Twisted with Chaos: A CASH BAR NOVEL

by Faiman, Hayley

  “A girl,” she whispers.

  I shake my head, removing the sadness from my face. Carson saw it though, anyone could see it, I was completely unable to hide it. My eyes lift to her and I return the fake smile, but after only a split second it becomes a genuine one.

  “Oh no, Keys is in deep shit. You know that girl is going to be gorgeous, just like her mama,” I wink.

  Carson slides her arm around my shoulders and pulls me against her side for a hug. “I love you, Roxie. I’m glad you’re back, and that you’re okay. I’ve missed you.”

  I’m unable to hold back a sniffle from her words. I missed her too, so fucking much. Thankfully, Carson doesn’t look at me, I’d hate for her to see the true raw emotion on my face as I think about what I have to tell her. I let out a sigh, not wishing to say the words aloud, but I need to say them anyway.

  “I missed you too, Carson. I miss Axe, and even if I’ll never tell him to his face, I miss the hell out of Houston,” I admit.

  We stay like that, pressed against one another for too long. Longer than we should. It doesn’t matter though, I would stay like this forever. I love her. Whatever Carson could ever need from me, she has it. Whatever she could even think of asking, it’s hers. She saved me, she doesn’t know it, and maybe one day I’ll tell her, but she saved my life.

  Carson turns her head, my eyes follow in the direction of hers, and I notice Ace is staring at her. He looks like he can’t wait even another second to have her at his side. She’s too far away from him, just being across the lawn. I love that for her. I fucking adore it, actually.

  “Go home to him, to your family,” I breathe.

  Carson takes a step from me, our arms falling from our bodies. “When do you need us to pack you up and bring you home?” she asks.

  This is the moment. There is nothing I could say to evade the truth that needs to be told. My sad eyes meet hers and she shakes her head, her eyes turning almost horrified by what she knows I’m about to tell her.

  “I’m not going back. I’m going to stay here,” I finally state.

  “Roxie,” she exhales as tears fill her eyes.

  “It’s better this way. He needs to move on. I need to move on. He can’t have the life he wants with me there.” I said it.

  The words are out, and they don’t make me feel any fucking better. In fact, they make me feel disgustingly sick, sicker than I have ever experienced in my life. I want to throw up.

  “You know he wants you, that’s all,” she points out.

  I smirk, trying to cover up the way that I feel on the inside. “I know. He can’t have me,” I say.

  I have to force the words out. They don’t just come, I have to make them escape my lips. Because they are a downright lie. He could have me. I would give myself to him a thousand times, he just can’t keep me, and that’s why I can’t go back to him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HOUSTON

  I glance at the doorway, again, when someone walks through. My chest deflates when it isn’t Carson, Keys, or more importantly, Roxanne. They might bring her home today, at least that’s what Keys told me. She’s finished with her outpatient shit, her trailer is ready and waiting for her, Carson made sure of that. She still has the used furniture from all of the brothers, but when she’s back here, I’m going to make sure she gets all brand new shit. New shit for a new start—the way it always should have been.

  “Brother, you are fucking antsy, have a drink.”

  Lifting my head, I look over to the man at my side. It’s Baby. He smiles, pushing a full shot glass toward me. He’s got the bottle between us at the table, his own glass in hand. Picking up the glass, I clink it against his before I swallow it in one gulp. He does the same. Then he pours me another glass full. Down the hatch one more time before a word is said between us.

  “She’s the one then?” he asks.

  “She is.”

  He nods. A shadow crosses over his features. “What if she don’t want to be that for you?” he asks. He isn’t looking at me, his focus is off in the distance. If I were a guessing man, I’d say he’s not even talking about me and Roxie, he’s thinking of his own woman, whoever she may be.

  “Then I’ll convince her that I’m what she needs,” I shrug.

  Baby shakes his head, pouring himself another drink. I watch him swallow the dark liquid before he stands to his feet. “You can’t make her be yours, trust me.”

  He walks away. I expect him to go farther into the clubhouse, but instead he makes his way outside. Thinking about his words my stomach twists. Roxanne doesn’t want me. If she doesn’t come back here with Carson and Keys, then I don’t know if I could get her here myself. Not willingly, at least.

  Pouring myself another shot, I drink it quickly, my eyes staying glued to the doorway. Then I see them. Carson walks through first, her belly round, but cute as shit. Keys is close behind her, his hand on her hip as he moves through the doorway. His eyes find mine almost immediately and the look on his face, it tells me everything I need to know.

  Standing to my feet, my chair falls behind me. Carson’s eyes meet mine and she fucking flinches. I don’t bother walking over to them. I can’t. It hurts too fucking bad. Roxanne has made it fucking clear that she doesn’t want me, she doesn’t want to be near me. The cunt. I wish that I could forget about her as quickly as she’s forgotten about me.

  “Houston,” a voice calls out, just as I’m marching toward the door to leave the bar.

  I pause, turning around, dipping my chin down and seeing Carson standing far too fucking close. I’m too pissed to have her anywhere near me, but there she is, and she isn’t backing down.

  “She’s just trying to do the right thing. Don’t be angry with her,” she whispers. “I think that she’ll come to her senses and come home,” she smiles.

  Lifting my hand, I scrub my palm down my face and let out a breath. Shaking my head, I look into her pretty innocent eyes. “That’s a sweet notion, but I don’t think she’ll ever come back on her own. She’s punishing herself for something that she can’t control.”

  Saying the words out loud, it makes me feel like I’m talking about myself. I’ve been there. I’ve punished myself for years for things beyond my control. Fuck, I punished myself for simply living when everyone around me died. I’m a hypocrite, because I’m still punishing myself for shit that was, and is, out of my control.

  Doesn’t fucking matter. It’s human nature. Self-preservation. That is exactly what she’s doing. She thinks she’s saving me from some life that she has decided I don’t want. When in reality, she’s saving herself from possible hurt. If she only knew. If she only understood that I would kill any motherfucker who even thought about hurting her—even myself.

  “Be patient with her, she’s fighting,” Carson whispers.

  I dip my chin in acknowledgment. She’s wrong though. Roxanne was born a fighter, she was made to fight. Right now she’s just chosen the wrong fucking one. She’s chosen to fight me, and little does she know, I won’t put up with that goddamn shit—not for a second.

  ROXANNE

  Inhaling the space, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off as I unpack my meager belongings. I can hear Melodie in the next room, putting her things away as well. It’s our first night in our apartment. Tomorrow we start working, luckily on the same shift, but tonight we are going to unpack and maybe order a pizza.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause. I don’t look at myself too often anymore. I haven’t had the need. There is no man to look good for, there never will be again. I’ve been focused on therapy, medications, and finding employment. Looks have not been at the top of my priority list.

  The woman staring back at me, though, I should have looked at her a long time ago. She doesn’t look the same as she did six months ago. My face is hollow, my body too thin, something that is a side effect of my medication. I’m no longer the curvy girl that I once was, I’ve lost my boobs and my ass. My shape is more of a stra
ight line rather than dips and curves like it used to be.

  “The meds have different effects on different people,” Melodie explains, her shoulder leaning against the doorjamb.

  I lift my eyes to hers, giving her a small smile. She’s the opposite of me, she’s gained the weight that I lost. She’s lush curves, round ass, thick thighs, and lustrous long hair. My hair is going to need a cut, the ends are lifeless, dry, and thin. It’s also grown out, showcasing my naturally dark blonde color, instead of the black that I’d been dying it for years.

  “Sucks that they do wonders for you, and make me look like the crypt keeper,” I snort.

  She shakes her head, taking a step closer toward me. “You couldn’t look bad if you tried. You’re still gorgeous. Thin and gorgeous. Most women would kill for that body you’re sporting now,” she smiles.

  I nod, trying to believe her words, and yet, not feeling even an ounce of the gorgeous she claims that I am. “Let’s order a pizza,” I grin.

  “Are you going to call him? I thought once your friends came…” Her words trail off.

  She knows a little about Houston. We didn’t always have the same group therapy sessions, but we shared a few, especially over the past few months in the outpatient home.

  Shaking my head, I hold my hand up to stop her from speaking anything else. I don’t want her to say his name, if she does, I might just break. It’s taken every ounce of restraint that I have inside of me not to run to him, not to call him, not to beg him for just an ounce of affection. I’m doing all that I can to stay away, to give him the chance that he deserves at happiness.

  “He’s going to be waiting for you, do you think that’s fair or healthy?” she asks.

  She knows. She fucking knows that what I’m doing is against the advice of my therapists.

  They all want me to confront him, to come clean, to tell him everything. They want me to give him the choice. The problem is, I know that he would choose me. He would choose this life of hell over a life without me in it. I won’t let him. Therefore, I’m going to ignore him and ignore my feelings for him at the same time.

  “Pizza it is then,” she chirps.

  We don’t speak of Houston, not for the rest of the evening. We make a list of all of the things we need while we eat pizza over the cardboard box it was delivered in. It reminds me of the day me and Carson arrived in Canada. When we were just dropped off at the trailer with nothing but a few hundred bucks that Ace tossed at Carson.

  I smile, remembering how none of it bothered me, I was happy to be there, and then the rest of the brother’s showed with their Old Ladies and donated their old shit for us to use. It was amazing. They were amazing. I loved it. I loved every second of it. If I close my eyes, I can still remember it like I’m sitting right there in that trailer at this exact moment.

  “Let’s go to bed, we need to work tomorrow and need plenty of sleep,” Melodie announces after a few moments of silence.

  My eyes open, and I look over to her and smile. “Do you miss the place you were before here, or home?”

  She tilts her head to the side, a faraway look in her eyes for a brief moment. “I don’t miss the women’s shelters, or the streets I ended up on. I know that I shouldn’t, but I miss the compound, which is where I was before I was rescued,” she says her last word in a sneer. She obviously is resentful that she was rescued, but I think it’s because it took her home away, not because she’s one of them.

  “What kind of compound was it, where you lived?” I ask, trying to dig without seeming like I know anything.

  She bites the corner of her lip, then lifts her gaze to meet mine. “They weren’t good men, not by society’s standards,” she whispers.

  I know about men who aren’t good by society’s standards, Houston is one of them. Tim was considered a good man, and he beat and cheated on me. So, I don’t put much faith in what society deems good or bad.

  “They believed that there was one divine race, which was my purpose, and the purpose of all the women. We were meant to create that divine race,” she admits.

  “Do you believe that now? I won’t judge, just like in group, this is a no judgment zone. I’m just curious, I guess,” I admit.

  It’s a lie, I’m more than curious. I need to know. I like Melodie, but if she’s some crazy fucking racist, instead of just plain crazy, I may not be able to live with her for too long.

  She looks up at the ceiling for a breath before she brings her eyes back to mine. “I did for a while. I thought that what we were doing was a good thing. I have met so many good people since I’ve been out, all different races, that I don’t believe any one person is above another, especially not because of the color of their skin,” she explains.

  My heart grows with pride. I’m relieved, I let out a sigh at the same time I smile. “I’m glad. I embrace everyone, I’m glad you feel the same way now.”

  “You don’t think I’m a bad person because I miss the compound though?”

  I shake my head. “It’s where you felt safe. I get it.” Something niggles at the back of my mind, and I won’t be able to sleep unless I ask her. “How did you end up there at the compound? Were you born there?”

  Something flashes behind her eyes and as quickly as it appears, it disappears, and she smiles sweetly. “My mother took me when I was ten. Delivered me to my husband,” she admits.

  I blink, unsure that I heard her correctly. “Ten?” I ask when she doesn’t elaborate.

  She nods with a faraway expression on her face. “We weren’t legally married until I was fourteen. But I was his at the age of ten. My mother had been purchased by the group, and I was born from that sale,” she explains.

  My heart aches for her. Completely aches. She wasn’t born with this mental disorder the way that I was. She was abused, probably drugged, and tortured into the woman that she is now. My heart races at the thought. How did I not know any of this about her? How did she leave the facility without talking about these things? Who the fuck did I just move in with?

  “I’ve scared you,” she whispers. “It’s why I don’t tell anyone. A lot of cultures marry their husbands young. It used to be a very common practice. The compound adopted those rules so that it would give more years for breeding,” she explains. “My husband and I didn’t have sex until after my first period, if that makes you feel better about it?”

  I shake my head. It doesn’t, not even a little bit. He was a goddamn pedophile, and she was severely abused, physically and mentally. She needs more help than just a few weeks in an inpatient facility, she needs extensive help, for probably years. But like I told her, no judgment zone. I try not to judge her, her feelings, or her previous life.

  “I was having sex at thirteen,” I admit.

  I don’t know why I tell her this, why I blurt it out, maybe to make her feel less alone. It’s the truth, though. Except, I was mostly doing it with boys my age then, I didn’t graduate to older boys and men until high school. However, I wasn’t given to a man at the age of ten for the purpose of breeding a perfect race.

  “Samuel and I didn’t have sex until I was fourteen. We waited for four years. It was hard, but he taught me a lot during those four years,” she explains. “I really did love him, so much,” she whispers. “He left one day on a mission and never came back.”

  Pressing my lips together, I don’t ask anymore, I want to know everything, but there is something really wrong here. Something is still there in the back of my mind, there’s a rolling in the pit of my stomach, all my senses are on high alert that this feels really fucking wrong with her.

  “I’ve never loved before, before I met Houston. I’m sorry for what happened,” I whisper, reaching out to grasp her hand in my own.

  My sympathy is real, my body, however, feels ill right now. I need space, to be alone, to be in bed, to be away from her so that I can think. We clean up our mess and quietly make our way toward our rooms. Thankfully, this apartment came semi-furnished. We both have beds, a dresser,
and a small loveseat for a sofa.

  Locking my bedroom door behind me, I sink down on the edge of my bed. Everything that Melodie confessed to me swirls inside of my head. It feels like it could be something really fucking big, like maybe it’s linked to the Notorious Devils and not just a little bit linked, like really fucking linked.

  This just affirms the fact that I do not need to involve myself with Houston again. I also need to strategize an exit plan from Melodie. I feel bad for her, I really do, and I hope that she lives a beautiful life, but I have my own crazy to worry about, I can’t really have hers here too.

  “Fuck,” I hiss. “Fucking, fuck,” I groan.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HOUSTON

  Leaning against the side of the brick building, my back against the wall, my eyes focused to the right as people walk by. I’m hiding in a dark alley, a cliché I’m sure. I don’t give a fuck. I’m a man on a mission, that mission is Roxanne.

  She works in this goddamn dump. The thought of her walking around slinging beers to these fucks makes my skin crawl. I never cared if she waited tables at Cash Bar, I was there, my brothers were there. She was safe. Here? She isn’t safe, not even a little. She has no car, no means to escape if shit goes down, and anyone could follow her home.

  I hear a woman’s laugh and high heels click against the sidewalk, each step approaching me, closer and closer. Turning my head slightly, my breath whooshes out of me at the sight of her. She’s thinner, a lot fucking thinner, her hair a bit shorter and lighter looking as she passes beneath a streetlight, but fuck me it’s her and she looks amazing.

  I don’t reach for her, throw her against the brick and fuck her in the alleyway like I want. Instead, I stay back, I watch. There’s a short curvy girl at her side, they’re laughing about something, but I only have eyes for my woman, my Firefly.