by Gemma Weir
I tense and un-tense my shoulders and neck. No pain. I pull in a silent, shallow breath. No pain. I start again at my toes and move to my ankles. No pain. The pain hits me when I get to my knees, but it isn’t the usual searing agony that I expect; instead it’s a dull burn.
I assess my entire body and when I realize that I’m not hurt, my mental barrier drops, and the world rushes back in. I’m filled with an explosion of emotion and with a gasp I pull in a ragged breath and snap my eyes open.
“Angel, oh thank fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Daisy cries.
His voice is close and his warm breath whispers across my neck. His arms tighten around me and he pulls me closer to him. My arms are still banded around my knees but as my muscles relax, I melt into him and let my head rest against his warm chest.
The memory of his anger flashes into my mind and I stiffen and push at his chest. “Let me go,” I mumble. Daisy hears me and releases his hold. I scramble off the bed and back away until my legs hit the dresser on the other side of the room.
I look from him to the door and back again. His eyes are wide, and his chest is rising and falling almost as wildly as mine.
“I’m sorry, Angel,” he says, his voice full of anguish. “I would never hurt you, Angel. Fuck, not just you. I mean I’d never hurt any woman ever. I’m only angry at myself. I thought maybe he was hurting you and I just let you go back there.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he blows out a labored breath.
“You had no way of knowing what he would do. We’ve only known each other a few days and I’m not your responsibility,” I say.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” he argues.
I sigh. “My father’s been hurting me for years, Daisy. I don’t need you to protect me. I need to be strong enough to protect myself. I don’t want to live in fear anymore. But it’s fine. I’m fine”
“You’re not fucking fine. What the fuck was that, Angel? You were catatonic. Did I do that to you?” He asks, fear and pain so vivid in his eyes that tears start to pool in my own.
“You started hitting the chair off the wall and you scared me. I reacted.”
Should I be scared of him? He’s had two violent reactions already tonight, but neither of them were directed at me. As I watch him react to my words, something in my gut tells me that he won’t hurt me, at least not the way my father does anyway.
“I don’t ever fucking want you to be scared of me, Angel. I’m so fucking sorry. It’s no excuse but I just reacted to my anger. He hurt you. He marked your skin and made you bleed and that is so fucking far from okay. I hate that this happened to you. I hate the fact I can see the scars from where he’s done it before. I want to kill him. But I never want to make you afraid of me and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been, that I made you react that way. Seeing you huddled into the corner, curled into a ball and completely unresponsive. God. I’m just so fucking sorry.”
His voice breaks and his eyes are begging me to believe him, to forgive him, and as stupid as it might be, I do. I nod, a single acceptance of his apology, and his shoulders sag in relief.
“Can I touch you? Is that okay?” His voice is shaky, and I stare at him unsure what he wants.
“I just want to hold you again, just for a minute. Wait. No. I’m sorry, that’s stupid. I just scared you into a catatonic state, of course I can’t fucking touch you.” His fingers bury themselves into his hair and he pulls at the strands in aggravation. He turns to face the opposite wall and I watch the muscles in his shoulders contract as he drops his face and cradles his head in his hands.
“You can hold me,” I speak the words without thought and then watch as he slowly turns to face me again. His hands fall from his head and his arms hang loosely at his sides.
“What?” he says.
“Y- You can hold me. I- If you want,” I stutter out nervously.
Daisy takes a tentative step nearer to me, and then another. Between each step he pauses and looks at me. Two more steps bring him directly in front of me and I pull in a shaky breath and tip my head back to look at him.
“I don’t want to scare you again, Angel. So how bout I just lift my arms up a little and then if you want to, maybe you could come to me?”
His voice is cautious, and I feel tears pool in my eyes. Nibbling on my bottom lip nervously I nod my head. My eyes scan his face for a second. I like this boy. If my life was different right now, I could fall hard for him.
He isn’t moving, and his arms lift from his side in a non-threatening stance. I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face into his chest. Who am I kidding, I’m already falling for Daisy.
His chest hitches when our skin touches, but his arms don’t wrap around me in return. A single tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek and onto his chest. I hold him tighter and close my eyes. I don’t understand why I feel safe in his arms; he’s violent and unpredictable. But even though he scared me in the moment, I’m not frightened of him. “You can hug me back,” I say, my voice muffled in his chest.
He audibly sighs and his arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. His head drops to rest on top of mine and his lips whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” over and over against my hair.
Daisy falls silent and we just stand, holding each other. I pull away first, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. His arms fall to his sides and he closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before coughing to clear his throat. Daisy’s gaze locks with mine again, the emotions that had been so obvious in his eyes have disappeared. His mask is firmly in place.
“Prez wants to talk to you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Cause he’s the president of the club and you’re mixed up in a whole heap of mess.”
I nod and then glance down at myself. I can’t wander around in just a t-shirt in a building full of bikers. “I need to get dressed,” I say, heat pooling in my cheeks.
Daisy’s eyes drop to my bare legs and then move back up to my face. “I’ll grab you a pair of my sweats to put on,” he says with a wry smile.
I open my mouth to tell him they won’t fit but he’s already opening a drawer and pulling out a pair. I wait for him to hand them to me but instead he kneels at my feet and holds the pants open for me to step into. I falter for just a second and then rest my hand on his shoulder and carefully step into the fabric.
Daisy’s eyes purposely lift to my face, as he works the pants up my bare legs. He never touches my skin and his gaze never leaves my face. Rising from the floor he works the sweats over my butt, carefully making sure nothing touches the raw skin on my legs. Once the waistband is in place, he pulls the drawstring as tight as it will go and ties it into a bow.
He carefully pulls my t-shirt from inside the sweats and then drops back to his knees to roll up the legs where they sit on the floor. By the time he rises from the floor again, my heart is racing. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Better,” he whispers against my cheek.
I nod. The sweatpants are still far too big, but they’re secured on my hips and the bottoms are rolled up enough so I can walk in them. My eyes and throat burn with the need to cry. His touch and the way he dressed me was so reverent and so careful. I try to remember the last time anyone cared for me in that way.
My mama loves me, and I love her, but her constant justification of my father’s actions has forced a distance between us that neither of us can find a way to lessen. She always takes care of me after an incident with my father, but other than that I take care of myself.
I want to ask him why he’s behaving like this, why he’s being so kind to me, but I don’t get the chance. His hand lifts, palm up and he smiles at me. “Come on, Angel. Let’s go see Prez then you can get some sleep.”
I stare at his offered palm for a second, then place my hand in his and let him lead me out of the room.
Holding her hand tightly in mine as we leave my room is the only thing that’s keeping my anger an
d rage simmering just below the surface. She has a black eye, marks on her cheek, and a cut on her lip. How had I missed them before?
My thoughts flash back to earlier when I’d first seen her legs. Her fucking legs and her ass, and God knows how far up the damage actually goes. Fresh red welts and newly scabbed cuts mixed with older scars, so many fucking scars. Her beautiful skin is marked, a permanent reminder of the pain her fucking father has caused her. I want to hunt him down and hurt him just like he’s hurt her.
When I’d grabbed that chair my vision had been red. I’d seen the signs, I knew that something wasn’t right, and I’d let her go home. Smashing that fucking chair against the wall was the only thing that had stopped me from leaving her in my room and going to kill the fucking bastard. My mind had been so consumed by my anger that I’d almost forgotten she was there.
She’d screamed. I’ll never forget that sound. While I was losing my mind and smashing up furniture, she’d curled her tiny body into a ball and had huddled into the corner of the room. The moment I’d seen her like that my anger had drained away. Her asshole of a father might be the one who causes her physical pain, but I’d hurt her today.
I feel sick as I remember the fear I’d felt at seeing her in that corner. Her head had been buried against her knees and her hair had shielded her face from view. She was so still and so small and I’d thought she was unconscious until I heard the quiet humming sound she was making. I don’t know what song it was, but it was the same tune over and over again.
I’d lifted her into my arms and talked to her, begged her to come back to me. Fifteen fucking minutes I’d held her close, waiting for her to come around. I never want to see her like that again. I never want to be the cause of that again.
I force my mind back to the present and look down at her. She seems to have forgiven me, but I haven’t forgiven myself. I want to be selfish with Angel. She wants to run away, but I want to keep her here with me. I thought I could keep her safe, but maybe getting her away from Archer’s Creek, her father, and me, might be the best thing for her.
Her tiny hand in mine keeps me grounded and I silently lead her down the dimly lit corridors until we get to Prez’s office. I knock and Anders’ voice immediately calls for us to come in.
Opening the door, I guide her inside. Prez is sat behind his desk with his old lady, Grits, perched to his left and Blade in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Angel cautiously lowers herself into the seat next to Blade. Her bruises look darker in the harsh office light and I sit down next to her, angling my body in front of hers protectively.
She looks terrified; her hands are clasped together in her lap and her chin is lowered submissively. Her waterfall of hair has escaped from behind her ears and is hiding her face. Moving unconsciously, I lift her chin up with my finger and turn her face to mine. I smile at her and hope it reassures her slightly. She offers me a silent nod and then I watch as she pulls in a deep breath and turns to face Prez.
Prez, Grits, and Blade, are openly assessing us and I fight the urge to squirm in my seat. Prez turns his attention to focus on Angel and I watch his eyes narrow when he sees the bruises on her face. Standing, he reaches across the desk and holds out his hand. “Hello, my name is Anders and I’m president of the Doomsday Sinners.”
Angel turns to look at me for a moment before she stands and tentatively places her hand in his. “Hi, I’m Angelique Jefferies.” Her voice is quiet but strong and my chest fills with pride.
Prez points to Blade and then to Grits. “This is Blade, the club’s vice president, and this is Grits, my old lady.” They both nod at Angel in acknowledgment. Prez sits back down and Angel follows suit. “Well, young lady, you seem to have got yourself mixed up in a heap of trouble,” Prez says matter of factly.
“Sir, I didn’t come here to get Daisy or any of you mixed up in my life. In fact, that’s the last thing I want. All I need is a ride to the bus station, or for someone to call me a cab. I just want to get as far away from Archer’s Creek as possible, as quickly as I can. I wouldn’t be here at all if I hadn’t missed the last bus of the day and I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced y’all.”
Angel’s cheeks are tinged with pink and her fingers are restlessly plucking at the fabric of the sweatpants she’s wearing. I don’t know her that well, but I can tell that she’s uncomfortable, so I drop one of my hands over both of hers and squeeze reassuringly. She glances to where my hand covers hers and pulls in a deep, calming breath. When she looks back to Prez her chin is raised a little higher, and she patiently waits for him to speak.
“What happened to your face, Little Dove?” Anders asks, his voice gentle and coaxing.
She stiffens. “Nothing, it was an accident,” she replies robotically.
A growl escapes my throat and I lift my hand from hers. “Her father beat the shit out of her for sneaking out the other day.”
“Daisy,” Angel cries but I ignore her.
“Not the first time it’s happened and it’s not just her face,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“What else did he do to you?” Anders asks Angel, but her eyes are focused solely on her hands in her lap and she ignores him.
Prez turns his question to me with a raised eyebrow. “What else did he do?”
I won’t let her lie to protect her jackass of a father, but this isn’t my story to tell. Angel needs to be the one to explain so I move from my chair and drop to my knees in front of her. Covering her hand with one of mine, I lift her chin with the other. She reluctantly makes eye contact with me and I smile at the annoyance that’s so obvious in her expression.
“Do you trust that I want to help and keep you safe?”
She thinks about it for a few moments and then nods. I release the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and nod in return. “Then tell him what happened. I want to help and he wants to help you, but we can’t do that unless you tell him everything. If we can’t help, then I’ll get you as far away from here as you want. I promise.”
Angel stares at me and then nods. Getting up from the floor I move back into my seat, then reach over and entwine my fingers with hers.
She lifts her head to look at Prez and then speaks. “Since my sister died two years ago, my father has chosen to punish me when he thinks I’ve done something wrong. He enjoys using his belt.”
There’s an audible gasp from Grits, and Prez places a reassuring hand on his old lady’s leg. “When was the last time this happened?” Prez asks.
“Four days ago,” Angel says quietly.
Prez nods thoughtfully then turns to Grits. “Go grab a drink, baby. Blade will come get you in a minute.” Grits nods and immediately gets up and leaves the room. Prez waits for the door to close and then turns back to Angel. “A man came to visit with your father today.”
Angel nods. “Yes, Senator Carduccio.”
“Did he come on his own or were there other people with him?”
“He came with his son, his wife, and four other men that I think were security guards.”
“Why were they there?” Anders asks.
“My father told me that important people were coming and that he wanted them to meet me. We had sweet tea, and I was introduced to them all. My father, the senator, and his son, all went to talk on the patio and shortly after that Mrs. Carduccio was called away on a phone call. I went upstairs to my bedroom and overheard the men talking. I heard my father negotiate using me as payment for money he owed.”
“Did they say how much money your father owed?” Prez asks.
“One hundred thousand dollars,” Angel answers.
Prez pauses for a second, staring intently at Angel. “Why would your father offer you up to pay a debt?”
Angel wipes away a tear that has streaked down her cheek. “Because he’s a monster. He talked about me marrying the senator’s son. But the senator said they might put me out to work instead. My father told them that I’d make them a lot of money if they did.” Her voice breaks an
d more tears roll down her cheeks.
“Why should we help you, Angelique?” Prez asks, his voice hard as steel.
Angel angrily wipes the tears from her face. “I don’t want your help. I just want to get to the bus station in Houston.”
“Carduccio is a very powerful man, Angelique. How far do you think you’ll get before he finds you? If you belong to him, he’ll hunt you down. He likes to keep a tight leash on his possessions.”
Angel suddenly stands, dropping my hand. “I don’t belong to him. I’m a person not a possession. I cannot be bought and sold.”
Prez nods, a small smile twitching at his lips. “That’s better, Little Dove. You stand tall, you don’t cower. Ever. Why didn’t Carduccio take you with him today?”
“He told my father to bring me or the money to a warehouse in five days time,” Angel says.
Prez’s smile gets bigger, and he nods. “Good, that’s good. As long as they don’t find you and hand you over before the payment date, your dad will have no choice but to pay what he owes. We’re gonna keep you safe, Little Dove, but I’m sorry, running isn’t an option.”
“What?” Angel shouts. “No! I need to get out of Archer’s Creek. My father will find me here. I need to get away, I need to run. He’ll know I’m gone by the morning and start looking for me.”
“Little Dove, if you run, your father and Carduccio will have you found and back home in less than two days. No-one will ever think to look for you here. The compound is a fortress; no-one gets in without coming through the guard on the gatehouse. I promise you, this is the safest place for you until the exchange date has passed.”
“No, no, no,” Angel exclaims shaking her head. “This isn’t your problem. I don’t need to be saved, I just want to get away and start again.”
Prez stands and walks around to the front of his desk. Perching against the wood in front of Angel he reaches to take her hand. She flinches. His eyes harden, and he slowly moves his hands behind him to rest on the desk. “We’re not saving you, Angelique. We’re just keeping you safe while you save yourself.”