I Was Born Ruined

by Stunich, C. M.

  “What for?”

  Cade shrugs his muscular shoulders, leather vest crinkling, that spicy-sweet smell of his causing my stomach to flip over in excitement.

  “Guess you’ll find out when we get there,” he says, looking me over with a detached sort of expression that scares the shit out of me. Grainger and I, we usually run hot. This faraway look in his eyes, I don’t like.

  Today is the day, I think, sensing the energy in my father’s sergeant-at-arms. Today is the day Cat wants me to shoot the kid. He’s just used me to pass out bad drugs, drugs that’ll bring the feds sniffing around for the mafia. And now he wants to cement my loyalty.

  Blood in, blood out.

  When I run, I hope I don’t leave a crimson trail for him to follow. Because if I do, I may just very well end up with Grainger’s gun in my face or Beast’s hands around my neck.

  The club, as sanctioned by Cat, won’t hesitate to put me in an early grave.

  The Death by Daybreak compound is positively buzzing when we pull up around noon, the hot sun blazing its way through the sky and chasing away some of the forest’s dark shadows. I can’t see the cabin where Grey’s being kept, not from here. Instead of heading up toward my grandmother’s old house and Uncle Benny’s cabin behind it, we’re at the main clubhouse, where I first did blow with Grainger, argued with Crown, watched Beast brawl, and sucked Sin’s dick. Yep, all happened right here.

  “Finally,” Cat says when he sees Grainger and me pull up in a front space. “Grainger, we’ve got church,” he grunts, and the asshole nods, lighting up another smoke and acting like I don’t exist. “You, stick around and don’t get yourself into trouble. Wander off these grounds, and I swear to hell, if the mafia doesn’t kill you, I’ll do it myself.”

  My dad stalks off, pushing his shades up into his graying hair and leaving me alone on the pavement next to a row of shining bikes, beasts of chrome and leather. Situated like that, in a perfect line, they look too pretty to be used as instruments of death. I wonder how much blood they've lapped, how much death they've seen?

  Sin comes out the front door of the clubhouse with his blue faux hawk styled, new earrings in his ears, silver hoops that catch the light as he turns to look at me. The scar on his lip tugs up at the right side of his mouth and makes it look like he's smiling. Pretty fucking sure he's not though. Actually, he doesn't look all that happy to see me. Whether that's because he doesn't want to see me, or because he knows what I'm in for today, I'm not sure.

  He has a beer in his hand, but as he comes down the steps, he passes it over and I take it.

  “Where's Beast?” I ask, because Crown is tight-lipped as hell, and I'm pretty sure I hate him even more than Cade Grainger. Heh. What a surprise. I should've known all that Boy Scout bullshit was a game. He's my father's righthand for a reason, right? Thing is, I knew. I knew, and I did it anyway.

  “Beast …” Sin starts, pausing as Gaz appears from around the corner of one of the warehouses, black and blue in the face, one eye sealed shut, lips puffy and split. This sick thrill of pleasure courses through me, and without meaning to, a small smirk lights my face. Gaz sees it, too, and it pisses him off like crazy.

  “You think this is funny, you little whore?” he roars, coming right at me. He's got a whole group of guys with him that I don't quite recognize, like maybe I've seen them once or twice at most. Prospects, maybe. That'd be just like Gaz, to use our father's title to ingratiate himself to the new recruits.

  For a second there, I wonder if he's going to use his posse to beat me up, storming across the pavement with murder in his eyes.

  “Makes you feel like a big man, to beat up seventeen year old girls?” I quip as Sin steps in between us, his mouth pulled into such a tight frown that even that scar of his can't make him look like he's smiling anymore.

  “Not today, Gaz,” Sin says, his voice darker than usual, like he's just aged ten years in the last week. He puts a palm up against Gaz's chest when my brother doesn't show any indication of stopping. But I don't need Sin or Beast or anyone else to stand up for me. I never have.

  Moving around to Sin's left, I glare at Gaz, my face free of makeup, and I try to get a grip on his hatred for me. I've never understood it, and yet, there it is, burning in his dark eyes, like a little Cat clone. If we were at home alone, I'd be scared for my safety.

  “Hurting someone lesser than you doesn't make you a badass; it just makes you an asshole.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, Gaz throws himself at me, and Sin shoves him back, into the arms of one of the prospects.

  “Really?” Gaz snorts, finding his feet with a little stumble. “My little sister's pussy is that good that you'd turn on your brother? You and Beast both, fucking traitors.” He walks a wide circle around us, but the way he looks at me … I know he'll be on the front line of the chase. And when he finds me, I probably won't live long enough to see anyone else.

  Sin doesn't deny Gaz's accusations, waiting for him to head up the steps and into the clubhouse.

  “Speaking of Beast,” I begin again, and Sin sighs, turning to look at me with a detachment that reminds me of Crown. Fucking Crown. “Where is he?”

  “California, doing some work for the Los Gatos chapter.” Sin shrugs his muscular shoulders, and then pulls out a cigarette, lighting up and offering it to me. I take it and wait while he gets out one for himself. “If he weren't so damn scary, I think Cat might've let Gaz and his boys beat him to within an inch of his life. The Prez was furious.” Sin pauses, blinking silver eyes at me. “What the hell happened anyway? You were there, right?”

  Swallowing hard, I look away, toward the trees. I have no idea where I'm going once I get out of here. I figure I'll ride as hard and fast as I can for as long as I can. I have my passport, some cash I stole from Cat’s backyard stash, and the idea of finding an airport, any airport, and getting the hell out of Dodge. Not saying I'll be completely safe in another country, but almost everyone in DBD has a felony on their record, so they won't be able to get into Australia. I wouldn't put it past my father to recruit a squeaky clean assassin, and send him after my ass, but that's neither here nor there. One problem at a time.

  “Beast didn't like that Gaz was gloating about beating me up.” I reach up a hand, touching the tender flesh near my eye. Sin cringes, and turns away, mumbling curses under his breath. “I mean, I think that's what it was.” Now I just sound like I'm hedging.

  Then again, no way in fuck I'm going to tell Sin that I screwed Beast again. No need to cause trouble for him when he gets back from California.

  “What time am I supposed to visit the cabin?” I ask, and even though I'm planning on running, I still feel this tight sickness in my chest, like I've got massive heartburn churning up my insides.

  Sin stiffens, and looks at me with this horrifying amount of pity.

  “Just after my watch, I think,” he says, and then grimaces, like he's not even sure he should've said that much. “Just fuck, Gidge,” he curses, running his palm over his blue hair. “This all could've been avoided, you know.”

  “Yeah, sure it could have,” I say, my voice bone-dry and splintering. There's this anger buried deep in Sin that's desperate for release. One day, if he isn't careful, it's going to break free and split him in half, bleed him out on the pavement and leave his soul for dead. “And what time is your watch?”

  He pauses, smoke halfway to his lips, and looks at me critically for a long moment.

  “On my way there now, eight hour shifts.” Sin slips the cig between his lips and takes off, muttering under his breath, the eclipse logo on his back catching stray shafts of sunlight as he moves between light and shadow.

  I watch him go, finishing my cigarette and my beer.

  How the hell am I going to get past Sin? He might have some sort of weird soft spot for me, some sort of lingering guilt from Queenie's and Posey's deaths. Doesn't mean it'll be easy to get past him, not by any means.

  So … my mind gets caught on Gaz's cruel words
.

  Sex.

  It worked on Grainger, Beast, not quite as well on Crown, but … I could probably distract Sin long enough to get the keys to the cabin. Maybe long enough to get inside to grab Grey.

  With an exhale, I sit down on the seat of Cade's bike, and make my plan.

  Sin and Crown are on guard duty tonight.

  Not fucking good.

  I'm already cursing under my breath as I pick my way up the hill in my steel-toed boots, palms sweaty, knees weak, heart thumping a strange melancholy soliloquy inside my chest.

  I told Grainger I was going to the bathroom and then made my way outside and up the dirt path toward the cabin. He isn't paying as much attention to me as he should because he knows I'm not going anywhere, not when I'm all the way out here in the middle of Butt-fuck Nowhere, Oregon, USA.

  I climb the path and find them both engaged in conversation.

  They stop immediately when they see me standing there.

  “Where the hell is Grainger?” Sin snaps, running his fingers through his blue hair. I like his faux hawk, and his earrings, and his tattoos. He's seriously fucking pretty for a biker. And Crown … as much as I dislike him, I can’t deny that the soft sea green of his eyes, the rich chocolate of his hair, and the auburn highlights from the sun all give him a modelesque perfection. He belongs on a magazine cover or a billboard, not standing in the middle of the woods with a stoic expression of disappointment and distrust etched into his handsome features.

  “I told him I had to go to the bathroom and then snuck out here,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and heading the last few feet up the hill to stand in front of them. My pulse is racing and even though I knew I was coming out here today, I'm nervous. I'm scared.

  I'm … excited.

  My nipples are pebbled to hard points, and when I shrug my jacket off, I hear them both make a sound of appreciation. I've torn that old Metallica shirt from last night into a mid-riff, widening the holes in the chest so that bits of my zebra patterned bra show through. The last skirt I found under the bed, the one Cat missed in his purge, I brought that with me in my purse and switched into it behind a tree. It's a nice, sexy mini, something to make this a little easier.

  But I was not betting on Crown being here.

  “Gidget,” he starts, and there's a warning in his voice. I don't know why he's warning me off. I haven't even done anything yet. And after last night, his words mean literally nothing to me. For all I know, half the senior class is dead. Or at least hospitalized. And me, I'll be blamed for it. The mafia … they'll be blamed for it.

  “Got a smoke?” I ask, and Sin digs a pack from his pocket, pulling out a cig for each of us. He lights himself up and then gestures with fingers covered in rings for me to lean forward. I do, and he monkey-fucks my smoke to life.

  “What are you doing up here?” Crown continues, digging his fingertips into his pockets and looking me over. He seems to like what he sees, but I have a feeling he's not going to act on it. No, the only reason he fucked me the first time around was because he was drunk off his ass. That's it. Clearly, it didn't go over quite so well the second time we tried it.

  What the hell am I going to do with him?

  “I want to know how many of my classmates are dead,” I say, smoking and letting their eyes trail over me. Sin's face scrunches up, and he grits his teeth, glancing away sharply. Crown, though, that asshole stares right through me with those green eyes of his. They're not so much moss green right now, no. Instead, they're bathed in shadows and a grim sense of duty that I'm sure he finds righteous but which I just find downright annoying. “Don't I at least have a right to know that?”

  “Your dad wanted them all dead,” Sin says, and Crown turns a look on him that's hell frozen over. I would not want to be on the receiving end of that look. I realize that despite all my hard-won cynicism and skepticism, I underestimated the fuck out of Calder Reid. He's as scary as Beast, and as mean as Grainger. Worse, even, because he puts a nice guy façade over the top of it all. “But Crown argued against it. Nobody's dead.”

  “What was in that blow?” I ask, frustrated to the point of tears. That is, if I were still the type to cry over things. When neither man answers me, I get frustrated and turn, punching my fist into the bark of a tree so hard that pain ricochets up my arm and into my shoulders, making my teeth hurt from the impact. “Jesus Christ, you made me give that dope out, you shot my dog, you put a gun to my head, and now you're going to make me … that guy, Grey, he …”

  Putting my palms over my face, I feel this layer of stress just … evaporate off of me, this strange, cool sense of detachment. Huh. Maybe that's what Sin and Crown are channeling right now, this loss of control. There's nothing I can do that I'm not doing right now, so why am I letting myself freak out? What's the point? It'll either work out, or it won't. And if it doesn't, I'll be heading for the long, long sleep so who gives a shit?

  “I'm already in this so deep, I don’t understand why can't you just tell me this one little thing?” I ask, lifting my face up and dropping my hands to my sides. All of my strength, all of this resistance, all of these quips … I'm running out of steam. Gidget Kesselring is fucking tired.

  “Fentanyl.” Just that one word, from Crown. And then … “Among other things.”

  He looks at me without emotion, and I stare right back, trying to decide if he's really going to be the final roadblock, the nail in my coffin, if I'll be laid to rest next to my sisters because Crown won't get his stubborn ass out of my way.

  “I need a minute,” he grinds out after a moment, moving forward and stepping around me. “Sin, don't let her out of your sight.” Crown continues on down the hill, and I glance back, watching as he disappears through the trees.

  Wow.

  If I'd have known an emotional breakdown would shake him loose, I'd have tried that shit a long time ago. I turn back to Sin, but he's not looking at me, just smoking and staring into the woods. No noises escape the cabin, that shit is sound-proofed to high hell. But I bet Grey is still alive. Otherwise, why would I be here?

  “What's his problem?” I ask, moving up to lean my shoulder against the wall of the cabin. Sin doesn't seem alarmed that I'm standing near the door, nor does he seem bothered or concerned that we're only a few inches apart. Actually … his eyes flick my direction and take in my long, pale legs, that flash of perfect thigh that shows beneath the pleats of the mini-skirt.

  “I think Crown wants you,” he says, which is sort of the last thing I ever expected him to say to me. My eyes widen slightly, but I'm already shaking my head.

  “He's dating Amber. He basically just told me he wants to marry her.”

  Sin snorts, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it out with his boot.

  “For as worldly as you pretend to be, for as smart as I know you are, you can be a dumb naïve motherfucker sometimes.” Sin turns to look at me, this frown pulling at the edges of his mouth. His expression reminds me of that day in the cemetery when we damn near fucked against the base of a tree. That's where we need to get right now. I need to catch him with his pants down, so to speak.

  That, and you're curious for another taste, one last fuck for the road. I ignore the cynical thoughts cycling through my mind and stab my own smoke against the wooden wall of the cabin, dropping the butt to the dirt.

  “Crown doesn't want me,” I say, and it scares the crap out of me how young that phrase sounds coming out of my mouth, kind of like how I felt stupid when I thought of Beast having a crush on me. “He probably bends over and takes it from Cat.”

  Sin chuckles, but the sound is dry and bitter. He tucks his inked fingers in his pockets, stiffening slightly when I push off with my shoulder and come to stand in front of him. There are a million ways I could approach this, and any one of them has equal chances of success and failure. The only way I'll know is if I try.

  “Crown doesn't want me,” I repeat, exhaling sharply, my rust-red eyes focused on Sin's silver ones. “But ma
ybe you do?” He rears back like I've slapped him, reaching up to grab my wrists when I try to put my arms around his neck.

  “Gidge, what the fuck are you doing?” he growls, using that familiar anger of his to combat something I know we both want. Maybe he doesn't like me, I don't know, but he'll fuck me. That much I know for sure.

  “You don't want me?” I ask, moving my hips so that my pelvis undulates against the front of Sin's jeans. He's hard; I can feel it. And his eyes, they're rife with lust, but broken, too, like he's fighting a losing battle against himself. “I always thought that maybe you had a soft spot for me.”

  “You're the president's daughter,” he says, but his grip on my wrists relaxes. As soon as I get a hand free, I pop the button on his jeans and his breath hisses out in a rush. “Gidge.” But Sin's words cut off abruptly when I get my hand inside his pants, finding the thick length of his cock straining against his boxers. Stroking him with slow, careful fingers, I lean up on my tiptoes and put my lips to that warm spot between his neck and ear. My tongue flicks out and tastes Sin's pulse, that cinnamon and leather smell of his consuming my senses. “Jesus motherfucking Christ,” he curses, but he doesn't go anywhere.

  No, instead Sin angles us toward the cabin and shoves me hard against it, putting his much bigger body up against mine, grinding my pelvis into the wood with a movement of his hips.

  His breath feathers against my ear before he leans down and captures my mouth, his kiss just as sharp-edged and dangerous as it was in the kitchen a few weeks ago. I can feel the blade of his passion cutting sharp lines into me, making me bleed. On the outside, I'm groaning and rubbing against him, gasping when his left hand finds its way under my shirt and pushes my breast out of the firm cup of my t-shirt bra. On the inside though, I feel nothing. Nothing at all.

  I've shut down.

  Because if I don't, I'm not sure that I'll have such an easy time risking my life, risking Grey's … running away from these men. They consume me like greedy flames, their orange and red fingers licking up my pure and aching flesh until I'm nothing but ash in their hands. Ever since that night, I've felt it, that little spark of addiction.