Heathen (Cerberus MC Las Vegas Chapter #1)

Chapter 32

Kaylee

I've been back at my house for over an hour, and my pulse is still racing. The last time I was here was only for a short time, and I was forced out of the backdoor because of the goon who was banging on the front door.

The fear that it'll happen again doesn't fade, despite knowing that the men who were terrorizing me and threatened the safety of my friend are behind bars.

The entire experience has opened my eyes to the danger that has always been lurking around me. It leaves me wondering if I always would've been blind to it if I hadn't made the decision to knock on that warehouse door.

The women have been rescued, but can I really consider it a rescue if they're just being held against their will by what most would consider a lawful entity? They're still prisoners, and, to me, that doesn't make things better.

Did I ruin their lives because I wanted to find out what happened to Alena? Are those women going to be even more miserable because of my actions? It doesn't matter if someone has the best of intentions. The fallout is what is measured, and knowing they're all being held and threatened with possible deportation doesn't make me feel like I did the right thing at all.

Misery leaks from my pores at an accelerated rate because the air conditioning unit in the small house is old and fighting the heat that has been trapped inside for the days that I've been gone.

I don't feel comfortable here, and not just on a physical level because of the thickness of the air.

I feel out of place, as if I don't belong. I bet if I sat and spent a little time reflecting on all the times I've been here, I'll realize that I wasn't exactly comfortable here before I met Ellis either.

What I hate the most is knowing how I felt with him versus how I feel now. Living with knowing how things were is going to be so much worse than having existed in a world where we had never met.

The saying that it's better to have loved and lost rather than never loved at all is a massive crock of shit.

But I don't know that I'd give up my memories of him if someone had the power to ease the ache inside of me.

What I do know is that I can't stay here, and I know, as I pick up my phone and search my very limited contacts for Morgan's name, that here may actually be Las Vegas or even Nevada as a whole.

The thought of going back and begging him to keep me just a little while longer is making my skin crawl with an urgency that I know will lead me right back to the gate of the Cerberus property. How freaking sad and shameful is that?

I could never live down the embarrassment. That's why I'll probably have to eventually pack my shit and leave town, put a little distance between Ellis and me so it'll be a lot harder to crawl to him with pleading on my lips.

"How do you always call right when I need you the most?" Morgan asks when the call connects.

"It's a gift," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can gather, which isn't much.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I assure her, because talking about it with Morgan wouldn't lead to the outcome I need the most.

She'll try and convince me to go to him, assuring me that he feels exactly the same but men just have to be led by the nose sometimes, or she'll suggest fire-bombing his house. The tide could go either way, and there's no telling which direction she'd take.

"Well, this whole fucking thing is starting to look like a complete waste of my time," she mutters.

From the sound of it, she would definitely give me advice on which type of fabric would work best in the Molotov cocktail.

"I can help," I offer.

"That would require you being here," she reminds me. "Pack a bag. This is going to be an all-nighter."

As much as I initially wanted to escape, now that there's a legitimate offer on the table, I'm a little hesitant to leave.

What if he feels the same and comes looking for me?

What if he decides to grovel and beg me to come back to his house and I'm not here?

What if he—

"Give me half an hour," I tell her before hanging up the phone. Let's be honest.

None of that is going to happen.

He didn't falter once when I told him I was going to leave. He offered me keys to a vehicle to get my ass out of his house faster. I didn't imagine that happening.

It's still a while until the sun begins to set, and I can tell by the urgency in my muscles that I have to be elsewhere when it happens. I know that Morgan's safety was threatened because of the choices that I made, but I trust what Ellis said about us being safe.

It doesn't stop me from pausing when I hear sounds outside as I pack my clothes. There's nothing outwardly different in my neighborhood than it has been any other time I've been here, but something just seems to continue to thicken the air, making my breaths come out faster. There's this sense of urgency that is scratching at my arms and legs.

I'm psyching myself up so much that I nearly forget to grab the dry-cleaning bag that has my Halloween costume in it.

I'm standing in the middle of my room, wondering what I might be forgetting, when my phone chimes with the alert that my Uber is just a few blocks away. I know I'm going to have to do something about the no-car situation because I'll be broke in less than a week if I have to keep paying for a car service to get me from one place to another.

Thankfully, there are no other strange cars on the road when I leave my house and lock the door behind me. The ride-share driver is a woman, and that offers me just a hint of gratefulness. The gender of a driver isn't something that I would've worried about before, but that has recently changed.

I think growing up in a small town, where men were expected to be chivalrous toward women and risked getting hit over the head with a frying pan by their mothers if there were ever whispers that they acted differently, gave me this false sense of security. Troy was a complete asshole to me at times, but he always opened the door, always placed his palm on my back to guide me places.

I always knew that there were bad men in the world but coming face-to-face with them in that warehouse made me open my eyes a little to just how the world could be. Honestly, although the threats were there, I was never mistreated by Dima or any of his goons. They never put their hands on me or struck me. I know just how bad things could've been, and I have to count myself lucky that Ellis came along when he did.

I shake my head as I settle into the backseat of the car, giving my driver a quick smile as I try to shove down all thoughts of the last week of my life.

Because we have to cross through one of the busier parts of town to get to Morgan’s house, it takes longer than half an hour to get there.

I complete the ride with yet another smile on my face and bid the driver to have a good day, dipping my head when she says it back as if the words are rote.

I shoulder my bag, hold the neck of the clothes hanger, and make my way to the front door.

I knock, growing a little frustrated in the heat when there's no answer.

I press the doorbell about fifteen times and still get no response.

My irritation only raises my blood pressure so far before I twist the doorknob and shove the damn door open, wincing when it swings back and bumps into the console table she has in her entryway.

I'm relieved when nothing topples to the granite floor and breaks.

As uncomfortable as I felt at my own house, I've always felt more uncomfortable when I visit Morgan’s place. There's a massive contrast between her life and mine, and the opulence of her massive house makes me wonder why she ever befriended me to begin with. It's not that I feel unworthy of being friends with someone the complete polar opposite of myself, but we literally come from two different worlds.

Music blares from somewhere deep inside the house, and I can picture Morgan swaying to the music and singing at the top of her lungs.

I drop my stuff on the small bench before walking toward the music. As close as Morgan and I have become, I haven't spent much time here. I've always felt out of place in a house that has breakable things more expensive than my damn car. I don't know which room she's going to want me to sleep in tonight.

The music grows louder and louder, almost loud enough that I want to cover my ears.

It isn't until I turn the corner, walking past the kitchen toward the area that leads to her backyard that I notice the first drop of blood.

My heart kicks in my chest, my feet coming to a halt as I stare down at the trail of blood. I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to go further and find the source of the blood, but that whisper in my head that urges me to get to safety wins out over any of it. I spin around, rushing back toward the front door as tears spill down my cheeks.

I feel like a coward as I run, but it's not like I have the skills needed to hurt an intruder or save a life.

The music stops suddenly, the only thing missing is the record scratch.

"Where are you going?"

I nearly topple at the sound of Morgan's voice, and she looks shocked when I turn back toward her, a sob on my lips.

"Honey?" she asks, putting down some sort of bottles on the table before rushing toward me. "What's wrong?"

"I saw the bl-blood," I stammer.

"Does it look real?" she asks with a wide smile on her face.

"I thought you were dead."

She tilts her head to the side, confusion drawing her eyebrows together.

"Preparations for this party might kill me, but we aren't there yet. Let's get to work."

Morgan's idea of getting to work is grabbing a chilled bottle of wine and splitting it between two glasses that have no business being as big as they are, but I take it from her with a thank you on my lips.

She chuckles when I guzzle rather than sip the liquid.

"Bad day?"

"The worst," I mutter before policing the words that come out of my mouth.

"Tell me all about it while we get those floating candles hung," she says, and I wonder if we aren't going to end up with her blood spilled on the floor when she climbs the ladder and it wiggles under her weight.

I start off by giving her only minor details, but as the second bottle of wine comes out, I lay it all out, every detail, including the time we spent together in the shower and in the SUV.

She's glaring at me like I've lost my mind by the time I get to what he said last night.

"He's totally into you," she assures me, but I reject her assessment completely.

"He's not. He didn'task me to stay."

"He doesn't sound like the type of guy that's going to coerce you into being somewhere you don't want to be. He's giving you a chance to go back to him with it being completely your idea."

I mull over this as I turn up the bottle, frowning when only a few drops come out into my glass.

"That's not possible. Men like that don't exist," I argue.

"Men like that do exist, crazy," she says, getting up from the couch. Decorating for the party lost its luster after we finished the first bottle of wine.

"I've never met any of them."

"Because there aren't many left in the world, and it was a chance in a gazillion that you found one in Las Vegas of all places."

I haven't spoken much about what he does for a living because he was quite secretive about it with me. I don't want to betray the limited trust he put in me by telling me about his job.

"Well, he can't even be bothered to tell me how he feels, so I don't think that's a man that I want," I mutter, holding my glass up when she comes out of the kitchen with another bottle of wine.

"You're such a liar. The two of you are going to work this out and have lots of babies. If you don't, I'll hate you forever."

"Better not start hating me until after the party, or you'll have to do the rest of this by yourself," I say, taking a long sip of wine.