He watched her reflect on his words. Always that brain of hers was ticking. Any fucking second she’d turn away, and he’d let her. He was scum, after all, even if he’d only ever targeted scums, too. The things he’d done to them–

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered.

The words sent a chill down Remy’s body and kindled something inside of him. They were like a balm to his mental wounds, easing him into a momentary sense of peace. For a flash of a second, he believed her. She was an angel telling him he wasn’t a monster, and he wanted to believe it – God, he wanted to gulp that line up and let it run its healing course throughout his body, but–

“I am,” he replied harshly, remembering his past. “You don’t know me yet, Birdy. You know nothing.”

“I know you helped me all these years,” she quickly responded. “I know there’s good inside you. Otherwise I’d have been working at a shit job in the slums of Winthrop.”

He couldn’t believe she had been for some time. Though she was right about that, he knew he wouldn’t have done it for any other person, and that fact alone was enough to confirm that he certainly wasn’t good. She could convince herself of that bullshit lie if it made her feel better, though.

“Remy,” she started, her voice like silk in his ears. “I know monsters. Norman was one of them. They pick on the weak and innocent. They hurt for their own satisfaction. Is that you?”

Remy didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He just sighed in response and brought her closer to him.

“I know the answer is no,” she later mumbled before she fell fast asleep.

Jaxon

“Where’s the money?” Jaxon asked, holding the gun lamely at the man’s head. “Come on, man. Don’t make me shoot you.”

The quivering, coke addict quivered under the gaze of the gun, tucking his knees into his chest. Jaxon didn’t know if he was shaking because he was scared of dying or because he was desperate for another fix. This was fucking ridiculous.

Did he really have to fucking beat the guy? And why the fuck was he even here anyway? He should have been managing the books, taking care of the businesses, doing what he actually enjoyed instead of chasing a few grand out of skeletal drug-heads who couldn’t pay up.

Finley was doing this on purpose, that piece of shit prick. The guy loved to push buttons, and with Jaxon barely around for Scorpion functions, he was now the target. Just thinking about it pissed him off. He shouldn’t be here in some back alley in the middle of the fucking night! Fuck Finley and fuck this douche bag moron who traded his life away to shoot his arm up for temporary pleasure.

He was going to shoot him. That was the purpose of this, after all. His fingers lingered around the trigger…

He shoved it back into his jeans and pulled the man up roughly by the collar of his shirt. Then he slammed him hard against the building and shook him with unrestrained rage.

“You’re a pathetic piece of shit,” Jaxon growled, watching the man’s horror stricken face utter out whimpers. “Getting loans from a fucking mob boss to finance your drug habit and being unable to pay that shit back? You’re a fucking moron! If it was anyone else but me standing in this spot, they’d have shot your pathetic ass.”

“Please–”

“Shut the fuck up when I’m talking to you! You’re going to get the fuck out of town before sunrise and you’re never going to come back. You come back and you’re dead. Got it?”

Like a bobble-head, the kid nodded over and over again. Jaxon shoved him to the ground and gave him a swift kick up the ass. The rabid druggie ran down the alleyway and out of site in record time.

Jaxon sighed and rested his forehead against the side of the building. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him. None of this was him.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

*****

Jaxon felt pity for the guy, but what the hell could he do about it?

He could do nothing but watch from afar at the way they knocked him around and then steeled him away into the toilets to rape the shit out of him. Yet another pretty face that had no chance the second he stepped foot here.

As long as it wasn’t him, that’s all that mattered at the time. If another fish had to get fucked to keep the attention off of him, then so be it.

Wow. Just the direction of those thoughts had stunned him. What the fuck have I become? The question plagued him as he went about his days.

He was lucky he was a damn good fighter, and now that he knew these men were a bunch of cowards hiding behind a façade of strength, he never had his back turned to anyone.

He watched the inmates closely, figuring out who was on top and who wasn’t. As he continued to subtly observe, he started putting the pieces together of what was going on around here. He knew where the power rested and he needed to get to it.

And now began the orchestrating. He was going to do this, he told himself. After it was done, he would climb up and finish his sentence unscathed. And if he finished his sentence unscathed and got out of here… He would find her. He would find her and demand answers. Then he would make her his again because he was a lovesick fool who’d do anything for her.

He later watched the same tall, pretty faced man stumble out of the toilets. The man could barely walk. Jaxon squashed his pity and moved on. The last thing he needed was to feel sorry for anyone other than himself.

Nine

Life went on. Days passed by. The world stayed the same. And I changed.

I never left the clubhouse that winter. Remy wouldn’t allow it. He wanted me safe. The danger, he said, was still high, and if someone wanted me dead, they’d be watching carefully. What normally would have terrified me didn’t. I was supposed to be freaked the fuck out. I wasn’t. I just didn’t care anymore.

I integrated within the club well. I got along with everyone. Rita wasn’t around often. I quickly learned from the old ladies that she was quite the promiscuous thing and had tried on several occasions to saddle up to an indifferent Logan, but Remy wanted none of that. He’d apparently said she wasn’t fit for the club life, and I wondered what made someone “fit” for the club life.

Her destination was usually Winthrop, and she’d be gone for days on end with her buddies. Remy hated her friends, hated her outings, hated that he knew she was bouncing from guy to guy, but he’d resigned himself. She wasn’t a little girl. Everyone reminded him of that time and time again when she never picked up her calls. If she wanted to club in Winthrop and take random men home, that was her own business, he decided.