Unbeautifully

by Madeline Sheehan

  Grabbing the glass, I chugged as much water as I could, gasping for air when I was done.

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  “You see Jase?”

  I nodded. Everyone was worried about Jase. Almost a year had passed since Dorothy had been shot and her memory still hadn’t returned. Jase’s kids had come home, Chrissy had been tried and convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to life with the possibility of parole, meaning she could end up only serving ten years of a life sentence. I was unsure how I felt about this. As much as I’d liked Chrissy, she’d tried to kill Dorothy.

  As for Dorothy’s relationship with Jase, it was non-existent. She didn’t come to the club anymore and refused to see anyone other than Eva, Kami, or me. Every few months Tegen came home to visit with her and her brother, an adorable little boy Dorothy had named after her own father, Christopher Michael Kelley.

  And Hawk…

  He’d taken Ripper’s place. Still nomad, he’d gone back on the road and would return periodically, but never stayed more than a few days at a time. I knew he saw his son on occasion, but just like Jase, Dorothy wanted nothing to do with him.

  And ZZ…he never came back. I got the feeling my father had spoken to him a few times, may even know where he was, but I didn’t ask. ZZ had left because of me and I knew I had no right to any information about him or his whereabouts. But wherever he was, I hoped he was happy.

  He deserved to be happy.

  “He’s…okay,” I said. “He was drunk, as usual.”

  Ripper grimaced. “Brother’s gonna drink himself to death.”

  “You didn’t,” I said softly.

  He looked into my eyes. “No,” he said, just as softly. “I didn’t.”

  “I hate you,” I murmured, smiling at him. “You made me fat.”

  He snorted. “Hardly. Not sure how you managed it, but I think that baby of mine has made your ass fuckin’ hotter. And speaking of ass…”

  Standing up, Ripper bent over me and slipped one arm around my back and under my armpit. The other he slid under my knees and then he was lifting me up.

  “I don’t wanna,” I whined, looping my arms around his neck. “I’m too tired.”

  “No, you’re not,” he growled, nipping at my neck. “How many times I gotta tell you, you don’t get to make that decision?”

  “Oooh,” I teased. “Because you’re the big bad biker man who gets to make all the decisions.”

  “Damn straight.”

  He laid me gently on the bed and proceeded to peel my yoga pants over my hips and down my legs.

  “No underwear,” he muttered. “Why the fuck ain’t you wearin’ underwear?”

  “Um, hello,” I said. “People are already staring at the giant baby growing inside of me. I don’t need the added embarrassment of underwear lines too.”

  Ripper blinked. “Are you fuckin’ serious? You’re worried about underwear lines?”

  I didn’t answer him and he started laughing.

  “Fuck, baby,” he said, unzipping his jeans. “You are damn crazy.”

  I tried to think of something mean to say, a witty comeback, but he’d quickly moved onto the bed and was now between my legs and pushing inside of me.

  Clear thinking was no longer an option.

  “Tits,” he groaned, reaching for the hem of my bright pink tank top. “I wanna see your tits, baby.”

  “No,” I breathed, pushing his hand away. “Don’t look at my belly.”

  He stopped moving. “Why the fuck not?”

  “Stretch marks,” I said, wrinkling up my nose.

  He stared at me. “Stretch marks,” he repeated. “This shit again?”

  “I hate them,” I whispered, feeling embarrassed. “They’re ugly.

  “Uh-uh,” he said, slapping my hands away. It took him a few minutes, but eventually he’d maneuvered me out of both my tank top and bra. Immediately crossing my arms over my chest, I looked away from him. Maybe it was ridiculous, but the several jagged red marks that had appeared on my stomach were ugly to me. And I didn’t want Ripper to find me lacking in any way.

  Grabbing my chin, he forced me to look at him.

  “All scars tell a story, beautiful girl,” he said, releasing me to trace the marks on my stomach. “Yours are tellin’ me how healthy and fuckin’ perfect my kid is gonna be.”

  A tear slid out of the corner of my eye. “Shut up,” I whispered.

  “And mine,” he said softly, grabbing my hand, trailing my palm across his cheek and then his chest. “Tell the story of how I found you.”

  More tears fell. He would never stop ceasing to amaze me.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, baby,” he breathed, pulling out of me, then pushing back in again. “Me too.”

  He began moving faster and I closed my eyes, forgetting about stretch marks, forgetting about everything, and just let sensation rule.

  I could feel everything…the prickly hair on his legs rasping against my smooth skin…the muscles in his back tensing, bunching, and releasing with every thrust of his hips…his hot breath on my breasts, dampening my skin…the scarred flesh on his chest rubbing over my swollen stomach, heightening my sensitivity.

  “Ah, fuck baby,” he rasped. “So fuckin’ good.”

  “Ripper,” I whimpered.

  He slammed into me and my eyes rolled back.

  “I love you,” I breathed, clutching at the sheets. “I love you.”

  And I felt him, hard and full inside of me, stroking, moving, filling, as his hips continuously met mine, heartbeat after heartbeat, after heartbeat.

  THE END

  Sneak Peek of

  Disastrous

  by E.L. Montes

  PROLOGUE

  Grabbing my wrist, he begged me not to go. With the blood pulsing through my veins, my rage quickly boiled. Turning to face him, I shoved the palm of my hands against his chest. I was surprised by my own strength. Although he was bigger than I was, I was able to force him to stumble back a few steps, and he landed on the wooden desk. He managed to balance himself, but he didn’t move. His sorrowful eyes were staring into mine, pleading. Those eyes that I once fell for, that I trusted, that allowed me to fall under his spell—those eyes now only filled my stomach with such vile disgust.

  Collecting my thoughts was impossible. My mind was racing a thousand miles per hour. I’d never felt so much pain in my life. I gave him one last look, but he did and said nothing. His eyes were saddened, but I didn’t care. I wanted to get away! I turned away from him and ran as fast as I could. I could hear him yelling my name.

  Snatching my purse from the table without looking back, I struggled to unlock the front door. I managed to open it with a shaky hand, tripping down the first few steps, realizing at that moment my feet were bare. Carelessly, I ran down the driveway and reached my car. I shoved my hand into my bag to collect my keys, but I couldn’t find them. Shit! He was by the door. Rushing in the process, I was able to locate them and jump into the driver’s seat.

  Looking up, I found him on the bottom step, yelling, begging me to stop. My heart was pulsing at such a rapid speed I felt nauseated and lightheaded. After turning on the ignition, I raced out of the driveway and onto the street. The speedometer reached ninety-five miles per hour. My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding so loudly I could barely hear myself breathe.

  After twenty minutes, I was far enough to pull over by the curb, checking my rearview mirror; he was nowhere in sight. I made sure the doors were locked. Then burying my face into my hands, I screamed and burst into sobs, allowing all the rage and betrayal to pour out. How could I have believed and trusted him? How could I have been so stupid; this whole time he was warning me, but I was blind and didn’t care … I wanted the good and bad … all of him.

  Knowing at that moment what he truly was, I realized that everything was just lies. Aarrgh! I looked down, trying to catch my breath. Through blurry, watery vision I caught sight of my cream s
ilk nightgown spotted in bright red blood.

  My thoughts were uncontrollable. I was trying to make it all go away, and I pounded my fists against my temples, but all that managed to do was inflict additional pain. Why me? My chest felt tight, and it was so hard to breathe I was hyperventilating. After a few minutes of taking long deep breaths, I was able to control the airflow through my lungs. Then it all came back to me: the day I met HIM.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The month of April was so beautiful this year: clear skies, bright green grass, and a cool breeze perfect enough to wear a light jacket. It was my last day of class before my summer break began, and for some unexplained reason, Professor Johnson required the entire class to attend the last day, even after we’d submitted our final exam and paper. He was blabbing about what we learned in the entire semester of our Contract Law class. I knew I earned my 4.0 GPA, so I ignored his unnecessary lecture.

  Staring out the window, I continued to admire Harvard’s landscaping as the students and faculty scattered around. This had been a tough year, and I was just happy to be taking a break. The last few months had been nothing but an emotional roller coaster. Finally I was at a point where I could wake up without crying, go to school without zoning out, and enter a public place without the aching memories.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I heard a round of applause. I joined in as I knew the class was finally over. The students began to pack their bags. I quickly placed my laptop and textbook into my backpack and headed for the door. Professor Johnson was standing by the entryway saying farewell to everyone.

  I knew it would be difficult to walk by him without being pulled in for an intellectual conversation. So I attempted to hide my face by lowering my red cap. There were a few students in front of me, and I tried to blend in and sneak out, avoiding eye contact. I was almost out the door when Mr. Johnson shouted my name twice. A few students turned around, flashing sympathetic smiles. I couldn’t say I didn’t hear him. Slowly I turned on the balls of my feet and flashed a full-toothed grin. In return, I was faced with the stupid, goofy smile I was beginning to dislike. Ugh!

  When I reached his side, he lifted his finger, indicating for me to wait a minute. Great! He pulled me aside and had the audacity to keep me waiting. After he gave a few more farewells, we were left alone in the huge classroom. Facing me with another big smile, he began to walk towards his desk.

  I followed, dragging my feet, all while forming a handgun with my finger and thumb and aiming it at my head. Then I pulled the trigger. Okay, so that may seem a little childish for a twenty-four year old, but I didn’t want to be bothered that day.

  He took a seat behind his desk and handed me a sheet of paper. Raising an eyebrow at his amused grin, I looked down at the document. I was dumbstruck when I saw the letterhead. It was from The Law Office of Marcus DeLuca! I continued to read the letter when I realized it was addressed to me.

  Dear Ms. Sullivan:

  Thank you for applying to our summer externship. As you are aware, our firm chooses four law students each summer from Harvard Law. Each student will be placed in one of our four legal departments.

  After reviewing your resume and references, we would like to invite you to interview for an opportunity to be a part of the externship program.

  Kindly make arrangements to be at our office on Friday, April 27, 2012, at 9:00 a.m., at the above address, Suite 2500. You will be meeting with me and possibly Mr. DeLuca if he is available.

  Unfortunately due to our fast-paced environment and busy schedule, this date cannot be rescheduled. If for any reason you cannot make this date, kindly call our office for a courtesy cancellation.

  I look forward to meeting you. Thank you for your time and cooperation.

  Very truly yours,

  Lisa Harper

  Human Resource Manager

  Stunned, I read the letter two more times. I couldn’t believe it! I looked up at Professor Johnson, who still had that smirk on his face. I shook my head in disbelief. “Um, Professor Johnson, this is terrific, but I didn’t sign up for the externship position. I thought it was only for third-year students.” He adjusted his crooked wire glasses and cleared his throat.

  “Well, Lisa Harper is really good friends with my wife. So I asked my wife if she could do me a favor and put in a good word for you. Mia, you’re the best student I’ve had in my twenty years of teaching. You’re attentive; you submit your work on time, and you earned a 4.0 GPA your first year! You deserve this more than any third-year student.”

  Oh, that was nice. I guess he’s not so bad after all.

  “Professor, I truly appreciate this, but knowing that there’s a possibility that I’ll be interviewed by Mr. DeLuca is nerve-racking. How am I going to pull this off?” The thought made my stomach twist in knots. Marcus DeLuca was the youngest, richest, and most successful lawyer in Boston. This was a dream come true; it was also a foot in the door. Everyone who had been an extern for the DeLuca firm had either been hired or highly recommended for other top firms.

  “Mia, you’ll be great at the interview. Yes, you’ll be a little nervous; that’s normal, but once you’re in there, you’ll fly through that interview like it’s nothing. Look, today is Tuesday; your interview is Friday. Take a break tomorrow, but stop by my office on Thursday. We can practice interview questions so that you’re better prepared.” He got up from his chair and walked over. Stopping when he was a foot away, he lifted the palm of his hand and patted my head. I felt like a six-year-old. “You’re going to knock this interview out the park. Trust me.” He crossed his arms and smiled, this time less irritatingly. Why was he being so nice to me?

  I lightly smiled. “Thank you, Professor Johnson. I have no idea how to repay you for this.” He shook his head.

  “Oh, Mia, it’s my pleasure, really. I have so much faith in you. I know one day you’re going to be a very successful woman.”

  I hoped so.

  ****

  Before going home, I decided to stop by a local boutique. I had to find something appropriate for this interview. I was sure sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a Harvard baseball cap wouldn’t do. My fashion sense had simmered down the last few months, especially when I began law school. I didn’t have much of a social life. Maintaining a 4.0 GPA was not going to happen while out drinking and partying every weekend. Don’t get me wrong: I do have a fashion sense; I am a girly girl, but I do love my sweats and t-shirt days. Nothing in my closet at that moment was appropriate for a professional interview, especially with the number-one firm in the city.

  I was greeted by a tall, enthusiastic blonde. “Hi! Welcome to Fabulous Boutique, is there anything I can help you with?” She was very pretty. Her hair was cut in a short bob; she had bright blue eyes and red lipstick that went well with her fair complexion. She was dressed in a black, fitted dress, a nude belt, and matching pumps.

  Instantly, I felt embarrassed by my appearance. Lowering my head to examine my own ensemble, I wrapped my arms around the middle of my stomach in an attempt to hide, but it was no use. In defeat, I dropped my arms and brought my gaze back to her. She had a huge Cameron Diaz smile which was actually contagious. I smiled too. “Yes, um, I have an interview on Friday, and I need to find something that’s professional.”

  She waved her hand in the air, “Oh yes! We have a great selection in our ‘successful’ section. Come follow me. Are you a six?” Following her towards the far right of the store, I was distracted by the number of collections they had in such a small place.

  “Yes, I’m a six, sometimes a five; it depends.” I followed as instructed and passed a mannequin. The plastic figure was wearing a black and beige waistline pencil skirt with a sheer nude blouse. The collar of the blouse was tied in a bow, and a matching beige purse hung from the mannequin’s arm. It was pretty cute. “Something like this?” I pointed at the mannequin.

  “Oh yes, I’ll prepare some outfits for you to try on. It’s best if you purchase a few so you have plenty of options,” she sai
d. And so I can spend money.

  She skimmed through the racks as I stared at her selections, wondering how badly my thighs or hips would look in the skirts and dresses she’d chosen. I was blessed with curves and although I learned to accept them, not everything looked good on these hips.

  She walked over to another section where she located a few blouses. Placing an emerald green blouse in front of me, she glanced from the thin silk fabric to my eyes. “Oh! This matches perfectly with your eyes, such beautiful eyes!” Looking down at the blouse then back at her, I smiled and gently shrugged.

  “What’s great about our boutique is that a lot of these pieces go well with each other, so it’s easy to prepare a few outfits with just four or five pieces of clothing,” she chanted as she continued to rummage through the hangers.

  She turned to face me with another Diaz smile; you could tell she enjoyed this kind of stuff. “Okay, we can start with these, come let me show you to the dressing room.” Reaching for my arm, she dragged me to the far back of the store.

  This should be fun.

  ****

  Melissa, the boutique clerk, was very useful and showed me different ways to wear the outfits that I purchased. After an hour with her, I had two dresses, four skirts, and six blouses, as well as two pair of shoes, a purse, and some jewelry to add to my collection. I was also five hundred fifty dollars poorer, but whether or not I got this position, I still needed the clothes for other interviews. Well, at least that was the logic I used when I swiped my credit card.

  I managed to squeeze myself and all of the bags through the narrow apartment door. As soon as I entered the living room, sleepy blue eyes popped up from behind the sofa. Jeremy looked worn out as he rubbed his lids with the back of his hand. His eyes widened at the pile of bags I was carrying. Then he flashed a gorgeous grin.

  “Celebrating summer break?” He nodded at my filled hands. I dropped the bags on the hardwood surface. Shopping is exhausting! Walking around the couch, I threw myself beside him and let out a huge draining breath.