I Was Born Ruined

by Stunich, C. M.

  “How the fuck do you know that?” I ask, a little too loudly. The receptionist lifts her eyes to mine, dressed in pink kitty scrubs and sporting thick-framed black glasses with little rhinestones in them. I’d get my ass kicked for wearing something like that. Hell, I’d kick my own ass.

  My throat tightens up as the girl stares at me for a second and then flicks her eyes sharply away. She knows better than to stare at someone like me, a creature of the night, not a monster herself but one who rides with monsters through the inky dark of night. A girl who was born of monsters. A girl who fucks them.

  Curling my lip, I turn away sharply from kitty scrub girl. Bet her daddy loves her, bet he paid her way through veterinary school, bet she’s never had a gun pointed at her forehead—loaded or otherwise. I bet she doesn’t have to worry about being murdered by mafia men.

  “My job is to ensure the club runs smoothly, that all members stay in line.” I glance over my shoulder in Beast’s direction, and I’m half-certain that these are the most words he’s ever spoken to me. I've heard him make plenty of other sounds though, sounds of wild pleasure, only half-tame and not at all civilized. He’s staring at me with eyes like a lake in high summer, so calm, no ripples. See, this isn’t a man who rages, who flips tables over, who breaks faces in bloody bar brawls. This is a man that breaks necks in the dead of night, that walks on quiet cat paws, that you don’t see coming until it’s too late.

  Beast lifts his chin and reaches up to rub at the short, dirty-blonde beard he’s sporting. I remember the feel of golden stubble against my cheek, and shift uncomfortably in my seat. Feels like a million years ago that I did that, that I lost my virginity to demons.

  No, no, lost is not the right word.

  I did not lose anything: I was in complete control.

  I gave it freely, willingly, sacrificed my soul to the devil’s dearest demons.

  Keep telling yourself that, Gidge, I think as my heart pounds and Beast stares at me for an inordinate amount of time before finishing his thought. He takes his time in whatever he does. He once paused next to me, looked down and met my eyes, and said you don’t owe anyone immediacy, Gidget. I’ve never forgotten that.

  “That includes my president. Hurting you would kill him. I couldn’t allow him to do that.”

  I snort again, but I feel like a deflated balloon, my bravado leaking out of me instead of the tears I won’t shed. Queenie would know what to do, I think, and my eyes darken with salt and sadness. Queenie would know how to handle Dad without getting herself killed.

  “Glad to know you’ve got his back like that,” I quip, but Beast doesn’t scowl like Grainger would, make excuses like Crown, or withdraw into himself like Sin. He just looks at me, like an open book written in a language I don’t understand.

  We stare at each other for a while until, surprisingly, Beast breaks the silence again.

  “Cat would never kill you, Gidge,” he repeats, but there’s a darkness in his voice, creeping around my shoulders like fog in the night. “But next time, he’ll kill your dog.” I jerk my gaze away from him, chills creeping across my skin as the swinging door from the back opens and the vet gestures for me to follow after her.

  I don’t think she wants Beast to come; he does anyway.

  The only reason Fem isn’t dead is because a puppet with no strings is useless.

  Cat knows I love my dog; he knows I’ll fall in line to protect him …

  … even if I don’t have the will or energy to protect myself.

  School.

  Glorified prison. But at least I’m out of solitary confinement for a while.

  “Smoking is such a filthy habit,” Reba says in my imagination as I take a drag. She’ll have to keep saying it there for a while because in real life, she’s sitting in the cafeteria eating a turkey and avocado sandwich with Johnny R. while he tries—rather fucking unsuccessfully—to hit on her.

  Our eyes meet through the grimy glass as I exhale, billowing gray smoke into the quiet, dreadful air. And yes, air can absolutely be dreadful when it’s tainted with murder and threats and intrigue.

  “I bet she’s in the woods somewhere, half-buried and rotting,” Dena says in a voice colored with bubblegum, morbidity, and the peach schnapps she stole from her mom. As I stare at her, with her shiny strawberry-blonde hair, bird’s-eye-blue eyes, and general bitchiness, I realize how much I truly fucking hate her.

  She’s so turned-on by the mystery of the missing Carol Brigg’s that her nipples are showing through her lacy pink tank. Her evil eyes glitter as she looks between Chardou, Amiya, and me, looking for solidarity, another wicked soul to revel in her gossipy glory.

  There are so many types of monsters in the world, aren’t there? They don’t all come in stripes. Some have spots. Some have leather vests. Others have pink Prada bags and convertibles.

  “She was shot by the Grey Wolfe Mafia and buried so deep, nobody will ever find her body,” I say, and even though it’s one hundred percent truth, it’s too wild to believe, and the other three girls just giggle and scream and shove playfully at my shoulder while I smoke.

  I’m only hanging out with them because, to be quite frank, I don’t give a lot of fucks as to whether they live or die which means, of course, that neither the mafia nor the club will be interested in murdering them to make a point. They’re safe in their suburban homes, cozied up under goose down and texting crushes until three in the morning.

  Heh.

  Is it weird that now I only live three houses down from her?

  In elementary school, I lived on the wrong side of the tracks and Dena never let me forget it. She picked on me mercilessly. As soon as we upgraded to her snobby, rich neighborhood, I was good enough to be a friend. Doesn’t matter to her that my dad’s a crook so long as he’s got money. Guess it shouldn’t considering her dad’s a crook, too: he’s a politician, so really he just has to be. State senator or something, I think. Like I give two craps. The club exists and operates entirely outside of normal society. Anything we do to play into it is either for our own benefit, or to put up a front to keep outsiders out of our business.

  “Maybe she ran off with a guy?” Chardou says, her hair beaded with the school colors of black and gold. Go Vikings. Now, her mom, I like, regardless of how pretentious their family is. Mrs. Doctor Michael Klepson, that’s how she introduces herself. Drives me nuts, like being married to a doctor is any big deal. That, and she drives her daughter nearly six hours to the city to get her hair done by a prominent celebrity stylist.

  Like you have room to judge anyone else, Gidge, I tell myself, smoking my clove cigarette and staring at the shiny, black surface of my nails. My black cable knit sweater falls over my fingers, and I find myself enraptured by the glow of the cherry as I lift my smoke back to my lips. Filthy fucking habit.

  “Let me have a drag on that,” Amiya says, snapping her fingers in a way that grates on my nerves. I hand over the cigarette anyway, watching as she inhales and then coughs. I know for a fact the only thing this girl smokes on the regular is a little bit of pot.

  “Oh my god, bitch,” Dena says, laughing like a pink sparkly hyena that shits rainbows. I hate her so much. She takes the cigarette and does these tiny, ladylike little puffs that make me raise a brow. “So, you know that Trevone’s parents are out of town Friday night, right?”

  Somehow, in the swirl of murder-mystery and mayhem, Dena’s forgotten that I almost rounded second base with Trevone at the camp. And I’ve almost forgotten that I rounded all of the bases with Grainger right after. Stifling a groan, I keep my attention on the girls and not on thoughts of Grainger’s hard cock pummeling me against the counter.

  And of course, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since yesterday.

  Piece of shit.

  My hand shakes as I take the cigarette back. Dena notices and raise a single blond brow, but doesn’t bother to ask if I’m okay. Why should she? She doesn’t care about anyone but herself. My eyes start to stray toward the cafet
eria window again, toward Reba … but I won’t let my own selfish want for love and affection send her to an early grave.

  “He’s throwing a party,” Dena continues, oblivious to her own clichéd nature. She tosses her hair over one shoulder and looks at me in challenge. “Starts at eight. Can you get us some rock candy to play with?” She bats her lashes at me, and I narrow my eyes.

  “Rock candy?” I ask, but I already know what she wants: drugs. It’s pretty fucking obvious. “You mean, like those colored sugar sticks kids make in science class?”

  “I mean coke,” Dena says, popping out a hip and looking at me triumphantly. “And I don’t mean soda.”

  “Nobody calls coke rock candy,” I reply in a low, sultry tone, flicking my cigarette into the bushes. One of the administrators pauses near the entrance to the courtyard and looks suspiciously in my direction, but I just smile politely at her and she walks on. Even the teachers know who my father is. “And no, I won’t be going to the party.”

  “You can still get us some though, can’t you?” Dena asks, but I’m already walking away. I don’t know where I’m going exactly, but I feel the sudden need to move far, far away from this spot. Maybe I’ll cut class early and head over to the vet clinic to check on Fem? He’s doing okay, as okay as a dog who got his leg shot off can be. He’ll forever be a three-legged dog, but at least he’s alive and that’s what matters.

  Unconditional love, on tap.

  I walk a little faster, but Dena keeps pace with me, Chardou and Amiya trailing along behind her.

  “Come on, Gidget,” she says, her voice getting this edge to it that says she rarely, if ever, hears the word no—from anyone. “We just want a little, just enough to get messed up for the night. It’s senior year, for fuck’s sake.”

  I head across the hall and out the front entrance to see Grainger waiting on his bike.

  Jesus.

  My head swims, and I feel dizzy all of a sudden. But I’ll be damned if I let him know that. Ignoring Dena, I march right up to him and meet those gorgeous eyes of his, waiting for him to push his shades up into his ruddy hair so he can stare at me.

  He was going to let me die; he stood there and watched as Cat pulled the trigger.

  The heat in my heart and the lust in my loins, those fruits wither on the damn branch.

  “Take me to the vet clinic to check on my dog,” I command, my voice full of quiet menace. Grainger doesn’t say anything, just looks past me to the three girls standing on the brick sidewalk in front of the high school. They’re staring at him like one might examine a brightly colored caterpillar with red stripes, or a tree frog covered in purple spots. Exotic, pretty, fascinating … deadly. Do not touch. Except for me. Except for stupid, stupid me.

  “Ruination,” I grumble under my breath. Grainger hears me, I think, but he can’t possibly guess where the train of my thoughts is coming from or where it’s headed. He waits for me to climb up behind him and wrap my arms around his heat-soaked leather vest.

  “Catch ya later, Gidge!” Dena calls out, and Grainger snorts.

  “Really? Those are the sort of girls you hang around with?” he asks, and I get the strongest urge to throw him from his bike, so I can take off on it by myself. I wouldn’t get very far though, no. I’d be hunted down like a fox racing from a pack of coonhounds.

  “Well,” I tell him as I climb on and he kickstarts the engine, the rumble of the metal beast between my thighs making my blood sing. Fuck. As much as I hate to admit, I’m a daughter of the club, and no matter how far or how fast I run, it’ll always be there, tainting my soul a filthy black. “The thing is, if Cat or the Grey Wolfe Mafia decide to kill them, I won’t exactly be heartbroken.”

  Grainger snorts, and takes off from the curb in a peel of rubber.

  The wind tangles my hair as I keep my cheek pressed to the patch on the back of Grainger’s leather vest, drinking in the rare and brief visit from the hot, hot sun, tasting a storm on the wind. It’ll come soon and wipe away all this sunshine.

  For a while, I keep my eyes closed, enjoying the swerve of the bike beneath me, the way it hugs the road and kisses the curves. But when I open them, I realize we are in no way headed for the veterinary clinic. No, we’re heading for the clubhouse.

  Panic overtakes me, like a bird fluttering frightened wings inside my chest.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask as Grainger pulls up to the front gate, slows, and waits for whoever’s on duty to let us in. They know who the fuck he is, so we’re waved through pretty quickly, heading up the winding driveway into the trees.

  “Cat wants to talk to you,” Grainge says as he parks, knocks the kickstand back with his boot, and turns to glance at me over his shoulder. There’s a look there that’s impossible for me to read.

  “Not about us fucking?” I ask, genuinely concerned, and a spark flares in Grainge’s eyes.

  “For shit’s sake, Gidget, why don’t you just scream it?” He climbs off his ride in a fury, stalking up the dirt path that winds behind the clubhouse while I stare at him. I know what’s back there, what’s up there, and I don’t want to go.

  Once, when I was five, I wandered off into the forest during a game of hide-and-seek with my sisters. I stumbled upon the cutest wood cabin … and my father dragging a body out the back door. A body that was not in good shape, covered in blood and still tied to a chair. I know what happens in that building, and I’m not going anywhere near it.

  Standing up from Grainge’s Indian Chief Classic—which I have to grudgingly admit is hot as fuck—I stumble back and end up slamming back-to-chest into Crown. He doesn’t look happy when he turns me around and looks down at my face.

  “You’re white as a ghost,” he says, and he sounds concerned but really, how much could he possibly care considering just three days ago he watched my dad put a gun to my forehead and pull the trigger? “Are you okay, Gidget?”

  “What am I doing here?” I ask, and I’m both ashamed and relieved to hear my voice shake a little. It means I’m afraid, sure, but it also means I’m not ready to give up and die, not just yet. Not yet. There’s still fight in me yet.

  My eyes meet Crown’s soulful green ones, and I can see that he’s not happy about me being here either. Club business is club business, and even as Cat’s daughter, I’m not privy to it. So why am I standing on this dirt and gravel driveaway with sweat pouring down my back?

  “Don't be scared, Gidge,” Crown says from beside me, and if I were a naive soul, I might just believe him. He's very convincing with his tousled brown curls and his stupid smile. But there’s also a haunt in his eyes, a specter, a ghost of a future yet to come. Chills prickle across my skin, making my hair stand on end.

  I look between Grainger and Crown, and I can't get a read on their moods. That's what scares me. I can fool myself all I want by pretending I know these two men.

  I don't.

  In fact, they're worse than strangers. Strangers are distant, figurative things, people that pass by in the night like ships. These men, they're the kraken that lurk just beyond the bow, monsters swimming in an inky black ocean. I swallow hard and brace myself. If my dad were going to kill me, he'd have done it already.

  Doesn't mean there aren't worse things than death. Trust me: growing up in this community, I know there are. I've seen them.

  “I want to go visit my dog,” I announce, and I'm proud to say that I keep my voice even, strong, resistant. I still sound like that rebel girl that convinced Grainger to lay out a line of coke for me when I was sixteen.

  He's a bad man; Beast is a bad man; Sin and Crown are bad men. Cat is the worst.

  “You can see your dog after,” Grainger grunts, lighting up a cigarette. I really don't like the way he says the word after. It's got an ominous ring to it that chills me to the very center of my core, my molten hot core that burns with so much rage. Wonder if there's really such a thing as spontaneous combustion. If there were, I'd very much like it to sweep over and consume me, burn me to ash
in the wind.

  “Come on,” Crown says as I look up at him, into a kind and handsome face. I can see how he used to be a cop. I imagine that once upon a time, he thought he could save people. Now he's nothing but an outlaw among outlaws.

  My hair blows in the wind, obscuring my view, and I glance away, toward the old cabin where my crazy Uncle Benny used to live. My grandma had it built for him when she realized he was never going to be able to live on his own.

  The trees sway like dancers, getting jiggy to a tune that I can't hear. All I can hear is the violent throbbing of my pulse, making my ears sound like the ocean.

  “Jesus,” I grumble, but Cade Grainger just makes a sound under his breath, drawing my attention back to the tumultuous umber of his eyes and his hair, bathed crimson in the sun-dappled shadows, turning it the color of blood.

  “He can't help you now,” Grainger drawls, and maybe he thinks he’s funny as he drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it out with his boot. He’s smiling, but there’s nothing pleasant about his expression.

  I should've stayed safe in the cocoon of the high school. This is my lesson right here: stay the fuck in school.

  Because I know they'll drag me if I resist, I start up the hill at a brisk pace. I don't even have to open the door to smell the copper tang of blood.

  Please don't let this be the end of me, I think, and I know there a million ways beyond death for me to lose my soul. Grainger reaches around me and unlocks the door, his warm body far too close to mine. Crown will notice. Cat will absolutely notice.

  “Get your ass in there,” he says, his mouth so close to my ear that his breath stirs my hair. I can still feel him inside of me, still feel his hands gripping my ass, his mouth on my neck. My heart races, and my chest feels suddenly tight. If we were somewhere else, anywhere else, maybe the raft of our hatred would carry us away on wild waves.

  The acrid reek of blood keeps me from getting too excited though. Instead, all I feel is terror when that door swings open and I'm shoved inside it.