by Nicole Snow
Fuck me. Of all the excuses I'd expected her to give, it wasn't that.
I reached up and palmed her face, feeling her sweet cheek on my fingers. If only for the last time.
“No regrets, yeah? I wouldn't have done shit if I knew it was gonna make you hurt more. You need to get over everything that happened and live your life, baby. It won't be easy. But you'll do it. You're one helluva woman – a survivor. Anything you do after all the shit you've suffered is gonna feel like a stroll instead of a frantic fucking sprint to the bitter end.”
“I know,” she said softly, rubbing her face into my skin. “It's the end I'm worried about. The end of us...before we've even started. I mean, if there was an us. You know what I mean, yeah?”
My eyes narrowed. She had me by the balls, but I played dumb. Showing her any of the flames pouring through my blood right now wouldn't do a damned lick of good.
It would only make it harder to close the book on this, harder for her to heal, to forget, to move the fuck on like she needed to.
“I know two healthy people shared a bed for a few nights and did what people do. That's it. It ain't nothing to worry about, woman, and it sure as shit ain't anything to cry over.”
Fuck if my words did any good when I felt the warm, salty wetness rolling down my finger, a single teardrop slipping out the corner of her eye.
I wiped it away and squeezed her cheek one more time, drawing my face into hers. “Give me one more kiss. One for the road.”
She did. We kissed long and hard, absorbed in this wild thing we had, oblivious to the impatient prick in the pickup behind us, waiting for my pump. I pulled her into me and really fucking kissed her.
Hotter and harder than the night before. More intense than I'd ever kiss a woman for as long as I lived, tracing her tongue with mine for a few sweet seconds, then leading it around and around in a dance we'd both dream about 'til we jerked awake in a cold sweat.
“I'm not going to forget this,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper.
“No, you won't, but you're not gonna let it fuck up the rest of your life. I won't let you, babe.” I grabbed her face, traced her jawline, pressed my fingers in 'til I stopped and felt her tremble. “This is the kiss that sets you free. Nothing more. Now, strap on your helmet and hold me tight. You're going home.”
I could hear the strain on her voice when we roared through Knoxville and hit the streets leading to the prime acreage tucked just outside the city's good side. She gave me directions, and I took them like a man, hating every fucking word coming outta her mouth because they were leading us closer to the end.
The real end. Everything she feared, and everything I'd fought too damned hard not to acknowledge.
The street lights were on by the time we hit the country and rode by the big houses. She leaned into me, resting her soft face on my shoulder, whispering the last few digits to look for in my ear.
I saw them coming up on a big stone wall, glittering in gold, markers to my private hell. My bike jerked to a stop, later than I wanted because it was so fucking hard to let her go.
“You got a way to tell them to open up, or what?”
She gave me one last squeeze and hopped off my bike, shooting me a look like I'd just talked nonsense. I knew I had a second later, when I saw the intercom built into the wall, next to those high iron bars. The gate was too tall, too sleek, too pointy for any man to climb over – not unless he was really determined.
My mind started working, figuring out how the fuck to get through. Just in case I needed to, of course. I wasn't planning anything.
Yeah, right, I heard inwardly, the passionate side of my brain about to snap the leash held by cold logic.
“Helmet, babe!” I called after her, just as she grabbed her stuff and trotted quickly toward the gate.
She spun around and flushed. The redness on her cheeks did terrible things to the spike between my legs. Fucking great. It was all I needed to see when I was doing my damnedest not to think about how much I'd miss her sweet cunt clenched every inch of me when she lost control.
“Sorry,” she said softly, passing me the spare black helmet. “Seriously, Skin, I know this is hard, but I appreciate everything you've done for me. You'll get your money. I'll call you the second I've got it ready to go.”
“You do that.” I reached for her hand, squeezing it tight, one last time I couldn't resist. “Get your shit together, Meg, whatever it takes. You've got a second chance, and I wanna see you in the papers in a few years, knocking the absolute piss outta anything you choose to take on. Ricky's rotting where he can never hurt you, and I'll make sure my boys deal with the Deads. You're free. This last little payment's just an afterthought.”
She forced a smile. We both knew damned well the money was very important, but I wasn't gonna ruin the moment, even if I had to tell her a few white lies.
She knew the truth. And I had a feeling she saw it in my eyes, everything I tried to bury, wishing it would go into the deep, dark earth as easily as the pimp's broken bones.
“I wouldn't be here without you, Skin. Thank you, so much, from the bottom of my heart.”
I let her throw her little arms around my neck and give me one last hug. When I was done enjoying her tits pressed close to my face one more time, I gave her a gentle push, putting on my angry rebel mask again.
Wetness spattered my ear. At first, I thought she was turning on the waterworks again, but the thunder and darkness rolling in overhead said different. Thank God for small miracles, giving me the perfect excuse to wind this up clean.
“Go on and get the hell inside. Last thing I need is you catching cold.”
The last smile she flashed me was all real. I watched her run to the intercom and hold the button down, muttering a few words, soft and uneasy.
I had my bike primed by the time the gate slid open, and two dark figures showed up on the distant doorstep to the big house, between the Greek columns. The taller silhouette took off, running toward her as she went through the opening, as fast as his legs would carry him.
That was my signal to take off into the night, and I did.
I rode the storm hard, moisture coalescing along the stubble on my face. Taking the mountain curves like a demon outside Knoxville, I smiled when the wind picked up. I opened my mouth and howled like a fucking demon, just as lightning cut the sky.
I'd find a way to survive this chick, even if it killed me. I had to. No woman changed me or twisted me up in knots, much less this dove from a world I'd never understand, the world where she belonged.
When I took this patch, I swore nobody would ever fuck me over, much less myself.
If blackening my heart was the price of giving Meg a second chance, then I'd do it. I'd make myself so hard and cold that even Joker would look at me like I'd gut his ass over a dirty look.
VII: Home Sweet Home (Megan)
“Megan?! It's really you, isn't it? Oh, God!”
Daddy's arms couldn't stop shaking as he threw them around me and threatened to squeeze the life out of me. He held me tight, a familiar, happy hold I hadn't experienced since I graduated High School, back when I was his perfect princess.
Too bad the only embrace I could feel was Skin's. His were the only lips I thought about when I watched my dad's moving, praising God for my return, blasting me with a thousand and one questions.
I already missed him, and he'd barely been gone for five minutes. How fucked up was that?
I didn't have time to think long about the past. Somewhere in Dad's embrace, Mom's kisses began to hit me, the last straw I needed before I officially broke down.
We stood in the rain for a long time, a family reunion bittersweet to the core. By the time they finally let up long enough to let me walk toward the house with them, I wondered where I truly belonged.
The huge family estate loomed over me like something from a dream. It didn't feel like home anymore, and it didn't feel safe either.
The only place I'd ever found that was in
his arms, and now he was gone from my life forever.
* * * *
“Start over, Miss Wilder. Tell us everything again, this time from the top.” Investigator Harlow shot me an easy look and put his finger on the camera's red on button.
It was the third fucking time that day I'd been asked to give a statement. So much for rest, much less easing back into my old life.
They'd been waiting for me when Mom brought me back from the clinic that morning. The doctors were thorough – what else when they were the best money could buy?
I'd gotten a clean bill of health. No STDs, no broken bones, no bleeding ulcers.
No surprise, my parents were already pushing me to take a therapy retreat to clear my mind. Really, I think they just wanted to stamp out the bruises left by my trauma as soon as possible so they could have their bratty, carefree daughter back.
“It's okay, honey. Just do what the nice man says, and you'll be off to Georgia before you know it.” Dad reached over and squeezed my hand.
His smile seemed so brittle. Mom left the room after the first statement, unable to hide her horror when she heard about everything that happened to me.
They didn't know what to do except send me away to a spa in Georgia with orchards a plenty and world class psychologists. Hearing about the savage abuse I'd suffered brought tears and anger at first, but then it brought total paralysis, weak little looks from my mom and dad like I'd been tarnished forever.
They didn't know how to bring me back to life. Hell, neither did I, but this endless interrogation wasn't helping.
“You heard it all the first two times,” I snapped. “What else is there to say? Here, let me break it down for you – I was kidnapped, pimped out for six months of my life, and sold to a man on the black market one state over. I never found out his name. I don't know anything except what Ricky said, and it wasn't much. He couldn't even bother driving me down there himself.”
“Yes, yes, you told us all about the trucker spa. We're well aware it's been a seedy prostitution racket for years.”
Really? Then why the fuck didn't you raid it and close it down? I thought, chewing my bottom lip.
I swore I could still taste traces of Skin there, the only thing that comforted me. He'd want me to be strong right now. No, he was counting on it so I didn't spill the truth about his club and land them all in a world of hurt.
I had to take a few more of this asshole's questions without standing up and running off to my room.
Harlow looked down at his notepad and frowned. “What doesn't add up, Miss Wilder, is why the place is totally closed down. Abandoned. Patrol says it's always been a twenty-four hour operation until now, but when my men showed up last night, there was nobody home. Not a single girl to corroborate your story. And no sign of Richard Proby to boot. It's like he's dropped off the face of the earth.”
“Oh.” I swallowed, putting on my best face to hide the fact that I'd watched the pimp die. “Well, somebody obviously tipped him off. He must've found out about my escape, and knew I'd talk. I don't know where he is, honestly. I've been on the run for weeks, hiding out in the woods.”
“Honey...” Dad's hand tightened on mine, begging me to keep composure.
I ripped my arm away from his and looked at the detective. I didn't need his damned sympathy. I didn't need anything right now except to be left the hell alone to recuperate.
“And that's the part of the story I'd like you to repeat. It seems a lot of details are being glossed over, darling. You told me all about how the pimp beat you, sold you to other men, tried to break you. I believe that part, and I'm very sympathetic.” What bullshit. The look on his face was nothing but a frustrated man doing his job. “What doesn't add up is how you got away from his underlings...”
“I already told you,” I said, looking right into the camera. “It was raining bullets. They stopped for gas, just before we hit the state line. The man in the front seat was fiddling with his gun. I saw my chance and I took it while the other two were using the bathroom. They didn't have the guts to chase me with bystanders around.”
“Yes, the state line, you mentioned that before. So, you're saying you never entered North Carolina at all? And the men charged with transporting you had no affiliation with the Deadhands Motorcycle Club?”
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Damn. Sweat beaded on my brow. It took all my energy not to shake. Lying like this in front of my father, the law, and God tied my intestines in knots.
If anybody found out, I had a feeling I'd be up for all kinds of perjury, but I didn't care. Anything for Skin. I owed him big time after he'd pulled strings to get me home.
I wasn't saying anything. I wasn't even going to mention the phrase 'motorcycle gang.' I couldn't screw over Skin. That meant leaving the Deadly Pistols and the Deadhands completely out of the equation in my lame ass story.
“I don't know where Ricky hired his men. Maybe they were thugs just like him, or inbred cousins. Who knows. I never saw them much before they picked me up for the trip, and I never saw them again after that night. Lord willing, I never will.”
The detective cocked his head, folded his hands, and leaned forward. “Look, Miss Wilder, we're aware the pimp had connections with the biggest outlaw motorcycle gang several states over. I'm asking you to please take a moment and think. Are you positive you never saw anyone like that while you were a prisoner? No patches, no bikes, no dirty business going down with outlaws?”
“I don't know what I saw, to be frank. Most of the men he brought to my room, I was only focused on one part of them, trying not to gag.”
My father winced next to me, and the color drained from his face. My heart sank. I felt bad about that.
My parents were good people, but they weren't emotionally equipped to handle my abuse. There was no worse torture than thinking about his precious baby being reduced to a common whore.
Of course, he was only hearing about it second hand. I'd lived it.
The nightmare was still alive in my head, coming to me in little flashes. I latched onto them and let my face crack, twisting in agony, looking up as I sniffed back tears.
I had to play the wounded dove card if I wanted to walk out of here sometime today.
“Are we done yet? Haven't you heard enough? I don't get what you want me to say – I barely got away from him with my life. Whatever you're asking me about bikers and bad guys, I don't know about any of that. I was too focused on survival, okay? If these Deadhands were ever there, I never saw a thing.”
Harlow stroked his short, gray beard and leaned back in his chair, studying me. His lips started to move, but before he could say anything, Dad jumped up, making the chair screech across our kitchen floor.
“That's enough, detective. I thought this was going to be short and sweet?” He reached up and flicked his spectacles back into place on his nose. “My daughter hasn't even been home for a full day. She needs to rest. Why don't you come back later this week? I'm confident you'll get more out of her when she's settled in.”
“Sir, I told you from the beginning it's imperative we get all the facts straight while they're fresh,” Harlow snapped.
“And they'll be plenty fresh a few days from now. She might remember more once she's cleared her head. Let me get my girl some help, and you'll be welcome back anytime. Please.”
I watched the men exchange an icy look. Finally, the detective caved, sighing as he reached for his briefcase under the table, and began to gather up his things.
“This flies in the face of procedure, Mister Wilder, but seeing how you're so well respected around these parts, I'll let it slide. Let's set something up for Thursday.”
“Of course,” Dad said simply, resting one hand on my shoulder.
I looked down. For now, I'd dodged another bullet, but the shots were going to keep coming, weren't they? So would the stress.
I didn't have a clue how I'd ever convince my parents to get me the money for Skin and his club. But I had
to, if I ever wanted this to end.
If I couldn't keep up my end of the bargain that brought me home, then a few more tense discussions with the FBI and a perjury charge were going to be the least of my worries.
* * * *
The next few days were a blur. Both my parents fell all over themselves offering me food, tea, and water every afternoon I stumbled downstairs after a fitful sleep. They babbled at me like I was a baby, barely able to feed myself, asking me in hushed whispers if I wanted to see a shrink today.
No. I needed my space. I had to figure out the money question before I did anything else.
Plus, the minute I told them I was fine, they vanished. Mom dove into her exercise in the gym downstairs and soap operas for more hours of the day than I'd ever seen her watching them. Dad's long nights at the office grew longer. Sometimes he didn't show up until almost midnight, creeping in and practically jumping out of his skin when he saw me at the kitchen table, picking at leftovers.
I wondered why I'd come back at all. Sure, they were happy I'd shown up alive and safe, but that was it.
The cracks in the family were deeper than ever, a thousand times more unbridgeable than they'd been when I was just a party girl with a cushy job in the family business. I'd disappointed them then.
But now, taking up space in their home as a former whore in need of serious therapy?
They couldn't handle it, and neither could I. The tense atmosphere roiled my brain, prevented me from thinking about the money my entire future hinged on.
One morning, Mom woke me up early, telling me I had a visitor. I was sure it was that stinking detective again, come to finish what he'd started earlier in the week.
When I saw Becky standing on the doorstep, looking like she hadn't changed a day since our fateful evening skinny dipping in the Smoky Mountains, I had a new shock to deal with.
She flew forward, tackling me before I could make it down the last step to the entryway.
“Oh, girl, I'm so, so sorry!” She smothered me in desperate kisses, the third person in just as many days. “Can I take you out to lunch? Just like old times?”