stopped him, wanting to do it myself. Words weren’t needed as I slowly peeled his shirt from his tanned skin, as if I could lift the weight from his shoulders with every button undone. I ran my hands down his chest to the top of his pants, and unbuttoned those too.
