by Simone Elise
My eyes glanced at the man sitting in the booth next to Dad. His eyes were on me, and it made me uncomfortable. I knew it was my paranoia, but I felt like he could see straight into my soul, and if he saw how tainted my soul was… That would likely scare any sane person.
“If you need anything, Emmie is your girl.” Dad grinned, and then his eyes froze on me.
Oh, shit. I knew that look.
“I was just leaving, so it was lovely to meet you Ryder but—” My words were cut short as I tried to back away slowly, but it was too late.
Dad was on his feet, gripping my wrist and pulling me back toward the booth. He stood at his full six-foot height, completely towering over me, and gave me a look.
“I think you and I need to talk,” he said sternly. “Maiden, Grit, here now,” he shouted across the room, his voice louder than the music.
Fuck.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the two put down their beers and head toward me. My anxiety grew the closer they got.
“Dad, don’t do this,” I said each word firmly and used his biker name, but he gave me a disappointed expression.
“Consequences, Emmie. That’s what happens when you fuck around behind my back.”
I caught Ryder’s expression, and I knew how he’d just take that great wording on Dad’s part.
Grit and Maiden arrived at my side.
“Boys, you know the drill.”
“I’ll scream,” I threatened Dad.
“Go ahead. You know it just scores you longer.” Dad growled as Maiden softly grabbed my arm.
Tears sprang to my eyes, and this time, they fell, and knowing Dad would be true to his word, I didn’t scream, but I did snatch my arm from Maiden’s grip.
My eyes flickered from Dad to Ryder.
He glared at the beer in front of him, and it was clear he didn’t want to get involved. I noticed the building anger in his eyes, but it was none of my business why he was angry.
Unlike the brothers, I minded my business. I only wished they gave me the same respect.
You know how there are some people in life that you are just automatically attracted to? I wasn’t one of those girls who fell for a man because of his looks—no, I fell for who they were, which was why Maiden and I would never work.
Maiden was the one guy who was immediately eye candy to a woman. He had the looks, but it wasn’t like he was a human body builder or something.
He was rough around the edges with tattoos everywhere, some done perfectly while others were clearly a night-out mistake. Still, it was his personality that made me fall hard. One moment, he would show me a side that had me softening like melted butter, and the next, he showed his other side that would make me breathe fire.
He could piss me off and excite me at the same time, which was a deadly combination. It had resulted in a few…well, events. I called them an event, but there was an eighty percent chance he wouldn’t be able to recall them.
I always managed to lose my willpower when he was in a state not to remember the morning. Then whatever happened could always be put down to a drunken night out. Perhaps that was why I let those stolen kisses and inappropriate touching happen—because at the end of the day, he was a friend, and I was, well, a burden.
I was lying on my bed with my dress pulled up. I cursed myself for wearing a pale-colored dress—fucking rookie mistake on my behalf. The blood had leaked through the fabric, showing Dad the evidence of last night.
Maiden was cleaning the wounds, which weren’t really wounds but battle scars showing I had survived another night being alone with my demons.
He hadn’t said a word, but he may as well have yelled at me by the looks he kept shooting me.
Yep, another thing about Maiden was the fact that one look could tell you exactly how he felt.
The air between us was tight and tense. I knew it was likely caused by either me being a failure or the fact we had a few stolen kisses this weekend, which he wasn’t sure how to now react around me—then again, I doubted he would remember.
I was relieved when Grit walked in, but then I caught sight of his expression. Great, I was about to get questioned.
“Emmie, why didn’t you call one of us,” Grit asked, his voice light and soft, two things a biker shouldn’t have in them. But then again, nothing about these two or my life was normal.
“It’s that bastard being here, isn’t it?” Maiden looked at me, and I frowned.
What was he talking about?
“Who?” I asked.
“Ryder, him being here is upsetting you.”
What a strange connection. Why the hell would I be upset about Ryder being here? I slowly narrowed my eyes at Maiden. “No, Maiden, it’s because I have schizophrenia, and sometimes, I don’t always come out the winner.”
The boys knew that, especially Maiden. God, if anyone knew how moody I could be, it was Maiden. Technically, I had schizophrenia and bipolar, making me schizoaffective, but that was one mighty big word which was only said when a doctor needed my medical history. Needless to say, Maiden knew my bipolar tendencies.
My demons weren’t going anywhere and would never disappear. They haunted me every day, and some days, they were stronger than me.
I wasn’t the girl who smiled or even the girl who was emotional. No, I was the girl who woke up every day fighting demons no one could see. I was the girl who had hallucinations, mood swings, paranoia, and depression all in one and would be considered a nutcase by anyone other than my brothers. I was a girl who ‘suffered.’ At least, that was how one of my psychiatrists described me to Dad. The psychiatrist then said he should consider placing me in a home that ‘could handle my condition.’ Needless to say, the club had to do some sweet talking and exchange a shitload of cash to stop the psychiatrist from pressing charges and costing Dad custody of me after he went full Hammer on the psychiatrist. Personally, I enjoyed every second of him punching that look off the psychiatrist’s face.
“Emmie?”
My eyes moved back to Grit as I came back to the moment.
Grit had longer hair, which he usually tied up in a small ponytail. One look at him and you’d think he was nothing but a biker, but Grit had been around when Dad was trying to get me help, so Grit had seen me at my worst and at my best. He came into the club when I was about ten, and my condition didn’t show its head until later on, though the signs were there.
Maiden, on the other hand, had only been around for three years, but he’d picked up on the signs I’d tried to hide. He just said to me one day, “Don’t hide who you are from me.” So he was another one of the brothers I could count on.
The brothers knew the signs of when I was relapsing big time, but I usually hid the small relapses like when I self-harmed well. I only did it because the demons got the best of me for the moment, but I still had self-control, only hurting myself and in a spot that wouldn’t be fatal.
The only reason Dad knew about this time was I wore that paled bloody dress. Since they hadn’t fully healed over, when the blood came through, it was a clear sign to Dad of what I had done.
“Emmie, tell us what happened. You haven’t self-harmed in ages.” Maiden tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice.
I bit my bottom lip. I would never say that last night’s events were a result of Dad. I would never blame him for the actions I took.
Maiden’s and Grit’s expressions hardened, then under his breath, Grit said, “Fucking bastard.”
“He can be a hard bastard,” Maiden spat, his anger getting the best of him. His words confirmed my thoughts that he knew what went on between Dad and me last night.
I looked him in the eyes mockingly. “You mean, I’m a lot of work.” I put a finger up, stopping him from interjecting. “I’m the one with schizophrenia. I’m the one who carries demons. I’m the one cursed by the Bible.” I shook my head as I remembered that was the first thing my grandmother told me when she found out about my schizophrenia.
“Since wh
en did we give a fuck what the Bible said?” Maiden lowered to his knees in front of me, then cupped my face and locked eyes with me. “You, Emmie, are as sane as anyone. Sure, you got problems, but no one is fucking perfect, and you’ll get a man who accepts you with the flaws and quirks.” He winked, but the expression on his face told me he was trying to tell me something else.
Out the corner of my eye, I noticed Grit glaring at Maiden as if Maiden had just said something completely inappropriate. Did Grit think no guy would ever accept me for me? Then I glanced back at Maiden and saw something in his eyes I hadn’t seen before, something I couldn’t pinpoint. If I had to take a stab at it, I’d say he looked torn. Maiden was usually either fully dedicated to something or not into it at all, but the look he was giving me now told me he was questioning himself.
“Come on, Maiden, you know the drill. Emmie has to go into relapse prevention.”
I gritted my teeth. Didn’t they realize locking me up with my thoughts was the worst thing to do? How many times did I have to tell them? Not to mention the exercise that was going to come with it.
“Nah, that’s not happening.”
My eyes snapped to Maiden. What did he just say?
“I’m taking responsibility of her this time. I won’t leave her, and she won’t leave my sight.”
I pushed my glasses up and looked at him clearly. He would seriously give up time with women to be with me? Taking full responsibility for me was no light task. Fuck, it was a massive commitment. It meant he couldn’t get stoned, couldn’t party hard, and couldn’t leave me.
Maiden looked at Grit. “We talked about how this confinement isn’t good for her. I’ll take responsibility for her.” He looked back at me, and with hesitation and nervousness in his voice, he asked, “Is that all right?”
Did I feel comfortable with Maiden looking after me? I gave that question some thought, and then I realized he was one of the few people who accepted me for me.
“Yes.”
“Fine. It’s done. Tell Hammer that Emmie is with me for the week.”
My stomach twisted. I knew that meant twenty-four hours nonstop time with Maiden.
What the hell did I just agree to?
Chapter 2
Libby
As the wind blew through my barely shoulder-length, pastel-pin hair and the sun beat down on my skin, I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh country air.
Life on the back of my father’s bike as a nomad connected to the Sacred Souls MC was the only life I’d ever known. ‘Riding, the sky filled with lightning until struck by death’ was the motto my father lived by, and his leather cut, which had two crows with skulls coming out of their backs facing each other, never came off. My mom, whom I’d never met, never wanted kids, and the second she had me, she took off.
My father always wanted me and never let me doubt his love for me. Half the time, we lived in a small house just outside Montgomery, Alabama, and the rest of the time, we stayed at the mother chapter with the guys. That was until I was old enough to travel with him, and we haven’t had a stable home since, but I loved my father wholeheartedly, and I knew that settling down was just not something he really wanted to do.
So I went everywhere with him without complaint. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the thrill of being on the back of a bike, and I loved traveling, but sometimes, I just wanted a permanent place to call my own. Being nineteen, I knew I could find a job and get my own place, but one, I couldn’t handle living by myself, and two, there was no way my father would allow it. In his line of work, the kind of men he had to deal with put a giant target on my back, and even though half the time I stayed in hotels, it was best I stayed within an hour of him unless I was with a club member.
“We are almost there, kiddo. Just a few more miles,” my father shouted just loud enough for me to hear.
Leaning forward, I pressed my cheek against his leather-clad back, then closed my eyes as I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a quick squeeze. When he grabbed my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. I inhaled deeply, and the scent of leather, grease, and his favorite Irish spring body wash filled my senses. The smell was forever ingrained in my mind and would always be a source of comfort when my anxiety attacks flared up.
Living the life we did definitely came with its consequences. I developed anxiety slash panic attacks five years ago when I was fourteen.
I did my best to hide it because my father felt really guilty and blamed himself for my condition, but he did the best he could. When you’re a member of an MC, the club came first, family second. I respected but hated it at the same time because even though they respected and treated me like family too, they were a large part of why my father was always gone, why we never had a permanent home and the reason why he might not come back someday.
My heartbeat quickened as I held back tears, and my stomach rolled as nausea started to creep in, which was a surefire sign an anxiety attack was coming.
Death was a natural thing and was something I accepted could happen, but the thought of losing my father and being truly alone scared me more than anything in the world. I shook my head and tried not to think about. As I took deep breaths, I noticed the outline of a small city in the distance—Quitman, Mississippi, population 27,458.
A few minutes later, we hit the town, weaving in and out of the afternoon traffic. It had to be close to five now, give or take, and the roads were filled with people going about their busy day. Just on the other side of the city, we pulled into the Best Western hotel where I would be staying for the few days we were here. I preferred this than staying at the clubhouse since I wasn’t one for large crowds. Parties, scantily clad women, and men getting into fistfights over them just made me really uncomfortable, so I preferred to stay as far away from the club and anything to do with club business as possible—except for the mother chapter, which was run by my uncle, Hammer. He was a hard man and kept the club in line, but deep down, there was the biggest softy anyone would ever meet, even though he would never admit it to anyone.
As we got off the bike after parking it, I looked up at the average-sized hotel. The building was white with three stories and large windows.
“All right, sweetheart, I probably won’t be back for a few days. You know the drill. I’ll send someone over to keep you company,” my father said and kissing me on the forehead, he got back on his bike.
“Seriously, I’ll be fine. I don’t plan on leaving the hotel, anyway. I’ll just curl up on the bed with my book, so you don’t have to send someone over,” I complained, causing him to glance over his shoulder.
“I’m sending someone over, and that’s final. It’ll give your old man peace of mind, so please, just let him in, and behave yourself,” he said sternly. Shaking his head, he revved his bike and took off.
“Peace of mind, my ass. He’s just trying to get you to socialize more, Libby. He doesn’t like you alone all the time. It’s his guilt that’s getting the best of him,” I muttered to myself. I checked in, then headed to the elevator, stepped inside, and rose to the second floor.
“I wonder who he’s going to send over this time. The poor man’s got another thing coming if he thinks he’s gonna drag me anywhere,” I said to myself again.
The elevators opened, and I stepped out as two young women in their early twenties walked in and gave me a weird look, having obviously heard me talk to myself, which was something I did quite often. At first, it started off as rambling on and on when I was really nervous, then it kind of became a source of comfort, and later it just became a plain old bad habit that caused other people to look at me strangely.
My steps faltered, and I scowled. Shaking my head, I brushed them off. I was used to the different ways people stared at me and the way their faces scrunched up with disgust, the way they moved a little farther away from me like what I was doing was a disease, and they didn’t want to catch it. The worst, though, was the look of sympathy, like people automatically thought there was
something either physically or mentally wrong with me that medication couldn’t fix. Believe me, at first, my father thought something was mentally going on with me and made me see doctors who suggested therapy. When they found nothing physically wrong with me, they would offer to prescribe me medication for my anxiety, but I refused. I could deal with it and control it on my own.
I knew my father meant well, that he just wanted to make sure his little girl was okay, and once it was confirmed I was, he accepted my little quirk, even going as far as giving me shit about it occasionally, which always made me smile.
I made my way down the hall and found my room. Opening the door, I took notice of my surroundings. To the left was the bathroom with its off-white walls and gray tiled floors, double vanity, and a large soaker tub, which I would be enjoying later. Next to the bathroom was a simple closet with a few hangers and extra towels. The main room had white walls with teal accents, and a large bed was in the center of the room with white blankets and teal pillows. There was a dresser with a flat-screen TV on top, and a black round table with two chairs was situated next to a glass sliding door that led to a small balcony.
“Well, this looks a lot nicer than the last hotel you stayed at, Libs. What shall we do first?” I muttered, taking off my shoes and setting my backpack filled with some clothes and necessities down. I jumped on the bed and lay on my stomach, letting it finally sink in that I was alone once again.
Frowning, I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling. You would think after years of being on the road with my father I would be used to being alone quite often, but I wasn’t, not really. Don’t get me wrong, I was a bit of a loner and didn’t mind having time for myself, but at the same time, I craved companionship.
I wanted at least one person who I could open up to, spend time laughing or crying with, someone who understood me and accepted me for all my qualities, the good and the bad.