by Gemma Weir
I nod begrudgingly. “Yes.”
Blade’s face darkens. He looks over his shoulder to the mayor’s house, back to me, then down to my cell that’s still gripped in his hand. Slowly he raises his head until his eyes lock on mine. “You meet her at the wedding?”
I nod.
Blade’s eyes fall closed for a moment and his shoulders sag. “That’s why you were asking about Jefferies having a daughter. Angel is the fucking mayor’s daughter.”
I straighten my spine and keep my gaze locked on his, refusing to break the stare. “Yes.”
Blade lifts his hand and rubs at his eyes. “So, you’re telling me, that your girl is in that house over there with Eric fucking Carduccio?”
I nod.
“Well, fuck. How close to breaking down that door are you?”
“Pretty fucking close. It’s new, me and her. But she’s different, she’s important. I don’t know what the mayor’s doing to her, but something’s not right, all the warning signs are flashing.”
Blade’s eyes soften. “She got you all wrapped up in her, brother?”
“She looks like she needs saving. I wanna be the one to save her.” I admit
Blade hisses air through his front teeth. “I hear you, brother, but if she’s mixed up with Carduccio she might already be beyond saving.”
The front door to the house opens and the woman and two of the security guys exit. They quickly climb into one of the Range Rovers and drive away. Thirty minutes later the door opens again and Carduccio and the other three men exit. Carduccio and the younger guy shake the mayor’s hand and Mayor fucking Jefferies smiles and waves them off.
“Let’s follow them, make sure they’re not planning on paying anyone else a visit before they leave town,” Blade orders.
Reluctantly, I throw one last look at the mayor’s house before I start my bike and ride away. A sick feeling pools at the bottom of my stomach. What the hell is a small-town mayor doing getting involved with a US Senator who’s as dirty as they come?
We discreetly follow Carduccio straight out of town until he hits the freeway that will take him away from Texas and back toward New Mexico. Blade makes a U-turn and heads back to the clubhouse and I follow behind, even though all I want to do is ride straight to Angel and make sure she’s okay.
When we enter the club, Blade disappears, and I head to the bar and take a seat. Billy, one of the retired brothers, is stood behind the worn wood and after taking one look at me, he drops a shot glass onto the bar and fills it to the top with whiskey. He fills another for himself and lifting his, he gestures for me to do the same. I pick up the glass and lift it to my lips; the whiskey burns as the liquid coats my throat and I slam the glass back to the bar. Pulling out my cell I scowl when there’s still no email from Angel, so I write her instead.
From: [email protected] Sent: 10/02/17 14:24
To: [email protected]
Subject: I’m Worried
Angel,
Something fucked-up happened today. I ended up following a really dangerous guy straight to your house.
What the fuck is going on?
Eric Carduccio is bad news on an epic fucking scale. You need to stay the hell away from him.
I have a really bad feeling, Angel.
Remember what I said—you can come to me anytime and I’ll keep you safe. This is an offer without any expectations. I’ll keep you safe as your friend, or your guy; I just need you to be safe.
The Sinners clubhouse is on Deer Lake Road. Day or night there’s always someone here. Ask for me, tell them you’re mine.
Daisy.
I click send and blow out a hard breath. I literally just met this girl. How the fuck did I go from single and carefree, screwing as much pussy as I could handle, to completely hung up on an eighteen- year-old that I’ve only kissed a handful of times? This isn’t how I operate. I don’t get emotionally involved. I just like sex and lots of it.
I’d lay money on the fact that Angel’s a virgin; she exudes innocence. Her huge desolate eyes say she’s lived a hard life, but she’s a sea of contradictions and I want her more than any other woman I’ve ever met.
“Daisy, get in here,” Anders voice bellows from his office and I blow out a resigned breath. I knew this conversation was coming. Standing from the stool, I tap the wood of the bar before I make my way through the clubhouse to Prez’s office.
Anders is standing in the doorway when I get there, and he moves to the side, signaling for me to enter. I walk past him and into the smaller room. Blade is sat in a chair to the right-hand side and I slide into the empty one next to him.
Anders slowly walks around his desk, lowering himself into the large chair behind it. He steeples his fingers and rests his chin on top of them. “Son, want to tell me what’s goin’ on with you and the mayor’s daughter? Normally I wouldn’t give a fuck where you’re sticking your dick, but Carduccio drove all the way in from New Mexico to see our illustrious mayor and I need to know what the fuck’s going on.”
I scowl. “You’re right, Prez, it isn’t any of your goddamn business.”
Anders lifts his head and clenches his hands into fists, banging one down onto the desk. His face darkens and his lips twist into an angry line. “Watch your mouth, son. Carduccio is a fucking viper, he’s into everything: drugs, guns, human trafficking. I don’t want him in this fucking town. So I’m not asking you, I’m ordering you, as your president, to tell me what the hell you’re doing with the mayor’s daughter.”
Gripping the arms of the chair tightly, I force my anger down so I don’t launch myself at him. “Her name is Angelique. I met her at Echo’s wedding and then again in town four days ago. She’s eighteen,” I say begrudgingly.
Anders stares at me expectantly. “And…”
“And that’s it. I haven’t seen her since. She doesn’t have a cell phone and the only way I can contact her is through email. She replied for the first time in four days today. I can’t prove it, but I think the mayor’s abusive. She flinches and cowers, I’ve seen the signs before. She had a sister that died a couple years back. That’s all I know,” I say.
“So no way she’s using you to get intel for Carduccio?” Blade asks.
“No,” I roar. “She’s not like that; she’s innocent, practically scared of her own shadow.”
“Calm the fuck down,” Anders says, his voice cutting through the red haze that’s started to descend upon me. “You barely know this girl.”
“She’s different,” I say, my voice quiet but laced with warning.
“Well, fuck, let’s hope she’s not mixed up with Carduccio, else this one’s gonna want us to start a war because she’s different,” Blade says snidely.
I stand from my chair and angrily turn to face Blade. “Fuck you, Blade. She’s not mixed up with Carduccio. Mayor asshat might be, but Angel isn’t. She’s never asked a single question about the club, not one.”
“Shut up the pair of you,” Anders shouts. “Sit your ass back down,” he points at me and I slump back down into my seat.
“Why doesn’t this girl have a cell phone?” Anders asks.
“Her dad won’t let her have one. Apparently, she’s been home schooled since she was thirteen. She doesn’t have any friends. She’s hardly ever allowed out the house. The mayor has her on lockdown. When I met her at the wedding, asshat was ripping into her for being there, then sent her home before she could even speak to me. She told me he’d kill her if he found out she was talking to me, that he hates the bikers,” I say.
Anders looks at me and blows out a breath. “Email her and see what you can find out about Carduccio. If Jefferies has got into bed with him, we need to know why, and she might know something.”
I scowl. “I already emailed her, but I’m not using her for information, Prez, and honestly I don’t think she’ll know anything anyway.”
“Well, I hope for your sake that she’s not already involved with them. Let me know when she replies,” Anders say
s and dismisses us.
I follow Blade from the office and into the main room of the clubhouse. I head straight for the bar and seat myself back on a stool.
Blade sits next to me. “You need to keep your head straight, brother. I know you like this girl, but you don’t know what games she’s playing. This innocent thing could just be an act.”
I shake my head. “I thought it was; fuck no one is that innocent. But she is. I’m telling you Blade, if her dad and Carduccio are planning something she hasn’t got a clue.”
Blade looks skeptical but his hand slaps down on my shoulder and he squeezes lightly. “Billy, we’re gonna need some shots.”
Two shot glasses full of whiskey appear in front of us and I lift mine to my lips and down it. I signal to Billy for another and he fills the glass again. I throw that one back too. The whiskey calms my fraught nerves, but I still pull my cell out and check for an email. Yet again there isn’t one.
Two hours ago, my father negotiated using me as payment for the hundred thousand dollars he owes to Senator Carduccio. I keep replaying the conversation over and over in my head, but it doesn’t make any more sense to me now, than it did at the time.
People are not property to be sold or bartered with, or at least that was my understanding. Until today I genuinely believed that. I know that my father is a bad man. I know that the violence he expresses toward me and my mother is wrong and completely unacceptable. But I think deep down I thought he loved me, the child he had helped to create.
I was wrong.
My ass and legs are numb, but I force myself to move from the spot I collapsed onto hours ago. Hearing my father clink glasses and celebrate selling me, rendered my limbs useless. It’s ironic really, my father has told me again and again that I’m worthless, but apparently he was wrong. I laugh dryly to myself; apparently my value is a cool one hundred thousand dollars.
I know exactly what the balance of my father’s bank account has been for the last year and never at any point has he that kind of money. So where did he put it and what did he spend it on?
I don’t know the answers to those questions, but I do know that I need to get away from this house. I no longer have the luxury of time to plan my escape. I need to go as soon as possible and get as far away as I can to somewhere my father will never find me.
Padding across my room I silently click the door shut and slide the lock across. My father has never allowed me to lock the door, but right now I don’t care about his rules and I need to make sure no one comes in. Rummaging at the back of my wardrobe I pull out the rucksack I used when I was in elementary school; it’s ancient and childish but it’s all I have.
Adrenaline courses through me and my hands shake as I grab my laptop and power cord and shove them into the bag. Dragging a couple of dresses and some underwear from my closet I push them on top of the laptop and quickly make my way to my bathroom. I grab some basic toiletries and throw them haphazardly into the bag along with my driver’s license and the small amount of cash I have hidden beneath my mattress.
Panicking, I spin around and scan the room, trying to decide what else I should take. My eyes fall to my dresser and a gasp escapes me. Rushing across the room I drop to my knees and quickly slide open the bottom drawer. Pushing my hand inside the dresser I pull out a framed photo of me, my mama, and Nicole, that was taken years ago. We’re smiling and laughing. I don’t remember where we were, or what we were doing, but we look carefree and even though that’s not the life we’ve actually lived, at least for the moment the picture captured we were happy.
I place the photo in the bag and pull the zip closed. Stepping back, I stare at the small bag. I can’t risk taking more than I can comfortably carry, but when it really comes down to it, this small bag is all I want to keep, a handful of things that I don’t want to leave behind.
Placing the rucksack back in my closet, I unlock the door and crawl onto my bed. I lie with my head on my pillow for five minutes, pulling in deep, controlled breaths and then exhaling slowly. A wordless tune plays in my head, constantly on loop and the familiar lullaby soothes me and allows me to force my tumultuous thoughts into a box. Falling apart is not a luxury I can afford right now. Once I’m away from Archer’s Creek and beyond my father’s reach, I’ll allow myself to break down and grieve the loss of my family, but for now I need to be strong.
An hour later I roll into a sitting position and brace my hands against my knees, my feet flat on the floor. The damaged skin on my legs pulls and the pain is a constant throb, but I ignore it. I stand up and make my way into my bathroom. I touch up my makeup, making sure all of the bruises on my face are still hidden and then make my way downstairs.
The smell of tomato and herbs hits me when I enter the family room. My mama is cooking. Where I hide inside my mind, Mama hides in the kitchen, and the more elaborate the meals, the more anguished she really is.
Several pans sit atop the huge range stove and Mama is busily stirring a wooden spoon into a mixing bowl. She looks up and smiles. “Angelique, grab me the cinnamon please.”
I nod and turn to the spice rack, finding the cinnamon and passing it to her. She takes it and spoons out a measure, adding it to the bowl. Moving to the stove, I start to stir the pan full of tomato sauce and the rich smell of oregano wafts upwards making my stomach growl. Mama chuckles. “The pasta should be about ready, drain it then make yourself a plate.”
Mechanically, I move around the kitchen, fetching a sieve and draining the pasta. “How many plates?” I ask.
“Just you, honey. Your father has gone out and I’ll have something later.”
I spoon some of the pasta into a bowl and pour the rich sauce on top. Mama hands me a fork and I eagerly dig in. Lifting a forkful to my mouth I groan appreciatively when the first piece hits my tongue and I continue to eat, watching Mama flit around the kitchen. The first tear takes me by surprise, the second hits the bowl of pasta and I blink rapidly hoping to prevent any more from falling. I’m leaving my home tonight and I don’t know when I’ll get to see her again.
A low sob escapes me, and Mama spins around. “Baby, what’s the matter?”
I can’t tell her. She’ll either think I’m making it up, or worse she already knows what my father has planned for me and is so brainwashed by him that she doesn’t understand how wrong it is. I’m so scared that it’s the latter that I just throw myself at her and let her hug me.
Her weak, thin arms hold me tightly against her and she hugs me like she used to when I was a child. We hold each other for a long time and when we break apart tears are running down her face too. Our gazes lock and without saying a word we say goodbye. I haven’t told her I’m leaving, but the peace that settles in her gray eyes tells me that somehow, she knows.
Her frail fingers cup my cheeks and she smiles weakly at me, then her hands fall from my face and she walks to the other side of the kitchen. Opening the cupboard that holds the first aid kit and medicines, she pulls down a brown pill bottle and opens it, taking out five tablets. I watch as she drops them into her pestle and mortar and grinds them into a fine powder.
My mouth falls open when she crosses to the stove and sprinkles the power into the red tomato sauce. With a small smile on her face she walks past the counter I’m sitting at and places the medicine bottle in front of me.
I lift the bottle and read the label. “Benzodiazpine, one tablet to be taken at night time.” Sleeping tablets, my mama just laced the food she plans to feed my father with sleeping tablets. She lifts the bottle from my hands and takes it back to the cupboard. Returning to me she pushes my bowl of pasta toward me and gently squeezes my shoulder.
“I’ll tell your Daddy you’re sick and that you won’t be joining us for dinner,” she whispers, a sad smile on her face.
I want to beg her to come with me, to run away too, but I don’t. Instead I eat my pasta then place my dish in the dishwasher and pull her into another tight hug.
“Be free,” she whispers into my ear, t
hen pulls away and continues to cook.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in my room. I hear when my father comes home and wait patiently as the sun sets and day turns to night. Hours later I hear my parents climb the stairs and go to their room; it’s only 10pm but minutes later I hear my father’s snores echoing through the walls.
I wait silent and on edge until the clock hits 11pm and then I remove the bag from my closet and pull on my jacket. Taking a last look around my room I realize I have very few fond memories from this house and I’m not sad to leave. Despite the reason for my escape, this is a chance at a new life and excitement hums through me.
I don’t look back as I sneak down the stairs and out of the front door. Looping my arms through both straps of my backpack, I quickly walk down the street and away from my home. I anxiously check over my shoulder, my heart pounding with fear that my father might wake up and come after me. Archer’s Creek isn’t a big town, so I easily make it to the bus station ten minutes later. A small schedule is taped on the wall and my heart falls when I see that the last bus left at 10:30 pm and there isn’t another one until 7am tomorrow.
Panic starts to churn in my stomach. I can’t wait until the morning to get out of town. I don’t know how long the sleeping pills will last and I can’t risk still being in Archer’s Creek when my father wakes up and finds me missing. Next to the bus schedule is a business card for the town’s only taxi. I pull the card from the wall and try to remember if there’s still a payphone in town.
I think I remember seeing one at the convenience store a few blocks away, so with my head down I start the walk across town. It’s late and most of the streets are empty; the people I do see don’t give me a second glance and I sigh in relief when the store’s neon sign comes into view. I walk through the door and it beeps to inform the cashier of my entrance. Making my way to the back of the store I spot the payphone and quickly rush toward it.
I pull a small pile of change from my bag and lift the phone’s receiver. Silence. There’s no dial tone and nothing happens when I press the buttons.