"Do you need anything?" Before I can answer, my phone begins to ring again. Sin's reflexes react and he snatches the phone from the bed before I can even touch it. His face relaxes and he passes the phone to me. The screen read 'Mom'. "I'll let you take it. There's a bathroom through there. I'll be back in thirty minutes." He waits until I grab the phone before leaving the room. Now I need to tell my parents the truth about their daughter.
"She's from Fort Worth." I say, my voice clipped. Cut raises his eyebrow, questioning my tone.
"Dyke, run it. Savannah from Fort Worth, tell us what you've got." Seth 'Dyke' Dawson is our in-house computer guru. Dyke's irreplaceable since he's a big reason why we're so successful in the club’s second business. He's one of the original hackers. He was hacking before hacking was a thing. Dyke has always been able to get the information that isn't available to get. Yeah, he's that good. Shocking too since he's the same age my father would be. He and my dad started this club when they were just two white trash kids trying to get involved in something other than the life living in a trailer park provided. Luckily they had each other and my dad's idea of the life he wanted, and Dyke's ability to obtain it. We do alright running Fury, our club's motorcycle shop, but the real money is what we do behind the scenes.
For years now, the club has been cashing in on heads. Yeah, that's right. We don’t go after those who missed their court dates because they got a speeding ticket. The ones that are your typical bail jumpers. We go after those who don't want to be found and then use any means necessary to hide, to become ghosts. Dyke can usually smoke 'em out. We're paid big money because the people we go after are worth more money caught and handed over to the right people instead of sitting behind bars. We do the dirty work, but the money is nice, and we end up sitting pretty.
Dyke leaves the room to head to his den while the others all turn to look at me.
"What?" I already feel defensive.
"What's up?" Cut asks.
"Nothing." I don’t make eye contact with him.
"Sin, shit, just fucking tell us already or Cut isn't going to lay off you."
"You don't know shit, Hawk." Cut spat.
"Sin, brother, what's with the look?" Bubba asks.
Keith Bubba Dawson is one of my brother's best friends. He's also Dyke's son. Cut and Bubba were the first of the next generation born to the club. Three years after Cut was born, I came along. Six months later, Hound, another founding member of the club, had his son, Hawk. Dyke and Hound didn't have any more children. Their baby mammas weren't cut out for the club life and took off. Leaving the boys in the hands of their fathers. My mom stepped up. She was and still is the ultimate mother bear. In the club, blood doesn’t matter. We are family and it doesn’t waver when it comes to the kids. It was like a gift from God when my mom gave birth to my sister, Sienna, only twelve months after I was born. She was finally blessed with pink and frills in a world of black, blue, and leather.
"It's what I thought." I say.
"Shit! “ Cut slam his fist into the bar.
"Yeah. She's running from a whole shit load." I respond.
"Again, Matthew. She is not Sienna." Cut’s voice goes soft as he says our sister’s name.
"Yeah, I know. This time the girl got away. From what I understand, she was with him for a while. He sent her a shit ton of sick as fuck messages about how she's gonna regret what she's done."
"This is nothing like Sienna then, Sin. She’s not your sister." Bubba speaks up.
"Yeah.” Hawk chimes in. "This isn’t the same thing at all. You've got to keep your head on straight with this shit."
"Got it." Dyke comes back in. "Her name is Savannah Elizabeth Ray. She's twenty-three. She was abandoned by a drug addict at birth, and then adopted by a couple, James and Trisha Ray. They live in Fort Worth as well. She just finished her bachelor's degree in business. Has been offered scholarships to obtain her MBA at most of the major colleges around the country, but she's turned every single one of them down. Now it gets exciting. She's currently engaged to none other than Tyson Gerald Redding." I catch the frown on Cut’s face when Dyke gives us the news.
"Fuck me. Tyson Redding?" Bubba asks.
"Yep, Tyson Redding." Dyke confirms.
"The same Tyson Redding whose family owns Redding Oil?" Cut wants to know.
"Yep." Dyke replies.
"The same Redding Oil who all but forced Jerry Jones to sell his beloved Cowboys?" I can’t help it; I’ve always been a Cowboys fan.
"They haven't been able to prove that, Sin. It was time for Jerry to retire." Lick spouts with a smirk.
Bubba being a bigger fan than I am, speaks up. "Tell that to his family when they didn't get to say shit about the sell."
"Again, no one says that the Reddings had anything to do with that. They didn't strong arm Jerry, I’m sure of it." Lick defends his stance.
"Yeah, that's why the stadium and the football team had a name change before the ink was dry." Bubba doesn’t let it go.
"It's Texas, things are always done bigger there, or so the saying goes."
"So it's Tyson Redding who beat the shit out of her.” Cut brings the group back to focus. “It's Tyson Redding who sent her all those threatening texts."
That’s something I wasn't expecting. I figured it was just some punk ass guy she was running from. Well, he’s still a punk, but one with money and connections.
"Yeah, and its Tyson Redding who's gonna make big trouble for this club and what we do when he finds out his fiancée is here. It's time for her to go, brother." Lick says.
“That’s not your call to make, Lick. That’s not the way we do things around here.” I tell him. “I may not be happy to be a part of this club, but I know how it’s run, and I know it’s not up to one of us to make that decision.”
“No one is making any decisions right now. We’re just getting the facts.” Hawk says. “This isn’t some random chick you came across, Sin. She has baggage and we all know the power that’s behind the Redding name.”
“That’s not a reason to abandon her. Not when she needs us.”
“She doesn’t need us, Sin. You know that.” Cut argues. “You’re confusing who needs who here.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” I snap.
"Yeah, Mama, I'm here."
"Savannah Elizabeth Ray, you’ve had us worried, darlin'. Tyson is beside himself with grief. He says he came home and you were gone, vanished. Without so much as a note.”
The worry in her voice tugs at my heart.
“I’m sorry, Mama, I haven’t been feeling very well, and to be honest I’ve been asleep for the past couple of days.”
“Where are you, Savannah?”
Where was I? “With a friend. Mama—"
“Savannah, what’s wrong darlin’?”
“Mama, I don’t know how to say this.” I take a deep breath. “Things with Tyson are bad, Mama, they‘ve been bad.”
“How can that be? We just saw on television that he asked you to marry him. That one act your Daddy is not too fond of. Doesn’t that boy know the importance of having your own parents there? Oh, your Daddy is fit to be tied, darlin’. Tyson didn’t even ask your father. What kind of man doesn’t ask for permission from—”
“He’s been physical with me, Mama." I interrupt her fussing. "He’s been hurting me, really bad.” I hear her gasp.
“No. That can’t be.”
I close my eyes, willing the tears not to come, knowing there is no use. Between the hormones and what my life has become, tears seem to be the only constant.
“Mama, believe me when I tell you, that it definitely can be.”
I look at myself in the mirror that Sin has hanging on the wall. The swelling in my eyes have gone down, they’re just slightly puffy now. The fresh, dark, purple coloring of the bruises I had a couple of days ago is starting to fade. I still have a few days to go before I’ll be without any signs of the pain Tyson has caused me. But I appear so
much better than I did Sunday.
“I don’t understand. How? Why?” Pain resonates in her voice. I know she’s crying and I hate that I'm the cause.
“I don’t know, Mama, but what I do know is that I’ve left. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want that life. I don’t want to be someone’s punching bag.”
“But he was just here this morning. He was so distraught. So worried. It seemed like he hasn’t slept since you’ve been missing. I don’t understand how he could have looked so lost, honey. How could he look like he’s lost his entire world and be such a monster? How could he sit here and tell me and your father how much he loves you but treat you so badly?” Her voice is strained with concern.
“I don’t know, Mama. But I need you to not tell him that I spoke to you, alright? I need some time alone. I need to figure things out.”
“Alright, baby, of course. I won’t say anything.” She sniffs proof that I was right and she is crying.
“Please don’t tell Daddy what I told you. I don’t need to get him upset. I don’t need him to worry.”
“Oh, Savannah, baby, your daddy is going to worry because you’re his child and that’s what daddies do when they have little girls. He will always worry, but I won’t say a word, darlin’. I’ll tell him you’re fine and taking some ‘you time’.”
“Thank you, Mama.”
“Savannah?”
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me know that you were in trouble?”
“I guess I thought things would change and I didn’t want to worry you. I thought love would win out over whatever anger Tyson held, but I was wrong.”
“Don’t shut me out again, darlin’. I just couldn’t stand it! I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”
Guilt is eating at me. I'm not ready to tell anyone that I'm pregnant. When I finally tell her, she’ll understand.
“I won’t, Mama. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay, honey. I love you, Savannah, so, so much.”
“I love you too, Mama.”
The warm water runs down my body. I inhaled the steam, taking a cleansing breath. I roll my neck, trying to release the tension I feel after the phone call with my mother. I love her, so much. I don’t want to worry her, I’ve never wanted to be a burden, or trouble. She's given me; no, they’ve given me so much. I hang my head, feeling the trickling water run down the sides of my face.
Blinking through the water, I rub my hands over the flat surface of my stomach. I figure I'm about seven weeks pregnant. A baby has been growing inside me for seven or so weeks. There is a life in me, a life I'm protecting. That is reason enough for me to run. My child. Not his, he has no right, no claim to my child. I don’t want Tyson’s evil, his anger to ever touch the innocence of the life that I'm protecting within the depth of my body. Its funny how one can allow themselves to go through so much misery, so much pain. But the idea, the smallest inclination that their child may endure the same fate, well, that just won’t do.
A slam of the door makes my heart jerk. Shit. I stay quiet, and listen. I'm not sure if Sin has come back or someone else has entered the room. Sin. What type of name is Sin? He keeps talking about his club, I’m wondering what he meant by that. Am I safe here? I don’t feel like I'm in any danger. Isn’t that strange though? I don’t know him or anything about him, yet I'm not scared. I don’t feel threatened. Shouldn’t I feel threatened, at least? He took my car. He drove a car that wasn’t his with a woman who was unconscious in the back over state lines. He basically just up and took me and yet I don’t have any fear when it comes to him. He feels safe.
*****
The shower makes a huge difference in the way I feel. Sin’s mother, bless her heart, packed everything I need to help make me feel human again. I haven’t even laid eyes on the woman, but she sure knows what it takes to give a girl a little comfort. Comfy panties with new tags, an oversized t-shirt with the logo of what looks like a bike club on the front and a pair of sweats. She also gave me a pair of shorts, but the feeling of soft cotton against my legs has always been one of my favorite things. She topped it off with a new pair of socks, I'm in heaven.
Wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror, I run my brush through my hair. I pull it up in a messy bun, letting it air dry. I tug my makeup bag from my purse and push the contents around. I'm not about to try to cover up the bruising on my face. There really isn’t a point.
I step out of the bathroom jerking back a little. Sin’s reclining on the bed, leaning against the headboard, arm tucked behind his head, booted feet crossed at the ankles. His dark hair is cut short on the sides and longer on top, noticeably longer. His beard is well maintained as it fades nicely with his hair. I can’t get over how pretty, yes pretty; his eyes are with the contrast of his hair. His arms are covered in tattoos, even the underneath of his bicep, with a name penned in what appears like a beautiful script. I take a step closer, trying to read what’s written on his arm, but can’t make it out. He sucks air in between his teeth and my eyes shoot to his. He’s playing with something in his mouth. His fingers are rolling it back and forth over his lips. It’s small, maybe a toothpick? He clears his throat causing my eyes to land on his. By the smirk on his face, I know he can tell that I was checking him out. My face heats with embarrassment. I can’t help it though; Sin is like no other man I’ve ever seen.
“How’s the shower, sugar?” He asks.
I scan the room, avoiding eye contact. “Good, thanks.”
“And your mom?” He continues as if we’re old friends.
“She’s good.”
“She’s good? I know you’ve been gone at least two days, no contact and you think your mom’s good. I’m sure she was shittin’ bricks, not being able to find you, not knowing where you were.”
“I told her.”
“What exactly have you told her?” He continues to play with whatever is in his mouth. What is this, twenty questions?
“Enough.” He doesn’t say anything; he just removes his hand from his mouth and patted the bed next to him.
“I’m not gonna bite, sugar.”
“I never said you would.” I walk over to the bed and crawl across it, sitting in the spot where he just had his hand.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“What’s there to know? Can’t you figure it out?” I point to my face.
“In life, I’ve learned never to assume anything and never judge a book by its cover. There is always a story. I’d much rather have truths and facts than lies and fiction. So, sugar.” He smirks. “Start talking.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“How about the beginning?”
“Not sure we have the time for that.”
“Then what about twenty questions?” Okay, mind reader.
“Okay, Sin. Do I get to ask you questions too?”
“No.” His answer is firm and I decide not to pry, just yet. “How old are you, Savannah Ray?”
“Well since you already know my last name, I’m guessing you already know how old I am.”
“Humor me.”
“Twenty-three.”
“Occupation?”
“None, just graduated.”
“Did someone hit you, sugar?” I pause at the question. “Who hit you?”
“Yes. Tyson, my boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s an asshole.”
“Fair enough. How long has it been going on?”
“Years.”
“Why did you stay?”
“Because I'm stupid.” He flinches at my answer.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because I finally smartened up.” He smiles at that.
“What did you tell your mother?”
I start to answer but a knock on the door stops me. “Yo, Sin, Cut wants you now.” A rugged voice barrels through the door.
“Got it.” Sin scoots off the bed.
“Let’s go, sugar. It’s time for you to meet the club.”
“The club?”
“Yep.” He takes my hand in his. “The MC.”
Shit.
Now, I'm no prude. MC. I know what MC stands for. I know it's a motorcycle club. I’ve seen them on television, and read about them in books. I'm from Texas; I don’t live under a rock. But watching Hollywood’s version of it, or reading about it has no comparison to seeing it with my own eyes. “I need you to stay close to me, okay?” Sin tells me.
“Yeah, okay.”
He continues to hold my hand as we make our way down the hall entering a larger room. It looks like the main room of the clubhouse. He pulls me along with him, the catcalls and whistles making me feel like I'm on display. Keeping my head down I follow wherever Sin is taking me. He stops, which suddenly makes me stop, and my face hits his back. “Shit, sorry.” I whisper.
“Close the door.” A voice at my left says, followed by a loud slam. “Sin, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Cut, seriously?” Sin asks as I lift my eyes up taking in the scene before me.
A group of men, huge, scary looking men, is before me. Each one of them wearing black leather vests. They’re all completely different and beautiful in their own way. Holy, shitballs. They’re gathered around a long table and from what I know; this is what they might call, ‘Church’.
The entire sight is very intimidating. There’s a lot of strength and testosterone in such a confined space. It should make me feel uneasy, but it doesn’t. I’ve lived and survived enough over the past four years that I’ll never let another man make me feel weak or frightened. I straighten my back and set my shoulders, ready for whatever this group of men is willing to throw at me. I’ll no longer allow myself to be pushed around by another man. Ever.
“Very.” The voice belongs to a man seated at the end of the table. He has the same dark hair as Sin.
“This is—”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, “Savannah.” I finish for him. I step out from behind Sin and make myself known. “My name is Savannah Ray, I’m–”
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