by Voss, Deja
He has that “are you serious?” glare on his face, and I can tell he’s angry. I don’t know if he’s angry at me, or angry at himself, but for the first time since I’ve been locked up here, I feel like I’m in charge. He takes his cigarette and presses the lit end to the flesh of my thigh. I scream for a second, tears running down my face.
“What the heck did you do that for?” I wail. “I’m just being nice. I thought motorcycle clubs were families.”
“You will never be a part of our family, girl. You’re a whore. Bought and paid for. I could make you disappear right now and nobody would speak your name ever again.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” I say, wincing as I try to stand up, every muscle in my body sore, blood running down my thighs. “You might need me someday.”
He’s eyeing me in fascination, arms crossed over his chest. Damn, this man is huge, but my adrenaline is high.
“You guys might be tough and mean, but my crew is fucking twisted. If I know about your daughter, I’m sure they know all about her. I’m sure they know where she goes to school. They probably watch her when she sleeps at night. Maybe they are even watching her right now; I don’t know. But if you think my father is stupid enough to sell me off for a pocket full of cash, then I feel bad for your club, and I definitely feel bad for your daughter. What’s her name again?”
His arm reaches out for my throat, but I expected that. I can’t blame him. I’m pushing buttons. I don’t even really mind that he’s choking me out, because I know I’m so deep under his skin right now that even if this is it, he’ll never forget my words.
He lets go and I fall to the ground, gasping for air, my bloodied smile growing bigger by the minute.
“My men don’t have to pay for virgins. They just take them. They take whatever they want. I will never be your property, no matter what you paid for me. I’m just here to distract you while my guys are doing everything in their power to take everything you have away from you. Everything you worked for. Everything you care for.”
He swings his boot back like he’s about to kick me and I curl into the fetal position in anticipation, but the strike never hits.
“Are you distracted?” I yell. “What’s going on upstairs inside your club while you’re down here wasting your time beating me? I know you’re doing your best to pretend like I don’t even kind of remind you of your little girl every time you look me in the eye. I see you cracking.”
“I should fucking end your life right now, you mouthy bitch,” he barks.
“Do it,” I plead. “But just know this; I die a Mountain Misfit. And soon enough, your sweet little daughter will live as one. All of you. You will all spend the rest of your lives in fear of my father and our men.”
He pulls out his pistol and holds it to my head as I lay there on the floor, quivering. I picture Brooks’s face in my mind, go to a happier time in my life, hoping he knows I did this for him.
All of a sudden, I hear the sound of clapping from the corner of the basement. Like a slow round of applause. As Tiny turns to look, I kick him as hard as I can in the junk. He falls to the floor, his gun flying across the room. A figure emerges from the darkness, but all I can focus on is that pistol. My burned and battered body has to have at least one more jolt of adrenaline left in it.
It doesn’t matter. I hear the gunfire over my head. I watch as Tiny’s body twitches, and I just lay there on the concrete, not sure if I should feel relieved or if I’m next.
“Nice work, Esther,” my dad says. “Now get up off that floor. We have to get out of here.”
Chapter 33
I don’t know how long I’ve fallen asleep for, cradling my phone in my hand. I’m alone when I wake and it’s still dark, moonlight shining through the window, casting a glow over my bedroom. Mr. Gingerbread is curled up next to me, a little orange ball of fluff. He’s probably in his glory right now. These days, he usually gets the foot of the bed. I run my fingers through his fur, his body much bonier than it used to be. He’s getting so old and frail.
I’m not sad that Brooks didn’t text me back, he probably is just sleeping.
As I begin to drift back off, something doesn’t feel right. I swear I’m hearing footsteps in the living room, heavy boots trying to sound soft. This house is old, and things creak and crack all the time, but as soon as I think I’m hearing it again, it stops. I look over on the nightstand, making sure my pistol is handy and loaded. I’m probably just being paranoid. Mr. Gingerbread would know, at the very least, if someone was trying to get in. He’d alert me.
The shadow of the moonlight is suddenly cut with a figure looming in my bedroom doorway. I try to stay as still as possible, try to plot my next move. If I make myself really tiny, maybe they will think I’m not here. At least long enough to grab my gun and blink the sleep out of my eyes.
The bedroom light flicks on and I try and adjust my eyes to what I’m seeing in front of me. He looks taller than he has lately. Meaner. But he’s not moving, just standing there staring at me.
“What are you doing here?” I try to ask without showing my undeniable fright, pulling the sheets up to my chin, covering my body, as if it will somehow keep me safe from him. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Esther,” he says, calmly, sternly. “Don’t move. I’m not here to hurt you.”
I want to scream, but I know no one will hear me. I have my phone in my hand, but I know it won’t do any good. Nobody is going to answer my call at this hour, and it’s not like 911 is really effective up here on this mountain. Maybe he’s just drunk. He’s definitely just drunk. He probably is just upset about the conversation we had earlier and he can’t let it rest. I should grab my gun, but I can’t shoot him. He won’t hurt me. He’s my father. It’s just a misunderstanding.
“Dad, what do you want? I’m trying to sleep,” I say. “Go lay on the couch; we can talk in the morning. I’m not mad at you. Leave me alone.”
He comes closer to the bed, inching his way across the room carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from my pistol to me.
“I’m not going to shoot you, Dad,” I say. “But you need to tell me what you’re doing here.”
“I’m here because you’re not well, Esther,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”
“Dad, come on,” I say. “You’re drunk. Let’s talk about this later.”
“Your choices are hurting the club, Esther. Your choices are hurting everyone, especially me.”
I sigh, and pull the blankets tighter, Mr. Gingerbread barely picking up his head to see what’s going on. “Dad, go in the other room so I can get decent and I’ll fix us some coffee.”
“You’re brainwashed, Esther. You don’t see what’s going on right under your nose. You know why men love you. It’s because they’re trying to get to me, they’re trying to hurt me. Don’t you see that that’s what’s going on here? Don’t you see that Brooks is using you to get to me?”
“He’s different, and you know that,” I say. “Now get out of my room. Nobody is trying to hurt you, Dad.”
“You’re not safe, Esther,” he says, and my hands instinctively go to my face when I see what he’s fishing out of his pocket. I don’t know what’s in that syringe, but I know I don’t want it in me. “I have to get you somewhere safe.”
I kick at him from under the covers, just hoping to startle him long enough to get the upper hand in this situation, but his body overpowers mine. The needle burns in my arm as he stabs it into my muscle carelessly, hard, and soon, I feel nothing.
“I’m going to take you somewhere safe, Esther,” he says. All I can do is blink, my eyes feeling watery, glazed over. I can see and hear everything going on around me, but my arms and legs won’t move. I don’t know if my heart is even beating. I remind myself to breathe, but it doesn’t do any good. I’m paralyzed.
He keeps me wrapped in my blankets as he throws me over his shoulder. I try to swing my leg, try to make a fist, but no
thing is working. He’s my dad and he won’t hurt me. This is all a misunderstanding, I think, as I succumb to the drugs coursing through my veins and drift off into a state of somewhere where my mind is empty and I am totally numb.
Chapter 34
Brooks:
Somebody didn’t zip the tent up all the way last night. I wake up in a sweaty pool of condensation. The sun hasn’t quite come up yet, but the birds are chirping away. I look at my phone and smile. This girl. I don’t deserve her. She’s too good for me. I’m sure she’s sleeping still, but I message her back.
Be home as soon as possible. You’re so fucking beautiful.
I stand up and step outside of the tent, nearly tripping over Morgan’s passed out body. Clutch and Austin are still hanging out by the campfire, looking rough as ever, and everywhere I look there are bodies on the ground.
“Did you sleep well, princess?” Austin teases.
“You ready to get to work?” I ask him. He leans over the side of the stump he’s sitting on and starts projectile vomiting on the ground. Clutch just laughs at him and chugs his beer. “Looks like somebody’s going to be real useful today. Nice, guys.”
I grab a kettle and start boiling water over the fire. Coffee might not cure him, but it’ll definitely make him more tolerable to me. Gavin steps out of his tent, stretching out, yawning.
“Pretty much exactly what I expected,” he laughs. “Actually a lot less vomit, too.”
“Give it time,” I growl. Austin hasn’t stopped dry heaving, and now Clutch is joining in. “They’re going to have a real good time bottling this shit today. Nothing like the smell of grain alcohol to make you regret last night’s decisions.”
“There’s a pile of passed out bartenders on the ground, and I woke up in my tent by myself,” Red laughs, joining us by the fire, lighting up a cigarette. “I don’t know if I should feel regret or if I actually made a responsible life choice for once.”
“Or your erectile dysfunction was just flaring up again,” Tank says from behind the tree he’s peeing on.
“Fuck off,” he laughs.
We might be a bunch of degenerates, but at least we get our shit done when it counts. I can’t say I never was in their shoes myself, but damn, it feels good to finally have my woman at home and not have to spend my days hungover and worrying about what kind of stupid shit I got into last night.
“Alright, ladies,” Gavin booms, walking around pinching the girls on their arms as they whine and writhe, clutching their foreheads. “Either you’re working on stills or you’re getting the hell out of our way. Time to wake up.”
I walk to the nearby stream with my cup of coffee and splash myself in the cool water. Morgan is hot on my heels and she sits on a rock nearby, just staring at me. I pretend like I don’t notice her, just going about my business, letting the coldness of the water wake my tired face.
“Why are you ignoring me, Brooks?” she finally whines. “You’ve been acting so weird ever since our trip. You won’t even give me the time of day. I thought we had something, Brooks.”
“We don’t,” I say, point-blank.
“We did,” she says, walking down to the bank of the stream, toeing the water. “We always have.”
“What are you even doing back here?” I ask her. “I thought you had a new life. I thought you were done being a dirty birdie.”
“I’ll never abandon you guys. Maybe that life seemed fun for a little bit, but this is where I belong. With my men. With you.”
“Morgan,” I say. “I don’t know where you got the idea that I was ever going to be with you. I’m with Esther now. I’m happy. I’m good.”
She looks so old without any make-up on. Old and sad. She looks like she wants to punch me, but there’s something going on behind her blue eyes. Something almost devious.
“You’re really committed to this act, aren’t you?” she asks. “You know Moses sees right through it; hell, we all do. You’re just using her to step over Gavin. You’re using her to step over Moses. You think she’s going to be your ticket to presidency, but you’re wrong, and you’re going to pay for it.”
“The fuck did you say?” I ask, crouching down so I can get right in her face. Not only is she insulting my old lady, but she’s making some pretty bold statements about me and my loyalty to my club, and if I were a worse man, I’d be showing her her place right about now. “You don’t know anything about this club, Morgan, and you definitely don’t know me if you think that’s what’s happening here. Just because you spread your legs for anyone, hoping to earn yourself an old lady patch, doesn’t mean that we are all running around looking to fuck each other over to get some sort of higher rank.”
“You sure about that? I mean, it’s pretty much common knowledge that you’d do anything to hurt Moses, considering what he did to your daddy. Real shame. I’d want revenge too, if I were you. Everyone’s favorite little redhead prostitute is a perfect cover-up. She’s the perfect tool to fuck him over. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it sooner.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insist again, holding back my urge to throw her in the stream. “Get the fuck out of my sight and stay there.”
I storm up the bank, back to my tent.
“I gotta go,” I tell Gavin, throwing my stuff in my backpack as quickly as possible. Something isn’t sitting right with me. I need to see her. I need to talk to her. I need to assure her that my love for her is deeper than the cut, that I have no intentions for her other than making her the happiest woman alive.
“Everything ok?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Morgan’s saying some weird shit, and I need to go straighten some things out with your sister.”
“Let me guess. Old Moses is trying to pull some moves while we’re out of town.”
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I need to get back to her.”
“Do you want my help?” he asks.
“No. This is between me and her.”
“I got your back, and you know it,” he says. “We all do. You’re a good man, Brooks.”
I like to think that. I like to think that I’m loyal, that I’m doing the right thing by her, but maybe us being together is just causing her pain, drama in her family, drama in our club. All the things that kept me from taking the leap all these years. I hop on the four-wheeler and make my way through the cobweb-draped trees that line the trails. I need to get back to her.
Chapter 35
Esther:
I wake up shivering. Every time I try to open my eyes, I see stars, little flashes of electric sparks. I grab for my temples, confused, disoriented. I know I wasn’t drinking last night, at least not enough to get me on this level. I don’t think I am coming down with anything. My arm is sore like I’ve been punched, and my comforter is nestled around my body, but the floor underneath me feels hard, cold, like concrete.
Why am I even on the floor? Did I fall down our basement steps? I’m so confused. I try to scream but my mouth feels like it’s pasted shut. I try to sit up, but my head is spinning. It’s so dark, wherever I am, the only light a tiny flicker that looks like it’s a million miles away from me. Maybe I died. I feel like I’m dying. I can’t even lift my head up more than an inch or two before I have to rest it back down.
My heart is racing and my chest feels tight. I try to roll over on my side as I feel vomit pooling in my throat. Just an inch or two, I chant to myself over and over again, but before I can accomplish my last wish, my simple goal, everything goes black again.
* * *
Fifteen Years Ago
“Esther, what the fuck happened to you?” Gavin asks me as he pulls me into his dorm room. He looks up and down the hall suspiciously, as if he knows these demons might be following me. Hell, they probably are. I know it wasn’t safe for me to hitchhike my way here. I know the receptionist at the front desk of the office of the school didn’t know what to do with me. I look like hell, my clothes ripped and torn, my eyes black. I tried to
wash as much blood off of me as I could in a creek, but I’m on the run.
I’m on the run and I have no idea where I’m supposed to be.
“Who did this to you?” He’s screaming in my face and it’s making my ears hurt. It’s making my head pound. It’s not helping, but I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less. “We need to call Dad. We need to call the guys.”
He’s pacing back and forth, in this tiny dorm room. Someone is trying to get in the door, and a cold chill runs through my body.
“Please don’t,” I beg. “Don’t call anyone. I’m fine. I just needed to see you.”
He opens the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. I hear him talking to a guy, and I back myself into the corner, making myself as small as possible. He grabs a backpack and hands it to whoever is in the hallway.
“Esther, you’re shaking,” he says. I can’t look him in his dark eyes. I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed, and everything about him reminds me of my father, which makes me feel sick to my stomach. “It’s just my roommate. It’s ok. You need to go to the hospital,” he says. He grabs his blanket from his bed and wraps it around my shoulders.
“No hospital,” I say. “We don’t do hospitals.”
“Well then I need to get you back on the mountain so Patch can take care of you,” he insists. “I’m gonna call Brooks right now to come and get you.”
“Don’t,” I plead. “Don’t ever tell him you saw me. I don’t want to ever see him again.” He can’t see me like this, not after what I’ve done, not after who I’ve become. Seeing him right now would kill me. This is not his pain. He doesn’t need to clean up this mess. He needs to live a happy life without me. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I feel queasy. “Please,” I beg him. “Just let me rest.” I sit down on the floor, my eyelids fluttering, fighting back the sleep I so need.