Rage (Royal Bastards MC 2)

“Thanks for feeding me,” she quips, taking the beer I placed down for her and drawing a swig. She’s fascinating to watch, her eyes squinting in displeasure as the liquid hits her tongue.

A chuckle rumbles my chest. “Haven’t had beer before?”

Her brother owned a bar, surely she has. “Wait—are you legal?”

Fuck, why is this the first time I’m even thinking this? Because you saw her fucking naked and assumed she was older. You’re a pervert.

“I’m nineteen, nearly twenty, and Milo didn’t let me drink.” She rolls her eyes and serves up the food before picking up her fork and digging in. “He didn’t let me do anything. Our dad left when we were kids and our mom died, so he has abandonment issues.”

She offers up like we’ve known each other longer than a couple hours, unashamed of where she comes from or what she’s been through. A twinge in my chest makes me want to reach for her and hold her, rescue her, fix her. It’s macho-man bullshit. She’s not a project or an object to piece back together. She’s a human being and has never been treated like one. But fuck, there’s something about her. Maybe neither of us having parents is bonding us on some subconscious level. Fuck if I know.

“And what about you?” I want to know what she thinks, feels, her take on herself, her life.

“Me what?” she asks around a mouthful of food. She’s refreshing, eating enthusiastically and swigging more of the beer she clearly doesn’t like. Her nose twitching as the dull taste hits her tongue is fucking adorable.

“I can get you some water or a soda if you don’t like the beer,” I offer, feeling shitty that she’s suffering through it.

“It tastes really bad. Why do you like this?” She covers her mouth and lets out a giggle.

I grab a soda and slide it across the table. “Thank you.”

“So…” I push the pasta around my plate. It tastes fucking horrible, but I don’t want to offend her by pushing it away. “Do you have abandonment issues?” It’s a bold question, but with her being open, I’m hoping she won’t be offended.

“I’ve been my brother’s prisoner since I was nine years old. I have issues, but they aren’t abandonment issues.” The corners of her lips twitch.

I study her features, wondering how her life could have been if she’d been born to a good family who didn’t abandon or suffocate her.

“If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

This piques her interest. Excitement dances in her eyes. “I’d want to shop for clothes I actually like and choose for myself. Oh, and get this cut!” She pulls a funny face as she picks up a handful of the dark curls cascading all the way down her back. “Mr. Right insisted I keep it long.” She shudders, and I make a mental note to find out more about this Mr. fucking Right. “Maybe find a job, make some friends,” she adds quietly, caressing the can of soda absentmindedly. “I don’t know. I guess I just want to learn about the world outside of Milo, you know?”

Yeah, I know. You will. “I’m going to help you do that.”

Large eyes focus on me, the color of leaves in the autumn, brown with tones of green and yellow. Fucking hypnotizing. “Why?” she sits back, her hands falling into her lap.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to help me? Why do you care what happens?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. How you’ve been living is wrong.” No one stepped in to fucking rescue her from that motherfucker when she couldn’t rescue herself. I was powerless to help the girls in the system when I was a kid, but I have connections and means now. “Do you have other relatives?”

“None who care. I don’t want your pity, Gabe. Families have to sacrifice for each other. Milo is controlling, but he loves me in his own way. Without him, I’d have no one.”

“You have me now,” I say without thinking.

“I don’t understand why,” she says again, her brows scrunching, her tone almost desperate. “No one has ever cared or spoken up for me.” She holds her hand up and I notice a slice on her palm. “That’s not true. One person spoke up to stop Milo and Milo stabbed him to death right there in our living room, like he was a stray dog who dared bare teeth.” Sadness coats her eyes.

“There doesn’t always have to be a reason or motive for people to help. I’m fucking sorry you had to witness that shit, Willa. I wish I’d found you sooner, but here we are. Just accept what I’m offering.”

“Milo will expect me to be returned home,” she warns. “Did you hear what I said? He killed someone for speaking up for me.” I hold back the amusement at her statement. To her, Milo is dangerous, the big bad. To me, he’s a fucking punk I’ll put to ground. Killing that asshole would be a pleasure. In fact, it’s probably the only way she will truly be free of him.