Conjugal Visits (Souls Chapel Revenants MC 2)

But I could tell that he was pissed.

At everything.

The way he held himself, strung so tightly, as he said those words, as if waiting for my father’s condemnation?

I hated that for him.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” my father growled. “Beckham? You did this? How could you? And why are you calling him Hiro? His name is Kase!”

I felt that familiar roll start in my stomach again.

I’d need his trash can a few more times before I was done explaining.

“Sit down, baby,” Trouper ordered.

I did, getting to my ass a lot faster than I intended.

Troup handed me Hiro who was now very much awake. I immediately placed him on the ground next to my father’s desk where there was a small trash can full of tennis balls. I wasn’t sure why they were there, but Hiro instantly tumbled it over and started to play.

“Someone better start talkin’, really fuckin’ quick,” Louis ordered. “Or I’m about to start letting my fists fly.”

“You touch him, and I’ll never speak to you again,” I told Louis quietly. “And you’ll never see your nephew again, either.”

Louis looked at me, stunned.

“Have a seat,” Trouper ordered. “You’re going to need it.”

“I don’t have to fucking do any…”

“Sit. Fucking. Down.”

That was my mother.

I turned to see her standing there, looking pissed.

And I knew that Troup had told her. Everything.

I wasn’t sure when he would have had time. But the moment my eyes met hers, I knew that she knew.

“Blake, you don’t understand…” my father started.

“No,” my mother growled. “There are things you don’t know, Foster Spurlock. Things you have no fuckin’ clue about. Now, sit your ass down and listen to what your daughter and your son-in-law have to say. I’ve been passive about your attitude with Trouper for far too long. It’s time for it to end. They’re not teenagers anymore, Foster. They’re adults. Now, let them tell you what happened.”

“This man’s been to jail,” Dad tried to explain, but my mother interrupted him before he could get any further.

“Do you know why he went to jail, Foster?” my mother snarled. I reached for the wastepaper basket and threw up all over again. “Because your daughter was kidnapped, violated, and nearly sold into sex trafficking. So, being justifiably pissed way the hell off, Trouper beat the holy hell out of the man responsible for it until he was paralyzed, and then admitted to it. He went to jail because he wasn’t given a fair trial.”

I threw up again.

My father made this low, moaning sound in the back of his throat, and I knew that the words had finally penetrated.

He knew.

My brother knew.

I threw up again as memories assaulted me.

• • •

“Come on, let me touch her,” the grossest man I’d ever seen said.

“No,” the one that looked like he didn’t belong said. “Boss wants this one untouched. Cop bitch is going to pay, and he’s going to be the one to make her pay it. That means that she can’t be ruined by you.”

The gross man that I’d dubbed ‘Eww’ sighed, long and loud.

“This is ridiculous. He doesn’t usually care if we sample the product before we deliver it,” Eww replied.

“Listen,” the man who didn’t look like he belonged said. “You can touch her, but you can’t fuck her. Okay?”

Eww looked at me with a leer in his eyes. “Okay.”

CHAPTER 24

I do what I want, when I want, where I want! Except, I gotta ask Beckham.

-Text from Trouper to Sammy

TROUPER

I walked over to my wife and pulled her into my arms.

Behind me, Blake spoke softly to her man, and Louis stood at the door looking as if he’d been punched in the gut.

None of that was my concern at that moment in time, though.

My concern was my wife, who hadn’t stopped dry heaving in two minutes.

“Every single one of those motherfuckers are dead,” I told her as I pulled her into my arms, still dry heaving. “Dead. Every single one of them.”

She shuddered in my arms.

“I’m here. You’re safe. Nothing ever again will touch you,” I promised.

She drew in a shaky breath.

“Y’all got there in time,” she whispered.

I’d never heard the whole entire story from her kidnapping.

First, she hadn’t remembered it.

Then, when she had remembered it, she hadn’t wanted to talk about it.

Now, I was deathly afraid that if I did hear it, I’d hate myself for not protecting her from a friend that she’d come to trust.

I knew the gist of what had happened. She’d shared just enough that I could piece things together.

But I didn’t know the whole story, and I had a feeling I would never know, because she wanted to protect me.

“There was a knock on the door right as he was about to start doing the really bad stuff,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes as emotions rolled through me.

“I’ll never, ever let that happen again, baby,” I told her. “Not ever.”