Read Online Unholy: The Unholys MC by Ellen Harper - Free Book Online Page A

to the living room where there was a TV that rarely got used unless football was on and the aforementioned couch that was thankfully no longer occupied very often. There were a few scattered pictures, mostly of the guys,  me and Johnny, my father, and of the slew of foster families that Johnny had been rotated through.
     
    I walked through the living room to the right where the kitchen was, a small thing that barely covered it for the two of us and would never do if we had any sort of company over. Which we didn’t, at least none that weren’t accommodated by grilling outside instead.
     
    The stairs leading to the bedroom on the second floor was adjacent to the kitchen entryway, but I ignored them. Johnny’s voice had come from the kitchen.
     
    When I walked in, I saw why I’d heard the sounds of running water. Johnny had both of his hands submerged beneath the running stream of the faucet, the water running pink as he scrubbed at his knuckles and beneath his fingernails.
     
    I stared at his hands for a moment, realizing that the cuts lacing his knuckles weren’t the same ones from before. I could see some of the old blood that had already dried like alligator skin, some that he’d missed, and I saw the bright fresh stuff, too.
     
    Johnny was washing off fresh blood and it sent a tingle down my spine. Something had happened tonight.
     
    “Johnny?”
     
    He looked up at me, his tense shoulders easing slightly as his eyes found me. There was something in them tonight and I knew whatever had happened had been bad. Really bad.
     
    “Hey, baby,” he murmured, his deep voice soft and sweet in the dark, but the underlying tension didn’t leave as he spoke. “C’mere.”
     
    I did. I went to him as he turned off the faucet and dried off his hands. The towel came away red, just a little, and I watched it as he put it back on the counter. I didn’t want to ask about what happened tonight. I didn’t want to know, but something in me had to.
     
    “Johnny,” I repeated even as his arms opened up for me and I stepped into them, letting his strength envelop me for a moment in his warmth. He held me for a long, silent moment until I asked, “What happened tonight?”
     
    He didn’t answer right away, instead remaining silent as he held me, but eventually he let me go, stepping back slightly.
     
    “Are you happy?” he asked me, an unexpected question, and also not an answer to my question.
     
    My eyebrows rose in surprise and I tried to hide some of what I’d been feeling that night. He didn’t need my worries weighing on him, too, I knew that much; besides, I hadn’t really worked through them myself anyway. But he was looking at me with those dark eyes, all seriousness and intensity, and I couldn’t not tell him the truth. I just couldn’t.
     
    I looked away, trying to find the right words. Ultimately, they came too simply. “No,” I said, and it came out as a whisper. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his shoulders slump and knew I needed to give a better explanation. “I’m tired of the violence. I’m tired of the fear. I…I want us to be in a better place.” I hoped that was enough to tell him that this wasn’t about not wanting him. This was about not wanting the life we were leading.
     
    After a moment, he managed to get out, “Me, too.”
     
    Unable to stand in that silence for any longer, I went to get some ice from the fridge because it was something to do. I didn’t want to see his expression, suddenly afraid to find nothing but hollowness in his eyes.
     
    When I came back, he’d finally found an answer for my initial question. One we could both, maybe, live with.
     
    “Things got…complicated tonight. There was some trouble,” he told me hesitantly, something deep and dark flashing in his eyes. I couldn’t be sure what it was, but I knew it was bad. There was something he seemed intent on telling me, but couldn’t seem to decide if he should or not. “A lot happened