I come all over him, drenching his condom-wrapped shaft and his balls with my wetness. He curses like a madman, grabs hold of me again, and pistons his hips with an angry fervor, coming so hard he spasms against me. I’m going to be sore in the morning, but I don’t care. No, for the briefest of moments there, I’m just bathed in sinful rapture.
I push Grainger off of me. Well, he’s so goddamn strong that when I push at him and he goes, it’s because he wants to.
He’s still cursing, snapping the condom off and then dropping it in the toilet.
“You’re not supposed to flush those,” I manage, because I’m naked and throbbing and still, I smell like blood. Grainger ignores me, flushing the condom and grabbing his discarded multi-tool off the wet floor. He pauses to turn the water off in the shower, but doesn’t bother to replace the head or mop up the mess. No, he’s too busy finishing what he started on my bathroom door.
I just stare at his back, his t-shirt sticking to his sweaty skin, and I try not to hate him so much that I can’t breathe.
Instead, I hop down, grab all the towels from the bathroom’s linen closet, and lay them out over the white marble floors of the fancy-ass bathroom I never wanted. What good is a fancy house and nice things if they’re literally bought and paid for in blood?
Liquid seeps down my inner thighs, but I know Grainger was wearing a condom, so it can only be mine. The proof of my own desire. It pisses me off how much I wanted him, how much I still want him. Even if he’s hardly the sort of man to hold a girl in the dark and let her cry.
With a curse of my own, I climb back in the shower, turn on the water, and manage to close the curtain just in time for Nellie to show up. She doesn’t act like she knows a damn thing about what just went on in here, but if she does, she might tell Cat.
My heart thunders as she offers up a cup of coffee to Grainger.
“It’s gonna be a long night, huh?” she asks, and he grunts, taking the coffee and downing half of it in one go. Looking between the two of them, I realize that Grainger, Beast, Sin, and Crown are some of the only men in my father’s immediate circle who I haven’t seen my mother fuck.
Gross.
Turning away, I start to scrub my scalp with punishing fingers. But no amount of soap can ever clean the filth that’s stuck to my soul.
“I brought you sandwiches, and some lemonade. And hot chocolate for after.” Nelly stands on the sopping wet towels on the bathroom floor, looking perplexed. I stare at her over my shoulder, and I just cannot find it in me to respond or even smile. “Is there a leak in here?” she asks, not at all bothered by the big, burly biker dude in the leather vest hauling my bathroom door off to the hallway.
“There was; I fixed it,” Grainger grumbles, and I turn away.
I hate him. I hate him. I fucking hate him.
After Nellie leaves, and I finish my shower, I grab the sexiest silk pajamas I have, put them on right in front of Grainger, and challenge him to watch me. He does, too. He stares at me with unbridled need, but he does not move from his post in front of my doorway.
I curl up on my bed and fall asleep to the sound of him cursing under his breath.
“Morning, sugar.”
The mattress creaks under someone’s weight, and I smell the gentle, floral fragrance of Reba’s perfume. I don’t even want to look at her, that’s how ashamed I am of what happened at camp. I brought monsters into her sanctuary. How could she ever forgive me for that?
But I’m not a coward.
So even though I know I don’t deserve her friendship, I roll over to face her. There are huge bags under her eyes, and a smile on her face that doesn’t reach them. She’s looking down at my blanket and not at my face. I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to look at me either.
In this one instance: the club, my father, Grainger … they’re right.
What I did was irresponsible. What happened was my fault.
“Morning,” I say, but the word barely escapes my lips. It’s like the flutter of a butterfly’s wing, almost too soft to hear. Reba toys with the pearl necklace she’s wearing over her black cardigan, but it’s too somber of an occasion to make any inappropriate jokes about it.
Glancing up, I find Sin standing in my doorway instead, his back to us. I know he’s listening though. Of course he is.
“What happened last night, suge? We have one camper in the hospital, one missing, and a dozen girls who say they say they saw that same girl get shot. The police are telling us it was a random act of violence from a jealous boyfriend. But why does that smell like a pile o’ turds to me?”
I sit up, taking note of the fact that Fem is still missing.
If he killed my dog, I’ll kill him.
Well, I’d try anyway. Cat would gun me down in cold-blood before I could even take a shot at him, that much is a fun fact of life.
“Grey Wolfe Mafia,” I whisper, feeling like I might just throw up. As I adjust myself on the bed, I can feel the sore spot between my thighs. It’s almost uncomfortable enough to make me want to pop a few pain killers. I pick at a loose thread on my black comforter with my chipped fingernail polish.
“Goddamn it, Gidget,” Sin snaps, turning to look over his shoulder, silver eyes flashing with frustration. “Keep your damn mouth shut.”
I don’t acknowledge him or the blue faux hawk he’s been sporting recently. He’s taken mad shit from the club for it, so it’s not even worth my time to tell him that I … like it. He stands out from the other men with their beards, and their brown, black, and blonde hair.
Doesn’t make him any less of a prick.
Reba looks his way, studies the missing door and then redirects her attention over to the bathroom.
“That just ain’t right,” she mutters, but she reaches out and pulls me into a hug anyway. Why she’s friends with me, I really don’t know. If I were her, I’d run as far and fast as I could get and never look back. Being my friend comes with a lot of strings—none of them good. I need her to leave and never speak to me again because if the Grey Wolfe Mafia thinks killing her will get them closer to me, they’ll do it. “A lady needs privacy in the powder room.”
“Please just say bathroom,” I whisper, but I almost smile, pushing dark hair back behind my ears and trying really hard not to think about Grainger. It’s not as hard as it should be with Sin standing so close. After all, I fucked him once, too. I could think about that, how his was the first dick I ever took between my lips, smearing red lipstick across his pierced shaft …
“Gidget, are you okay?” Reba asks again, focusing her green eyes on mine. Her makeup is so perfect, so exact, but subtle, too. Her dark clothes however suggest a somber mood that’s matched by the pouring rain outside. It’s the Sunday just after Labor Day, and the world is a violent mess, a puzzle that I can’t quite figure out. “I don’t need to know the details of what happened last night, but should I be worried about you?”
“No.” Sin isn’t looking at us, but he thinks he has a right to participate in the conversation. I can see how tight his back is though, the fabric of his cut pulled taut over his shoulders. “Gidge will be just fine. You’d be better off if you left the questions alone though.”
“Are you threatenin’ me?” Reba asks in total outrage. She literally clutches her pearls and stands up, confident that with God on her side, she can take on anything. I don’t ever want her to learn otherwise, that sometimes, no matter how much back-up you think you have, the devil can find a way in. “Because I do not take kindly to threats, and I really don’t appreciate eavesdroppers. If I had something to say to you, then sir, you bet your buns, I would say it.”
Sin doesn’t turn around, but the creak of the stairs signals a newcomer making their way into this little conversation.
As soon as I see that it’s Cat, I want to puke.
My eyes widen as he appears in the hallway, and I reach out to grab Reba’s wrist, the little silver bracelet her grandmother gave her jangling as I pull her back toward me a
nd into another hug. My lips move next to her ear, stirring her hair.
“I love you, so please just walk out of here and don’t come back. Please.” I let go and catch the shocked expression on her face as she pulls away. But in my gaze ... she must see it, right? There's nothing but cold, gray gravestones and lonely ravens in my eyes. “Please,” I repeat, and there's a quivering in my voice that catches her stubborn ass off-guard. Even when I'm serious, I'm never serious. You know?
Right now, I'm fucking dead serious.
Dead.
I swallow hard as Cat sweeps into the room with Crown, Beast, and Grainger on his heels.
There's a prospect behind them that I don't recognize, but … I could never forget the smell of blood. Blood on my sister's chest, blood on my hands, blood leaking beneath the pantry door.
“Miss Reba, I think it's about time you headed home,” Cat says, his voice as dark and cold as the empty cavern where my heart should be. I'm shaking now, even though I want to stay strong. It's easy to throw up a force field of false bravado when you're pretty sure things are going to be okay.
I don't feel like anything's going to be okay ever again.
“I don't rightly—” Reba starts, rising to her feet and putting her hands on her hips in that obstinate way of hers that I've always loved. I pretend to be the tough bitch in this relationship, but in reality, it's Reba. Reba's the strong one, the one who knows who she is and where she stands. While I don't always agree with her morals and ideals, at least she knows what hers are, what she's fighting for, what she fucking stands for.
Me? I don't stand for anything.
I'm just adrift in a wind that blows so hard and so fast, I can feel my bones being crushed to dust.
“Not today, Reba,” Cat says, and Beast steps forward, like he's going to escort her off the premises if she doesn't go. The way my dad looks at my best friend in that moment, I can see that he cares as much about what happens to her as he does me. That is to say: not at all. “Go home and read your bible.”
“This ain't about any of that,” Reba continues, and my hand lashes out to grab her sleeve, to beg her to shut up. If she isn't careful, she could disappear just like that poor girl from camp. If she did, I'd die. I'd really die without her. Reba, she's fucking special. She's one of the last good ones left in the world. Besides, I don't exactly have an awful lot to live for.
“Beast, take her home,” Cat says, and the bearded asshole steps forward, sweeping Reba up and tossing her over his muscular shoulder. She screams and kicks and flails, but railing against Beast is like kicking a brick wall in bare feet. I watch helplessly as my best friend is dragged down the stairs and out the front door. When Beast finally does put her down, she breathes deep and carefully fixes her hair, straightens her skirt. When Reba looks up, our eyes meet. With mine, I say a silent goodbye and turn away to look at Cat.
The coldness inside of me overtakes the fear, obliterates it until there's nothing left but ash, drifting in an icy afternoon breeze. But this time, there's no tree to hide beneath, no Sin to hold me in his arms. Instead, he's staring at me like all the rest of them.
“Gidget.” Cat says my name, and it's an accusation, threat, and sentencing all in one breath, two syllables, an instant in time I will never forget.
“Where is that blood from?” I ask as hot salty things drip onto my shaking hands. I'm crying. I'm crying?! Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Gidget,” Cat continues, kneeling down in front of me, his head wrapped with a red and white bandanna, his eyes covered with dark shades. He pulls them off and carefully closes them up, slipping them into the pocket on his cut. The way he looks at me … it's indescribably awful. “You know what you did wrong, don't you?”
I just look at him because there's no right way to respond to that.
“Caper,” he says, gesturing with his head for the prospect to weave between the other officers. They're all staring at me, these men, these demons, these devils who fucked and worshiped my body once upon a time. But none of them are really looking at me. No, the only person who's delving into my soul with their eyes is Cat.
I feel violated.
Caper, the prospect, moves up to the edge of the bed as I sob and shake. I can see there's a bundle in his arms, that the blanket covering it is stained with blood, that it's not moving.
No.
No, no, no, no.
“Now, Gidget, I'm going to ask you one more time: do you know what you did wrong?”
Cat adjusts himself, tilting his head slightly to one side, still staring at me. He could be any dad in the world right now, chastising his teenage daughter for making a mistake. Only … he's not any dad. He's a fucking monster. And I'm not any girl. I'm a tortured, captive princess. I'm a broken doll hanging from tattered strings, a puppet for him to play with, to mock, to bruise, to burn.
Again, I don't answer.
That's a mistake
Slowly, carefully, Cat reaches beneath his vest and removes his favorite gun: his Smith & Wesson Model 29. He taps it against his open palm for a moment, making a small humming sound under his breath in thought. And then, then he raises the barrel to my forehead and presses the cold metal to my skin.
“Boss,” Crown starts, and there's a strange disconnect in his voice that I've never heard before.
“Shut your mouth, Crown,” Cat says as Beast reenters the room and pauses with this unreal, almost supernatural stillness.
“What the fuck?” Grainger whispers, as Sin steps up behind Cat. None of them move to help me though. Not a one of them.
I stare down the barrel of that gun without flinching, eyes locked on my father's. If he's going to kill me here and now, I'm not going to make it easy for him. I reach up and dry the tears from my face with the edge of a sheet and lift my chin proudly. If I die here and now, he'll have to clean my brains from the wall. If I die here and now, he'll have to explain to my mother why he chose to do what he did.
Seconds pass, but they could be hours. I have no idea. All I know is that the cold barrel of that gun quickly becomes warm from the press of my skin, that the steps creak, that my brother Gaz steps into the room and doesn't say a word.
“Boss,” Crown repeats, but that's it. Just that. That's as much as he's willing to defy his fucking master to help a teenage girl with a gun to her forehead.
My dad looks me straight in the face … and pulls the trigger.
To my credit, I don't cringe or scream or cry.
What's the point?
Instead, I sit there stoically as Cat stands up and pulls the revolver away, flipping the cylinder open to show me that it's entirely … “Empty,” I whisper without meaning to.
“Next time, Gidget, it might not be,” he says, turning away and nodding his chin at Caper. The prospect steps up next to my bed, and then drops the bloodied lump in my lap as fresh tears fall and spatter on the red-soaked sheet. “Next time, it'll be worse.”
Cat leaves with my brother following along behind him as I peel back the sheet … and scream.
The veterinary office is disgusting.
I hate it here.
It's sterile and it smells like bleach, and the people at the front counter were more concerned with getting my credit card than taking a look at my fucking dog.
“Fem's going to lose his leg,” I say to no one in particular, nostrils flared, hands curled so tightly into fists that my palms are bleeding. It's nothing though, that pain, compared to the injustices I've suffered.
“Mm.” Beast doesn't say much, sitting beside me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He smells good, like bergamot nectar and books, but I couldn't give two fucks about that right now. In fact, I'm not sure that I'll ever give a single fuck again about any of these men.
They stood there and watched.
As far as they knew, Cat was going to kill me, and they did nothing to stop him.
Nothing.
After a moment though, he adds, “it could've been worse.”
; I laugh, this caustic, bitter sound that burns my throat when it comes up.
“Please,” I scoff, staring at a rack of magazines on the wall. Magazines. Hah. Who needs magazines anymore when there are smartphones? Only, I don't have one anymore because Cat took it. He made sure to give me a shitty satellite phone for emergency calls, but only because he wants to know where the Grey Wolfe Mafia is and what they're up to. He very clearly doesn't give any fucks about me.
I used to think that in a weird, twisted way, Cat loved me.
I won't make that mistake again.
“Don't act like what you did for me was a favor,” I whisper, refusing to take my eyes off the magazine rack. Where else should I be looking? At Beast with his animal tattoos curling around his massive arms? At his blue eyes catching the fluorescent lights from above and turning them into something so much prettier, like little gemstones in a hard, weather-worn face?
I turn in the opposite direction from him, facing toward the bathrooms instead. When I went to pay for Fem's emergency care, my credit card was declined. And my debit card, the one with my own money in it. Cat has taken control of anything and everything that gave me autonomy and freedom and hope.
So, Beast paid for it with his own card.
I imagine he only did that because he wasn't specifically asked not to by Cat. Otherwise, I'd be fucked. I'd be so fucking screwed. Fem would die because of bullshit and money and hatred, and the last living little part of me would wither away.
“He was never going to kill you,” Beast says, his voice this quiet thunder that just barely reaches my ears and yet makes me tremble at the same time. He could command armies with that voice, Beast could. If you think about it, he kind of does. My father might be the president of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club, but Beast is the enforcer—he’s the monster that tames all the other monsters.
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