I Was Born Ruined

by Stunich, C. M.

  Maybe he’s wondering what happened between me, Gaz, and Beast? How his brother-in-arms ended up getting sent away?

  I push the feeling aside, refusing to let myself think about Beast. So what if he … fought Gaz for me? That doesn’t change anything. These men and their feelings—or lack thereof in the case of Grainger—don’t have any bearing on my decision. I have to run before Cat kills me or damages my soul in irreparable ways.

  Dena shrugs, her gaze on Crown. She can see that he’s only got eyes for me, and it’s pissing her off.

  “They came back early, so we’re having the party at the Artefact.”

  A shiver tickles my spine. The Artefact. It’s been a while since I’ve even considered going there. “If you want to party for real, get on.” Sin’s words echo in my mind, giving me a horrible sense of déjà vu.

  “Think you’ll be able to make it?” Chardou asks, playing with her ponytail of braids. She raises a brow in challenge, but it’s Crown who answers for me.

  “She’ll be there,” he says with a small smile, startling the crap out of me. I flick a wide-eyed glance his direction, but if he says I’m going then there’s a reason for it. More specifically, there’s a Cat-ordained reason for it. And Cat, well, he never does anything out of the goodness of his heart. I’m being used.

  My jaw clenches, but I force the tension out and make myself smile. Seeing the confused looks on the girls’ faces almost makes it all worth it. Almost. But then I realize that Reba will be at the party, looking for me. My presence there is a threat to her.

  Fuck.

  I can’t get a goddamn break.

  Finally, blessedly, the bell rings, and I back up a step, heart pounding. I won’t go anywhere today, that’d be far too reckless. But what I am going to do is plan out an escape route. Whatever I’ll be doing at that party tonight, it won’t be fun. Cat is closing ranks, and I’m running out of time.

  “I’ll see y’all tonight,” I drawl, mimicking a bit of Reba’s Southern flair.

  The girls back off, but Crown reaches down and grabs my arm, inked fingers curling around my pale flesh and sending flares of heat through me. I lift my eyes to his, and find a critical expression on his face.

  “Where are you going?” he asks me, and I smile. Girls’ locker room. One place you can’t follow me. At least I’ll get a moment of peace, a slice of privacy I’ve been severely missing this past week.

  “To the gym,” I quip, flipping my dark hair and pulling from his grip.

  My boots are loud as I walk away, and I can feel him following me, all the way to the door.

  But not inside of it.

  Nope.

  Just like he won’t be following me when I make my great escape. I need to be careful though. One mistake here, and I’m dead. Whatever Cat needs me to do at this party tonight, I’ll have to do it, no matter how horrible it is.

  And that terrifies the shit out of me.

  Dance with the devil to escape the pits of hell; it better be worth it.

  “Why did you tell them I’d be going to the party?” I ask, staring down at my bed and the few pieces of clothing I have left. Hardly enough to put together a respectable outfit. Cat has seriously fucked my style.

  I don’t look at Crown when he moves into the room to stand beside me, pointing down at the torn black Metallica t-shirt that I inherited from Gaz. The last thing I want to do is wear my brother’s old tee, but … its authenticity is unchallenged. This isn’t a Hot Topic knock-off, this is real merch that Cat got from a concert in San Francisco, some place called The Stone. “September 18th, 1982, best night of my life save the night I joined the club.” Cat has never included marrying my mother or having his four children in his best night of my life speeches.

  Piece of shit.

  “Maybe that, with the dark jeans, boots, and the jacket?” I’m not sure if Crown is trying to be helpful or if he’s mansplaining my outfit to me. Tossing some hair over my shoulder, I give him my best narrow-eyed look. It’s a look I inherited from Cat, one that can crumble men like trees in a snowstorm. Not Crown though. I think he’s immune after all this time hanging around Cat. “You know I can’t tell you why Cat wants you to go. Only … that he does.” Crown reaches under his vest and pulls a small plastic-wrapped package out, tossing it over to me.

  It’s an eight-ball of coke.

  My eyes snap up to Crown’s, and a spike of fear shoots through me along with Beast’s words. “We don’t sell to kids.” And as far as I’ve ever known, the club doesn’t. Too risky. Kids start overdosing and dying, people start asking questions. Death by Daybreak isn’t above taking shots at law enforcement, but if at all possible, they practice avoidance first.

  “What is this?” I ask, and then wave a hand dismissively when Crown gives me a sad, sardonic little smile. “I know it’s fucking blow, Crown, but why are you giving this to me? Makes me real suspicious-like,” I drawl, sampling Reba’s Southern accent.

  Crown sighs and runs his fingers through his curly hair. Fuck, that hair. It’s begging for me to touch it. I smell leather and suede and violets as Crown circles around behind me, moving over to my desk and picking up a framed photo of Queenie and Posey. His knuckles are white as he clutches it in an iron-grip, strength better reserved for holding a Magnum or the handlebars of an Indian Chieftain Classic, and not just a simple woodshop-made picture frame.

  Something’s wrong.

  I mean, the mafia’s in town, and they’re frequenting the casino, and they’ve lost their heir to the throne. Clearly, a lot of shit is wrong, but giving me an eight-ball of coke and telling me to attend a high school party at the Artefact … that’s all sorts of messed-up.

  “You don’t like this either,” I continue, pressing the vice president of DBD. He’s a good guy, underneath all the drug running and weapons smuggling and kowtowing to Cat. Huh. Or maybe not? “Crown, what is this shit laced with?”

  He glances over his shoulder at me, eyes shadowed with darkness, like the forest in a wild storm, evergreen at midnight. His curly brown hair tumbles over his forehead, and he shoves it back with an angry, inked hand.

  “I don’t ask questions of my president, Gidge, and you shouldn’t either.” He sets the picture down, and then turns fully to look at me, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture. “When is it going to be enough for you? How far do you really think you can push your father?”

  “The hope is I’ll push him so far he’ll finally end my misery,” I quip, yanking the Metallica shirt from the bed and heading for the bathroom. But then I remember that there’s no door, and chuck my jacket and tank top to the floor, exposing the purple lace bra underneath. Cat didn’t touch my underwear drawer, thank fuck for small blessings. When I hazard a glance at Crown, I see that he’s looked away, turned his back to give me some privacy. Shit, he’s the complete opposite of Grainger. Makes it a hell of a lot harder to hate him.

  “You don’t mean that,” he tells me, but I think Crown underestimates the weight of my sorrow. I almost do. Except that if I’m going down, I’m going down with a bang. I’ve already decided to kidnap the mafia kid. And if that’s not a death sentence, I don’t know what is. Clearly, I’m a glutton for punishment. “If you stand down, let Cat win a few quips, you’ll be off the hook. He cares about you, you know.”

  “He’s got a funny way of showing it,” I grumble as I shimmy out of the blue denim I wore to school and switch into a solid black pair of skinny jeans. Not my finest party outfit, but it’ll do. I’m not really about this party tonight, but if I go, at the very least I can get drunk. And maybe in a dark, dark corner, when I’m sure nobody’s watching, I can find Reba and explain things to her and … I flick a quick glance over to Fem, curled up on his pink pillow. Going on the lam with a dog won’t be easy. Besides, if I get caught, I’ll be putting Feminist in Cat’s scope along with me. It’d be better if I left him with my best friend.

  “Your classmates asked for blow, right? Just give it to them tonight and save us both
some trouble. You’ll tell them all you’re pissed at your dad, so you bought it off some guy on Washington Street.” I yank my pants up and button them, staring at Crown as he turns around and narrows his eyes on me. “Gidge, this is a direct order from Cat. Pass the blow out at the party, but don’t take any.”

  “How many kids are gonna die if I pass that shit out?” I ask, but Crown just stares back at me with that placid mask of his. It’s infuriating. Storming over to the bathroom mirror, I unzip my last remaining makeup bag and give myself a quick refresher.

  Crown moves over to the doorway, filling the entire space with his wide body and putting his forearms up against the doorjamb. He leans into the small room, filling it with that intoxicating scent of his.

  “You know I wouldn’t let a bunch of kids die off some bad blow, Gidge. Give me more credit than that.” My brows go up which makes me curse because I’m only half-done filling them in with some brow powder.

  “Credit? How many people have you killed since you joined the club, Crown? Don’t put the good boy act on for me. You may have been a cop once upon a time, but you’re in a gang now. Get over yourself.” Crown’s face shutters, and he sighs, like I’m a troublesome child. It’s annoying as fuck.

  “Don’t call the club a gang, Gidge,” he says, his voice darkening. “And if you think I did more good things as a cop than I’ve done as a Daybreaker, you’ve got a very pretty view of the world. Here or there, in a blue uniform or a black vest, it doesn’t matter. The whole world is about taking strength where you can get it, and using it to defend what you want.”

  I pause, looking at his face in the mirror. There’s a darkness in his features that I don’t understand, a past that makes this man that I’ll never know. Part of me is glad—the last thing I need is the story of someone else’s tragedy. And yet, a further part of me, something deeper and more twisted, is desperate to understand how Crown became who he is now.

  “And what is it that you want?” I ask, my voice far too husky for the enclosed space. I’m not even sure what I’m doing, flirting with this man who let my father shoot my dog and put a gun to my head. I’ve made up my mind to run, and to take Grey Wolfe with me. What more is there?

  “An old lady,” Crown starts, tilting his head slightly to one side. My nostrils flare, and I look away from the mirror and back down to the makeup bag on the edge of the sink. “More than that,” he continues, moving into the bathroom and towering over me from behind. Six foot five, and muscular as all fuck. I want those big hands all over my body, I think, feeling this hot flush spread from my chest and into my limbs, burning me up from the inside out. “A wife.” Crown doesn’t touch me, but he does reach up and finger the ends of my hair. “Someone to talk to, start a family with one day. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

  “You’d best get far, far away from here then,” I snort, fiddling with my eyeliner and smearing black across my fingertips. “Because any family you start while in the club is likely to die at the hands of a rival.” Putting on a tight smile, I smear kohl across my eyes and then switch over to the coral red of my lipstick. It’s called Lady Danger—an apt description of my current state.

  “We’re dealing with the mafia, Gidge,” Crown growls, getting angry with me. “And if you’d stop making our jobs even more difficult, it’d happen a hell of a lot faster.” He throws the plastic-wrapped bundle of drugs into the sink in front of me, and then grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around to look at him. “And once we’re done with Grey Wolfe and all of their bullshit, I’m going to start working on my wants.”

  My heart is pounding, and I feel this strange mixture of fear and exultation taking over me, making my eyes wide, stealing a considerable amount of my usual thunder.

  “And which club-whore is going to fill that niche, Calder?” I ask, sneering at the use of Crown’s real name. Calder Reid, consummate Boy Scout of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club and serious pain in my ass. He looks down at me like I’m stupid for all of a half-second before I raise up on my toes and crush my mouth to his, letting him take my wrists between his fingers and rub my suddenly thundering pulse points.

  He traces lazy circles with his thumbs, but there’s absolutely nothing lazy about his kiss.

  Crown kisses me the way I imagine a white knight in a fairytale might kiss a princess: with intent. It’s all about intent with him. And as the cogs in my mind turn and click, I put his words up against his kiss. An old lady. A wife. A family.

  That’s terrifying. I don’t want any of that, especially not here, in the thorny embrace of the club. And yet … this feels good to stop.

  Crown drops his hands to my ass, lifting me up to set me on the edge of the sink, reminding me of Grainger in the most primal way possible. Grainger fucked me here; Crown could fuck me here, too. It’d be reminiscent of that night, two years ago, when I let myself fall into the greedy hands of demons let myself be twisted in manic, wild pleasure.

  I can feel Crown’s cock, hard and insistent, pushing against the confines of his jeans. I’ve got my jeans on, too, making a quickie between us a substantially more difficult thing. Doesn’t stop me from trying though. My hands fumble with Crown’s button, fingers slipping inside until I grip his velvety shaft. He moans against my mouth, driving his hips into my hand. His right hand cups my breast through the raggedy old fabric of my Metallica top, kneading and caressing in a surprisingly gentle way. Crown seems as into the moment as I am … until he’s suddenly not.

  His eyes flick open, and he lets go of my breast, reaching down to grab my wrist and pull it out from inside his pants.

  “No,” Crown says, voice hard, meaner and more forceful than anything Grainger has ever said to me. We lock eyes for a moment, embarrassment filling my body in a warm flush. This is not supposed to happen like this. How dare he tell me no?!

  Jerking back, I shove Crown in the chest and take off, through my bedroom and down the stairs, refusing to think about the smeared lipstick across his full mouth or the hard expression on his face. Thirty years old, and he’s like a fucking lovestruck teen with dreams of roses and romance, my cynical mind grumbles. He won’t go all the way without some sort of … feeling, will he?

  Being Crown’s old lady … I’d be just as trapped as if I shot that kid in the head for Cat.

  No. Just no, no, no.

  “Gidge,” Crown starts, following along behind me as I head for the front door. Yes, technically, Dena said the party started right after school, but any idiot at Ashbury High knows that only the losers and the band geeks show up before eight o’clock. “Just … wait.”

  “Don’t bother asking for my hand in marriage, Crown,” I snap as I stop on the driveway and give his bike an unintentional but appreciative linger of the eyes. Crown has a hot ride, that much I can admit. Even if I’m not interested in riding bitch seat on the back of it for the rest of my life. “If you ask Cat, and by some miracle, he says yes, then remember this: I’m telling you no.”

  Crown pauses behind me, brow crinkling, one hand rubbing at the back of his head.

  “Gidge,” he starts, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.

  “Gidget,” I correct, but I’m pretty sure he’s already called me Gidge like six or seven times today, and I’ve let it slide. Why, I’m not sure. Usually, I’m pretty anal about that.

  “Gidget,” Crown amends with a long sigh, looking down at the steel toes of his boots. “I never said I wanted you as my old lady.”

  A cold front takes over my heated body, and I frown. No fucking way am I buying this shit.

  “You—” I start, and Crown looks up at me with a slight smile—a very patronizing smile.

  “Gidget, when a pretty girl kisses me, I can’t leave her hanging.” He takes a step forward, and I take one back. I can feel tension between us, and I don’t like it. With that look on his face, I’m even starting to wonder if it’s all on my side. “Cat would never …” Crown pauses and exhales sharply. “And besides, you know I’ve bee
n dating Amber.”

  Right.

  Amber, professional club-whore. She’s been living at the DBD clubhouse since I was, what, twelve?

  Jesus Christ.

  “Can we go to the party now?” I choke out, feeling like a pit’s just opened up beneath my feet and dropped me into it. A little booze, some harmless flirting … and blow for everybody! What a nightmare.

  “You’ll pass this out?” Crown asks, placing the bundle in my hand. His fingers brush across my skin, giving me goose bumps. Damn him for that. “I promise it won’t kill anybody if you make sure to dose it properly.”

  “What’s it laced with?” I repeat, and Crown sighs.

  “Gidget, trust that there are people who know better than you.” Crown releases the package and steps back, moving around me and over to his bike. He grabs his spare helmet and holds it out my way.

  I shove the cocaine into one of the pockets on my leather jacket, and then take it, sliding it over my head and pushing my embarrassment and frustration down along with it.

  Fuck Crown, fuck the club, and fuck Cat for trying to use me to further his interests yet again.

  First thing tomorrow, I’m getting the hell out of here.

  If that means I have to play along tonight … then fine.

  Good for you, Cat. For once, I’ll do what you say.

  Just don’t expect it to last.

  The Artefact is this towering confection of decay, a glorious urban blight in the middle of the woods. It’s covered in graffiti and rotten streamers from parties long celebrated and gone by. It’s been almost two years since I’ve been here, and I can’t say that I’ve missed it.

  The cocaine in my pocket seems to burn through the fabric and into my skin as I saunter up to the front steps, noticing that the hole in the third stair has tripled in size since my last visit to the Jensen Manor. Because of my incorrigible luck, of course it’s Trevone Hundley sitting on the railing of the front porch, almost like he’s waiting for me.