When I'm With You (Little Hollow Series, #2)(38)

“Didn’t take you for a prude, Bear,” he states.

“You can’t seriously tell me you’re okay with this?” I wave my hand around the room. “We’re an MC, not a drug den. You sure as hell know that this shit wouldn’t fly back in the day, so why you letting it happen now?” My temper has got the best of me and I raise my voice, getting a little too close to him.

He presses off the wall he’s leaning against and braces up to me, standing to his whole six-foot, but it’s nothing on my six-foot three height.

“You questioning my authority again, Bear?” He growls. “I think I’ve had enough of your opinions, don’t like how we run things here? You know where the door is.”

Only he and I both know it wouldn’t be that easy. They’d come after me, I know too much to not only incriminate this chapter, but other chapters of The Crows Rebels too.

We both stand there, chest to chest, neither one wanting to move before the other. Probably a stupid move, but I decide to taunt him. “The only reason you’re letting this shit go down is because you’re clutching at straws, you know as well as I do that they’d replace your ass in a heartbeat if you didn’t let them get away with this. You took their right to vote away from them three years ago and you know they haven’t forgotten.”

My lip quirks up into an arrogant smile, thinking I’ve won as he turns to walk away. That is until I feel his fist slam into my jaw before I’ve even registered he’s turned back around.

I run at him and tackle him to the ground, raining punches down onto his face, one after the other so we’re rolling around the floor tearing into each other. Or that’s what’s happening in my head. Instead, I stand there, rooted to the spot, chest heaving wanting to pound ten tons of shit into him, but he knows I won’t. He could have me dead with a click of his fingers.

He smirks at me and looks around the room at all the brother’s who haven’t took their eyes off us.

“If you don’t have a set of balls, I want you out of this clubhouse,” he growls, eyeing all the broads in the room when they don’t move.

“Now!” He shouts.

They all squeal, grab their things, and run out the front door.

“And all of you lot, clean up this clusterfuck, the fun’s over!” Pop chimes in.

Pres eyes me and pop and nods toward his office. I guess the fun isn’t over just yet.





I can’t focus on anything else but the pain. It radiates from every limb, crevice and part of the body that I can name. But nothing hurts as bad as my spirit. I’m trying to be strong, to keep that part of me ticking over but it’s only a matter of time before he breaks me.

No! You’re stronger than this, Keeley! I tell myself.

I imagine the faces of everyone I love, or should I say Sam’s face. She wasn’t just a friend to me, she was my sister, is my sister regardless of who we were born to. Then I picture Lewis’s face, I was just starting to get to know him but I already saw him as a good friend. He’s loyal and kind and I needed that in my life more than I realized.

I smile at the same time as a lone tear makes a track down my face, and I swipe it away as I hear footsteps walking toward me, not wanting him to see me cry. I brace up against the wall, steeling myself for whatever he has in store for me next.

He walks in with a first aid box and I scoff at him.

What is his deal?

He sees me eyeing it.

“Can’t have you dying on me from an infection, can we?” He quips, humor dripping from his voice.

He’s not right in the head, he never has been. He motions for me to sit in the chair again and gives me a look of disgust as I woozily stand up. “You fuckin’ stink, come with me.”

He grabs hold of my wrist and I struggle limply against him, I don’t have the energy to fight and I feel like I’m going to throw up at any moment. He drags me down the dirty hallway into a room with a sink, making my knee scream out in pain but he doesn’t stop, roughly pushing me into the wall and warning me not to move. I watch him as he disappears. This is it, my chance to escape! I limp to the door but I’m pushed back by a hard body.

“Why can’t you just do as you’re told?” He asks in frustration.

Backing me up into a corner, he turns and starts filling up a metal bucket he brought in with him and I try to cover my body as he leers over at me.

Once it’s full, he turns around and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Strip,” he sneers.

My eyes widen and I cross my arms over my body and shake my head. There’s no way I’m doing that.

Clicking his tongue, he stalks toward me.

“I. Said. Strip,” he spits.

“And I said no,” I manage to grind out.

He roughly grasps me by the chin and squeezes. “You want to be left caked in your own filth? Be my guest.”

My chest heaves and he just stands there, assessing me, wondering what I’m going to do. I don’t know myself, this may be the only chance I have at washing the dried up blood, puke and grime off my fragile body.

I turn around, my feet crying out for the comfort of the black fluffy rug that’s in my bedroom, and start to take off my soiled clothes. My shorts go first, then my tank top. I’m left standing in my bra and panties and I stave off a whimper as I undo the clasp of my bra and let it fall to the floor. His hiss of breath makes me feel sick and I hurry to take off my panties.