“Well, you’ll be stuck sitting with me in the front of the moving truck for the next several hours. I suggest you be prepared to discuss this shit and what the fuck you were thinking coming down here by yourself,” Tracker says as he follows me. From the tone of his voice, I can tell he’s pissed with me as well.
Everyone can just go to hell with their pissed off moods, thinking they can take over my life. All I wanted was for my cousin to watch over my kids for me while I handled my own problems. No one needed to come after me.
Does it make me sound like an ungrateful bitch? Maybe. Nonetheless, I am thankful they came.
“Go get in the truck. I’ll be out in a minute,” I say when I get to the room that used to be mine.
“Nope, you're not leaving my sight until we get back to the clubhouse, and I hand you to your ol’ man,” Tracker declares.
“He’s not my ol’ man,” I snap.
“Whatever you say, Rach. Now, come on, I’d like to get home and pass the fuck out,” he says.
“In a minute,” I mutter as I make my way to the corner of the room near the window and drop to my knees.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I pick at the edge of the carpet, pulling it away from the baseboard.
“Don’t worry about what I’m doing. I’m grabbing something that belongs to me,” I retort.
“I swear you used to be a hell of a lot less of a pain in my ass growing up,” Tracker grumbles.
I don’t respond to his words as I reveal the hidden compartment I’d made in the floor. Opening the space up, I pull out the photo albums I’d hidden from Lucien. I never told him I was related to Tracker, so I’d kept my albums secured away to keep that secret. The next thing I grab is a cash box that held not only money in it but mementos from growing up.
By the time I pull the last of my things out of the compartment, Tracker is sitting on the floor next to me, looking through a photo album, one I wish he hadn’t picked up. The one I dedicated to the club from my times being there. I’d always loved photography, so I was constantly taking pictures of the guys, even some of the women who’d come.
There’s one particular picture in that album that is my absolute favorite.
“You know, Rach, you’ve always had talent when it came to using your cameras. I never understood why you didn’t stick with it,” he murmurs as his gaze lands on one of him, Blaze, and Stoney. They all had their heads tilted upward while laughing at something. I’m not sure what, but the shot turned out beautifully. The one next to it is my favorite, though. It’s a close-up of Stoney. From the angle of his face and the way I’d captured his chiseled jaw and the glint in his eyes, you’d have thought he was looking directly at you.
Reaching over, I grab the album and close it. “No reason to discuss this right now,” I mutter. I wasn’t about to tell him why I stopped taking pictures. He didn’t need to know. Same as he didn’t need to hear what happened with Stoney.
I gather all my things into my arms and stand. “We can go now,” I say softly.
Sighing, Tracker stands on his feet and shakes his head.
Between Tracker’s constant questions that I did my best to avoid and my thoughts wandering to images of Stoney with other women, laughing about me being nothing to him but his property, and the way his eyes seemed to fill with hate during our argument earlier, I was ready to pull my hair out by the time we made it back to the clubhouse.
“Rach, we're here,” Tracker says as he pulls up to a house rather than the actual clubhouse.
“Where are we?” I ask, furrowing my brow in confusion.
“Your new home.” I want nothing more than to smack the smirk off his face as he climbs out of the driver’s seat.
“Why am I not staying at the clubhouse anymore?” I demand as I follow his lead and get out of the truck. “My kids are there. I need to go to them.”
“Stoney doesn’t want you there.” I hope he doesn’t see how I flinch at his words or see my heart sinking to the floor.
“Fine, but I need to go get my kids,” I snap angrily to cover my pain.
“Let’s get you inside first,” he states, nodding toward the door as he grabs my arm and all but drags me to the front door. “Don’t be a brat about this. I’m just doing as I was told.”
“So if you're told to jump off a bridge, you’d do just that?” I demand.
“Depends what I’m jumping in for,” he shrugs, opening the door. Tracker ushers me inside and closes the door behind us.
“I don’t see why you had to be the one to tell me Stoney didn’t want me at the clubhouse. He should have had the balls to tell me himself,” I say, doing my best to hide the pain of knowing I was right all along.
“Maybe you should ask me instead of snapping at your cousin.” I whip around to find Stoney standing in the mouth of the hallway, shirtless and barefoot.
Holy shit, I’m in trouble.
18
Stoney
I’d fumed the whole way back home, wanting to cause pain to someone. Anyone. By the time I made it to the clubhouse and checked the time, I realized I’d made it here an hour earlier than I should have. Climbing off my bike, I stalk into the clubhouse, wanting to do nothing but pass out in my bed.
“Stoney,” Cherry Pie’s squeal pisses me off as she jumps into my arms. If not for her opening her fuckin’ mouth to Rachel, I’d be
