My head feels disturbingly clear, even as aftershocks of ardent agony ripple through me. My red-brown gaze meets his, darkened with lust.
“Did you just come?” he asks me, sounding both bemused and triumphant at the same time. Grainger's eyes bore into me, sharp as tacks. That's when I see both his brows go up. “Wait, what the hell?” he starts, just before we both hear the sharp rap of knuckles on the door.
It opens up before either of us gets a chance to answer, and I find myself staring at Sin with Grainger's hand up my skirt. He steps back from me, but he doesn't do a damn thing to hide the shiny wetness on his fingers. It's awful, one of the most awkward moments of my life.
“What the fuck?” Sin snarls, gritting his teeth and running his palm over his shaved head. His muscles are tense with violence. It’s in the air; I can taste it. And the strangest thing is? It tastes just like Grainger’s mouth. “Cade, you piece of shit.”
“The hell do you want?” Grainger asks, looking at the other man like he's a kid brother he's just barely putting up with. They're six years apart; Grainger and I … are fifteen years apart. Have fun with that math.
“Cat's here,” Sin says, his voice hard as iron. He glances over at me, and there's a narrowing of his eyes that almost looks like a challenge. Part of me wonders if he might fight Grainger over me. The idea is thrilling. I wet my lips and Sin looks away sharply. “You think he might freak if he caught you giving his daughter blow in the clubhouse bathroom?”
“His—” That's all Cade manages to say before it dawns on him and he whips around to face me, brown eyes widening, fingers raking through the silky rust-red strands of his hair. He looks at me like I'm the monster. “You're Gidge?” It comes out like an insult.
“Gidget,” I correct, making sure to enunciate the T. I'm shaky and weak all over, and I can still see starbursts in my vision. Did I just have an orgasm? Seriously? I have no idea, but it felt really, really fucking good. Grainger just stares at me like I'm the goddamn anti-Christ while I turn and snort up a second white line.
The two men watch me as I back up, wiping my arm under my nose and trying to resist the siren song I've just discovered, beckoning me toward a cliff of very sharp, very deadly rocks. The club, these men, the sex, the booze, the drugs …
I move past them both and out into the hall, only to run right into Cat.
He, too, looks at me like he's never seen me before.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he snaps at me, but there's literally nothing in this world he can take from me that matters, so I'm not scared. Fear implies that there's something to be lost, something that can't be gotten back. That's what fear really is, the gut-wrenching reality of discovering that not all wrongs can be righted, not all broken things can be fixed. So I'm not afraid because I just don't care to be.
“I'm here to party,” I tell him, and the way he looks at me then, there's a disconnect. He doesn't look at me like I'm his daughter anymore, but like I'm just another member of his stupid club.
“Suit yourself,” he growls, pushing past me and heading down the hall. Crown follows along behind him, but stops when he sees me standing there, looking me over with a strange mixture of disappointment and shattered expectations, like this is the last place he ever wanted to see me. I remember all those nights of Sin saving us from this mess, whisking us away to join the real world, helping with homework and making dinner and …
I throw a quick glance over my shoulder and see the youngest member of the club standing there with his hands curled into fists, his eyes focused on a torn, faded poster that’s practically plastered to the wall.
This is not where Sin wanted me to end up.
Glancing back at Crown, I can see from his expression that it’s not where he wanted me to end up either.
Too bad. I didn’t want my sisters to end up sleeping cold and buried six feet under, but that’s what happened. Life sucks. Don’t I have a right to seek my own oblivion? After all, these men are here for a reason, and let’s be frank: it’s not to make an honest living. They’re as twisted, as broken as I am.
“Gidget,” Crown starts, and I can already hear the beginning of a lecture lingering on his lips. His moss green eyes bore holes into me, but I don’t flinch. I’m not afraid of the Death by Daybreak VP. Lesser men have crumbled under that gaze. But me, I’m young, dumb, and broken. I don’t care enough to be scared. “Why don’t you have Sin take you home?”
“I don't want to go home,” I tell him, and I've never been more serious about anything in my life. Our eyes meet, and there's a challenge in his that comes crashing right up against the challenge in mine. I'm not going anywhere.
“As the Vice President,” Crown starts, and I feel my hackles go up, “I can decide who's allowed on club property and who isn't. I'm kicking you out.” Grainger appears in the hallway behind me as I curl my hands into tight fists, mimicking Sin’s tense posture. Crown lifts his head to look at the two of them, and the way his full mouth curves into a frown is almost scary. “What the hell are you two doing letting her run around here like this?”
“Letting me run around?” I echo, because I'm starting to get furious, like a caged animal. I just want out. Out, out, out. And my claws are unsheathed, and my body is quivering, and I'm just righteously pissed off. “You don't let me do anything; I make my own choices.” I move to shove past him, and he grabs me.
“Crown.” It's my dad's voice, footsteps booming as he storms back down the hallway. I don’t look back to see his expression, but I can hear the dramatic sigh. “Don’t even bother with her. We got better things to do. If the little twit wants to be a whore when she grows up, let her.”
“Sir,” Crown begins, and it’s the closest to defiance I’ve ever heard from him. My mouth pops up, and my heart pounds. Not sure why. Maybe it’s because I can still feel Grainger and Sin behind me, their anger a palpable cloud in the smoky air? Or maybe it’s Crown’s long, warm fingers wrapped around my arm, making my flesh pebble with goose bumps?
“Crown, you stupid or something? I said leave the girl alone.” Crown releases me like he’s been burned, his nostrils flaring, full mouth flattening into a thin line. Now he’s pissed at me, too. Well, good for him, he can deal. I rub my palm over the spot where he grabbed me, glaring daggers in his direction. “Besides, the mafia’s in town again. Wouldn’t want her getting raped and killed like her sisters.”
My eyes widen and bile rises in my throat. I spin to face Cat, but he’s already walking away. I can hear Crown move up behind me.
“Gidget,” he warns, but I’m already moving, rage pumping hot in my veins. How dare he?! How dare he talk about my sisters like that?! If I can reach Cat, I’ll kill him. But Grainger and Sin get in my way, each taking hold of my arms as I let out a scream that’s swallowed up by the metal music blaring from the speakers.
“Fuck you!” I screech, but Cat is already turning the corner, ignoring me like he usually does. Crown moves up beside me as I tear my arms from Grainger’s and Sin’s grips, unshed tears blurring my vision, my teeth gritted so hard my jaw hurts. “Your president’s a fucking monster,” I snarl at the three of them, using my shoulder to shove past Crown and head back into the throng that’s gathered near the bar.
I’ve downed an entire beer before I realize that Sin is standing next to me again. Oh, right. He’s supposed to be my bodyguard. I guess he won’t let me too far out of his sight tonight, huh? Curling my fingers around the neck of my bottle, I take a deep breath and hazard looking over at him.
He’s still pissed.
I’ve blown my chance at fucking him, haven’t I?
“Why don’t you tell me how stupid I am for letting Grainger get to me?” I whisper, the colors and sounds of the room blurring into background noise. The coke has seriously set me on edge. I feel like fighting somebody. Mostly, I feel like murdering Cat.
“Lines of blow, Gidget? Seriously?” Sin scoffs like he’s disgusted with me, reaching up to run his fingers throug
h his nearly non-existent hair. There’s just a purple fuzz that’s left. Seems to bother him, so he drops his hand by his side and shakes his head. “Were you guys fucking in there?” The question holds such a punch that I pause and look over at him. Sin’s eyes are ringed in liner, the silver color that much brighter because of the dark, lurid shadows all around us.
“We were getting there,” I admit, and he makes this frustrated sound that I can’t quite place.
“You’re sixteen—and just barely at that,” Sin snaps, as if that makes any difference. My mother is fifteen years younger than my father. The rotten apple doesn’t fall from the tree, right? This is my destiny, this hellhole of drugs, alcohol, sex, and crime. This is my future now. “He’s old enough to be your fucking dad.”
“Really?” I ask snidely, sneering. I don’t mean to, but Cat’s comment and Crown’s overprotectiveness have really pissed me off, and I need someone to take it out on. “And you would care, why? What’s it to you?”
Sin opens his mouth to reply, and then snaps it shut at the last moment. He purses his lips and looks away from me, refusing to take the bait. I know that somewhere in his past, there’s a tragedy lurking, digging its ugly claws into the edges of his mind. He lost a little sister; he used to see me as a little sister. But what does he see me as now?
Pushing away from the counter, I weave my way into the crowd and try to lose myself to the loud music and the churning bodies, the stink of sweat and beer and weed. Several of the men find their way to me, admiring the new girl in the short skirt. None of them recognize me either, but at least none of the old-timers try to dance with me. Anyone over thirty-five that tries to touch me is getting a boot in the balls.
Sin stays at the edge of the room, arms crossed over his firm chest, scowling so violently that none of the club-whores try to flirt with him. In fact, he’s putting off such rage-y vibes that a small space clears around him. But I can feel his gray eyes watching me, taking in my undulating body with unwilling appreciation. He wants to hate me, to be mad at me, but he can’t do it.
Interesting.
Every other song, I chug a new beer, looking for an even greater high. But with the blow in my veins, I can’t seem to get drunk. Or maybe I am, and I just can’t feel it?
Sweat pours down my spine, pooling on my lower back and sticking the hem of my skirt to my skin. With all the dancing, my breasts seem half ready to pop out of my top. Good. Let them. I don’t give a fuck. I feel light, weightless, like I’ve crossed the Veil into another world. Everything in this shitty clubhouse is shiny, sparkling.
Laughter bubbles up and out of my throat as the song ends and the crowd seems to draw away from the dance floor like a flock of birds. I shove sweat-drenched hair from my face and watch them go, curious to see what they’re all looking at.
Sin’s eyes follow me as I push through the crowd bottle-necking the narrow hall that leads to the front of the clubhouse. I walk right past him, flipping my hair as I go. It hits him in the face, but all he does is scowl, and then start to follow along behind me, the dutiful little bodyguard.
When I break through to the front of the cheering, screaming group, I find Beast, shirtless and flecked with blood and sweat.
There’s a circle in the center of the room, cleared of furniture and people, filled with Beast’s big body, and the body of his very muscular opponent, a man I recognize from around the club’s compound. Pretty sure his name is Dozer, or something as equally stupid as that.
Beast cracks his knuckles, rolling his head on his neck, his blue eyes an infuriating sort of calm. This isn’t a random bar brawl right here. No, it’s a match. I can tell from the money exchanging hands, the jeers of the crowd, and the look on the enforcer’s face. If he were truly angry, we’d all know it. There’s a reason his nickname is Beast.
Those cool blue eyes focus on me, and I see one sandy brow rise up. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from the man.
“Don’t you have a curfew or something?” Grainger asks, and I flick my gaze his direction. There’s a reason I’ve always hated him. We’ve hung out several times in the past few months, had a few beers together at the house when he was on guard-duty. And yet, he didn’t even remember my fucking face.
“Maybe. Do you have a short-term memory problem?” He’s staring at me with his mouth in a flat line, nostrils flared. I can see a muscle in his jaw ticking with anger. “Scratch that: do you have a short and a long-term memory issue? How could you not recognize me?”
“You look different,” he snaps, as if the whole situation in the bathroom was my fault. “Something about your face.” I lift both brows in surprise. There’s nothing much different about me. I’ve been wearing leather and miniskirts and makeup for six months or more. But then I realize that’s not what he means. My face … it’s the anger he can sense, that violent churning that’s taken the place of my melancholy.
Or, fuck, maybe Grainger isn’t that deep at all, and he’s just talking about my lipstick?
“Is that what made you stick your fingers inside of me?” I ask, and he cringes, gritting his teeth hard and looking around like he expects Cat to pop out and confront him at any moment. Ignoring the idiot’s frustratingly handsome face, I turn back to the makeshift ring and watch Beast face off against Dozer, his knuckles wrapped with red, his face a serene mask.
Even though I’m not afraid of Beast, I wouldn’t want to meet him in a back alley either. He’s the type you don’t see coming until it’s too late, like a tiger on padded paws. Crossing my arms over my chest, I let a cocky-sweet smile fall over my lips, noticing that his eyes flicker over to me. That’s the first time I truly realize both the power and the folly of my femininity, like a sweet honey that can bring both pollen and stings.
Beast notices me, reaching up to scrub his hand over the golden stubble on his jaw. He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a shift in his energy that I like. He’s noticed me, that’s for sure.
“I put my fingers in you because I thought you were an of-age, available groupie,” Grainger says finally, satisfied that Cat is nowhere near us, that the rumble of the crowd is loud enough to drown out his words. My lips purse, and I flick my attention back his way. “Jesus, are you stupid? Do you know how much trouble you could’ve gotten me in?”
“Are you fucking serious?” I snap back, cheeks heating. After the intimate moment we just shared, shouldn’t Cade be, like, nicer to me or something? He doesn’t seem to give a crap that he just took a little bit of my innocence into his inked hands. “It’s not my responsibility to announce my age or apologize if you find me attractive. You could really use a women’s studies class or something. Pig.”
Tossing my hair, I move away from Cade and head around the inner part of the ring for a better view, finding one on the edge of a barstool just as the next round begins. Dozer, the big guy with the salt-and-pepper beard, charges Beast as soon as the ref calls the match, throwing up a pretty impressive high kick that makes the muscles in his thighs look like rocks. My mouth pops open, and I lean forward on my seat, but the kick doesn’t even come close to hitting its target.
Beast bounces back on his feet, making him seem a lot lighter than he looks. He ducks below the kick, and then moves in with a swing. His opponent drops down and then throws his massive weight in Beast’s direction, hitting him in the midsection and knocking him back a few steps. Looking at Beast’s face, you’d think he was baking fucking cupcakes or something. There’s absolutely no strain or worry in his face as he grapples the other man, pushing him back a good foot, and then coming in swinging. His first punch hits Dozer in the side of his head, buckling his knees. Dozer tries to recover, but Beast knocks him to the ground and takes several more, calculated swings.
Less than thirty seconds in, and the fight’s over.
The crowd cheers—well, the part of the crowd who bet on Beast anyway—and money changes hands again.
“Anybody else?” one of the old-timers asks, looking around at the crowd
. “Really, no takers? You bunch o’ pussies.”
“You fight him then, Ronald!” someone shouts, and laughter erupts around the ring as several women in short skirts and shorts approach Beast with towels and bottles of water. He accepts the proffered items, tossing back an entire bottle while they rub all over him, touching his abs, his sweaty chest, pressing sweet-scented kisses to the sides of his throat.
“I’m going outside for a smoke,” Sin says, snapping me out of my trance. I open my mouth to ask him why the hell he’s even bothering: the entire room is full of people smoking. But he’s already pushing through the crowd toward the front door, and I end up following after, emerging into the cool darkness of an Oregon night, stars spread out above me like twinkle lights.
“Beast is really good, isn’t he?” I ask, but Sin just grunts and lights up, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out toward the woods. There are couples out here, some of them with pants pushed down or skirts up. My eyes wander to a tattooed hand cupping a bare breast, a woman’s parted red lips around the base of a thick cock. Doesn’t bother me. I’ve been seeing shit like this my whole life. Instead, I turn around and position myself on the railing next to Sin.
“He was a UFC champ, so yeah, he is.”
“Why would someone with so much talent join this dump?” I ask, and then pause as I realize that Sin’s stiffened up beside me. Not only is he the youngest current member of the club, but he’s also the youngest to have ever prospected in. I think I just implied that his life’s ambition is shit. Oops. “I mean—”
“I know exactly what you mean, Gidge,” he snaps at me, the irritation in his voice reminding me of Grainger. “I could ask you the same question, you know.” Sin stares into the shadows as I open my mouth and then close it again. I was about to say something stupid, blame my tragedy and my circumstance, but then … that’s probably why Sin’s here, too, huh? His sister is dead, too, and I have no idea what sort of life he lived before he became a Daybreaker. Shit, maybe this really is a step up from where he comes from?
I Was Born Ruined Page 15