Just across from the spot Czar had chosen to meet Plank were two buildings and several trees. On the rooftop of the women’s bathroom, Lana kept Plank in her sights, her hands steady, finger never leaving the trigger.
Sitting comfortably in the crotch of the apple tree, Scarlet had Lion in her sights, watching carefully that he didn’t make a single move toward Czar.
On the roof of the third building, Lissa kept her rifle centered squarely on Shark. It was Gavriil and Casimir, Czar’s two birth brothers and Torpedo Ink brethren, who were the biggest threat to the Diamondbacks in the group watching Czar fade away. The two Prakenskii brothers were like ghosts, able to slip in and out of crowds, shadows unseen, even when making a kill. They listened to make certain Plank wasn’t double-crossing Czar and sending someone to kill him.
There was no way Seychelle was going to be able to sleep, not with Savage prowling around the craziness that was loud music, the sound of motorcycles, laughter and conversations vying for airspace with all the partying going on. In other words, to her, the night was chaos. There were many parties, not just one. Each party was loud and different and seemed to rival the one next to it. She was left alone in her little world of illusion and madness; the worst of it was, it was of her own making.
Seychelle paced around her little campsite there in the shelter of the trees and darkness. The fire in the pit was burning low and didn’t throw light to the outer perimeter, so she could walk around in silence hopefully unseen, for the most part. Occasionally she could hear the murmur of voices. She knew a couple of the club members had stayed behind to keep an eye on her. She had pulled on her jeans and boots, put on a bra and T-shirt under her long sweater just to feel like she could make a run for it if she needed to. She’d even transferred everything she might need inside the built-in pocket of her boot.
She had asked for this life. She chose it when she chose Savage. Granted, she’d thought she was choosing him, not his club. Not this. He had said he wasn’t into humiliation, and she believed him. He should understand how it felt to be used by an entire group of people who looked down on her—who didn’t include her in their circle. They made it clear she was inferior to them. That was humiliation, any way you looked at it.
Why? She pondered that question as she paced. She didn’t have fighting skills. Clearly, that was prized. Lissa and Scarlet were treated as members of the club. They were definitely in and privy to information. Blythe wasn’t a fighter, but then she was Czar’s wife. That might make her exempt from any judgment. Since all of them shared everything, it was possible Torpedo Ink looked down on her because she allowed Savage to use her the way he did sexually. It was more than possible that he actually discussed with them that she enjoyed it. That she begged him to take her over and over. If that was the case, and they thought she was really nothing more than someone they could use, that might explain why she was treated so differently.
She was in love with him, and Savage knew it. He knew she craved the sex and the experiences he gave her. He knew every button to push with her and how to keep her coming back to him when she was certain she should walk away. Seychelle forced herself to sit in the camp chair, where she pressed both hands to her face. She would have to live like this for the rest of her life, knowing she truly loved Savage. She was in love with him, but she wasn’t altogether certain he was capable of loving her back.
He said he loved her. He looked as if he loved her. He touched her with reverence and love at times. But then there were other times like this. He knew she was scared and felt battered emotionally. Instead of talking to her and letting her know what was happening and what to expect, he kept her in the dark, knowing it made her feel alone, an outcast. An outsider. He had set their relationship up so that if she protested in front of his club, he had the right to punish her. She had the terrible fear that he might choose to do so in front of them. She knew she would never forgive him if he did.
Did he really know her at all? She had watched him so carefully, tried to take the time to get to know him so she could see to his needs. Had he done the same with her? After they had sex, he always cared for her. Always. She was up and out of the chair again, pacing back and forth, trying to think about the in-between times.