by Carina Adams
Jessie had been discharged after her wounds were cleaned and sewn and her bones set, but the doctor pulled me aside, letting me know that she shouldn’t be alone. She had over a hundred puncture marks from being stabbed and cut with God knew what. And dozens of burns, ranging from small circles that resembled the ends of cigarettes to large patches of second degree, where the skin had bubbled into painful blisters. She’d been brutalized.
I'd seen injuries like hers more times than I wanted to admit since the club had begun. From all the experiences I’d had, I knew her healing would begin as the last mark faded away. Unlike the children who we helped heal, Jessie was too old to have her faith in mankind restored. She had a long road ahead. I’d promised to stay with her.
I had. For weeks, I hadn’t left her apartment. Not even when Rob or her brother had come to visit.
I’d told them both how worried I was. Tank swept it under the rug, acted like I didn’t know what I was talking about. Rocker dismissed my concerns, told me he could take care of her.
Every time I pointed something out, they had an argument, a reasoning. So, I’d refused to leave. A person who had lived through everything I had could see things differently.
Some of my concerns could have been directly connected to the trauma I’d survived. Maybe some of it was my own survivor’s guilt coming out— I’d gotten away this time and she hadn’t. Whatever it was, I wasn’t wrong.
The day I’d moved out of her apartment, left her alone with Tank and Rocker, Jessie had gone in to take a bath. She’d chopped off all the long blonde hair she’d loved so much, downed an entire bottle of pain pills, and then slit her wrists.
She’d been in so much pain that she’d wanted to end it all.
I’d been there. Once, not so very long ago, that pain had eaten me up, too. My body would hold those scars forever.
I wasn’t ready to let her go.
I’d shed a lot of tears for someone I didn’t think I liked. I’d begged God to hold her hand and give her the will to fight through the shit in her head. I wouldn’t give up, even if she was ready to.
“Look at you!” I exclaimed as I strolled into her room at the treatment center a few hours later. “You’re sitting up and ready for company!”
The pale blonde gave me a shy smile and ran a hand through her short, choppy locks. “I went for a walk earlier.”
“Nice!” I slid her flowers onto the bureau and plopped onto her bed. “Did you sneak into the cafeteria for some fro-yo? If not, let’s make a break now.”
She giggled. The sound brought a smile to my lips.
“It’s not even 10!”
I held out a hand. “It’s never too early for fro-yo with chocolate sprinkles.” I wrinkled my nose playfully. “Maybe just a chocolate frappe?”
She only shook her head.
“So, where’d you go on your walk?”
“Rocker came and we went out into the courtyard.” Her voice was almost wistful. She took a deep breath. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Name it. Anything you need.”
“I need you to check on Rocker.”
I shook my head. “Anything but that.”
“Princess,” she began.
“Barbie,” I shot back before I could stop myself.
I grimaced. I wanted to kick my own ass. Reminders usually made her sad.
“Did you ever cut your doll’s hair when you were little? I did. It was uneven, spikey.” She lifted her hand back to her hair, changing the subject. “I feel like one of those dolls.”
“It will grow back.”
She nodded.
“I like it, though.” I assured her. “It’s edgy and cute.”
“Maybe I’ll keep it, then. I need a change.”
The idea surprised me. Usually, if I liked something, she hated it. Unless we were talking about men. Then we seemed to share an opinion.
“So, about Rocker?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “We’re not in a good space.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you ever in a good space?”
“We haven’t been for a really long time.”
“How long?” She asked, picking at her nails.
I curled my lips. That was a hard question to answer.
We’d tried to move past our shit a few times after he’d been released from prison. We’d hooked up once or twice over the years, thinking that maybe we could fix us. It hadn’t—once we’d been too drunk and made promises neither could keep, another I’d asked him to spank me. He’d freaked and walked out.
Part of me felt like I should wait for him. Another told me it was time to move on. The only thing I knew for sure was that we were stuck in a never ending cycle.
There were some days where I felt like we could maybe be friends because I had this giant Rocker shaped hole in my life. Then we’d spend time together and anger would take over. I didn’t know if we’d ever be able to talk about anything important without old feelings to come jutting forward.
“Fifteen-ish years ago.” I shrugged. “I guess.” We’d been happy for a few months then.
“Wow.” Surprise squished her face. “He was a kid then. You were a kid. You need to forgive him.”
“I have forgiven him.” I looked out her window. “I want only the best for him. I can even tolerate being around him in small dosages, with other people around. Sometimes,” I joked. She didn’t laugh.
“He loves you.”
I snapped my head back toward her, attempting to get a good read on her. “He loves you.” I pointed out.
“Like a little sister.”
“Ugh.” I shook my head. “I love Matty more than anything, really, but I’d never do the things you and Rob have done. So, no. Not like a little sister.”
She rolled her eyes and laughed like I’d hoped she would. “Rob and I never actually did any of that.”
“Yes, you did,” I argued without meaning to. “He told me.”
“Then he lied.” She pursed her lips. “To upset you, I’m sure. Shocker, I know.”
I never would have seen that coming. Not in a million years. There were days when he’d clearly said he’d fucked her. I’d believed him.
I knew she wasn’t lying, though. There was nothing but sincerity on her face. She had no reason to mislead me.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m in a step-program. Make amends so others can forgive me and then I can forgive myself. All that happy shit. Plus, I’m worried about him. And I know you’re the only other person in the world who loves him like I do.” Before I could answer, she lifted her hand. “And, no. This is not some pathetic attempt to make sure he’s taken care of after I’m gone. I’m not going anywhere.”
I let out a nervous laugh. I’d been about to ask her that. “You know me too well.”
“I do. Which is how I know you’ll go find him and check on him for me.” She ran her tongue over her lips and sat up a bit. Her face was serious as she leveled her gaze on me.
“Life is short, Cris. My brother will never get a chance to make things right with Tink. He’s going to carry that burden forever. You and Rocker are both still here. Take the damn chance. Forgive. Forget. Live and love. Find your happy.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’ve said this before?”
She smiled so big I could see her teeth. “Because I may have said almost the same thing this morning.”
“How’d he take that?”
“He was distracted, almost in a fog. I don’t think he heard a word I said. It was like he was coming to say goodbye. I really am worried.”
I was, too. Ever since he’d seen Ali, he’d been walking around in a daze. I nodded. I’d go check on him as soon as I left her.
“And what about you?”
She twisted her hands together. “I need to learn to love me first. I need to find my happy in here.” She touched her head. “And here.” She touched her chest.
“That’s incredibly insigh
tful.”
“It’s the step-program.” She dead-panned, then cleared her throat. “I was thinking about asking Darcy or Fred if they needed any help at Hooligan’s.”
I did a double take. Fred was a Bastard Nomad. He and his wife owned a bar in Maine. If she was going to ask them–
“You’re thinking about moving home?”
“Maybe.” She raised a thin shoulder. “I need a change.”
I understood that.
“Now, as much as I love your visits, you need to go check on your man.”
“Same time tomorrow?” I asked as I stood.
“Don’t make me track you down. You know I will. You’re the only thing I like about this place.”
I smiled as I walked out of the room. Fifteen years ago—hell, six months ago—I never would have imagined that I’d want to spend time with Jessie. Now, I actually looked forward to it. A large part of me didn’t want her to leave. I’d miss her.
The lot at the clubhouse was practically empty when I pulled in. It wasn’t a surprise, but if there’d been a few more bikes there, I might not have seen the old V-Star parked next to the building. I stopped next to it, smiling as I ran my fingertips over the custom paint job and new Mustang seat.
Rob had purchased another Softail not long after he’d gotten out of prison, but he’d kept the bike I’d given him for special rides. He’d invested a shit-ton of money into it over the years, and his love and care showed. She was absolutely beautiful.
I glanced around at the other bikes, trying to see who was there. We didn’t have a family night or a club ride scheduled, so I didn’t know why he’d bring the Yamaha, instead of the Harley. It made me wonder if someone special was visiting.
I was half surprised to find Tank and Dean were at that bar, listening as Nate Kelly’s voice crooned away on the speakers. It was the middle of a week day—they should have been at work, but it was so nice to see Tank there I didn’t bust their balls. He still had that haunted look that said told me he’d recently releases from prison, but he was fighting hard to be the man he was before he’d been sent away.
I’d almost forgotten how much I’d missed him.
I couldn’t resist stopping to ruffle the younger man’s hair the way I had a million times over the years. It didn’t matter how old he got, he’d always be the little boy I sat next to in the hospital for hours, praying he’d survive the horrors he’d endured.
He didn’t bat my hand away or move out of my reach, but gave me a crooked smile instead. “You’re gonna mess up my hair.”
Tank snorted. “Brother, the Brats don’t give two fucks what your hair looks like. That’s not the part they want to touch.”
“Ew.” I shook my head and smacked Tank on the back of his head. “No. Just no.”
“Jealous, Princess?” Dean teased in the mocking tone he only seemed to use on me.
“Of course! We both know I’m the only woman for you,” I teased back with a smile.
He grinned and tugged on a piece of my hair. “You comin’ home soon?”
Home. He meant the clubhouse. Only men could be patched members, and the boys would never openly admit it, but it was the women who practically ran the damn club.
Jessie, before the attack, had managed everything, even though I’d never really understood what she’d done. Taylor ran the relocation program—when we had a mom or child that needed to disappear so their abuser would never find them again, we gave them new identities and set them up in a new home. Ratched took care of everyone medically. Some old ladies ran the daycare. Some ran the kitchen.
I didn’t really have a specific job title. I visited kids in the hospital, and sometimes I was the first friendly face they saw when they woke up. I taught mom’s self-defense so they didn’t feel so helpless and kids how to throw a punch and protect themselves. I was the one anyone called if they needed someone to listen. But, I also helped plan family dinners and community rides. I did whatever the club needed me to do.
I’d only been there once since the attack. I’d been too busy with Barbie. But I missed the kiddos and my friends.
I glanced around the giant room. “I’m not sure.” It was the truth.
Tank nudged my arm. “Can’t stomach to see the Brats throw themselves at him, eh baby girl?”
“You discovered my secret!” I chuckled.
The club girls, or Brats, as the Bastards called them —a little nod to the nickname Rocker had once given me—loved Dean, with his baby face and toned body. I’d lost track of how many times I’d had to pretend I didn’t hear the things women around my age said about him. He was just a baby—a boy I’d loved like a son for a long time.
That wasn’t why I’d been avoiding the clubhouse.
“How’s your mom?” I needed to change the subject before Tank pried too much.
Dean took a deep breath. “Rehab’s working this time. At least I think it is.” He shrugged, attempting to hide the defeated look on his face.
“This will be the time she kicks addiction’s ass! I can feel it.”
At least for Dean’s sake I hoped it was. His mom had come home for him after his aunt and Hansen had passed away. But she’d struggled with her addictions.
Once the Bastards saved a child, he or she become part of the family and are taken care of forever. The kiddos even had their own wing in the clubhouse. So, Dean had always had a safe place to live, more than enough food in his belly, a warm bed, and adults who loved him. Hell, Dean, our first rescue, and Bear, our second, had practically grown up within those walls.
“You think?” Dean perked up a bit.
I nodded. “I do.”
He beamed.
“Speaking of,”—I turned my attention to Tank—“I just left your sister. She looks much better.”
He leaned back. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “Much. She was smiling. And making jokes.”
“No shit?” He looked around me toward Dean. “You good here?” Then he pushed himself off the barstool. “He’s interviewing a new girl. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
Then he hurried out.
“How long have they been back there?”
Dean gave me a small shrug. “Long enough.”
“I’m gonna wait in his office.” I gave him a small smile and headed out back.
I knocked twice and opened the door without being invited in. Rob looked up from the other side of his desk and sent a concerned frown my way. Before I could assure him everything was fine, he was out of his seat.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes were wide with worry, his voice strained.
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Sorry to interrupt.”
The woman stood up and offered a small smile of her own. “No. I was just leaving.”
He held open the door for her. “We’ll see you next weekend?”
She nodded as she paused in front of him, her eyes sliding to me and then away very quickly. With one more quick smile, she muttered, “Thank you. For everything.”
He closed the door as soon as she was out and turned back to me.
“Is it Barbie?”
I ignored him. “You’re not even going to walk the poor girl out?”
He shook his head. “Matty? Joes? The kids?”
I help up a hand before he had a panic attack. “Everyone is fine. I’m here to talk about you.”
“Me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “What about me?”
I gestured a thumb toward the door. “Tank still thinks that you sleep with all the Brats when you interview them, doesn’t he?”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
I shook my head. Years before, after lots of pleading and begging from Tank and my brother, Rob had decided to allow club girls in—on one condition. That Rob had to personally interview every single one.
He didn’t sleep with them. He talked to them, explained what club life was like. Offered them a place to stay until they found themselves. If he thought they were here for the wrong reason, he s
ent them on their way.
Other clubs called them whores, considered them communal property. Not the Bastards. The Brats were free agents—they lived at the clubhouse, but were not prisoners. If they didn’t want to be touched, no one touched them.
Most seemed to be running from something, looking for a way out. They earned their keep by working a real job—during the interview, Rob would find a job somewhere in the club that was a good fit. Some found love and became old ladies. Others moved on eventually. There must have been two-hundred who had walked through the doors over the years.
“Wow.” I couldn’t believe that Tank hadn’t figured it out yet. “He must think you’re such a manwhore.”
Rob shrugged and walked back to his desk, taking a seat and staring at a random piece of paper. “People believe what they want.”
“Even when the truth is staring them in the face?”
He nodded absentmindedly.
“Like when you told me you were sleeping with Barbie?” His eyes snapped to mine. “Or the time you told me you’d moved on to something better?”
“Just tell me what you need, so you can leave me alone.”
I dropped into the chair across from him, staring him down. “Why’d you lie?”
“Why’d you believe it?” His jaw ticked. “You knew me better than anyone. You were looking for a way out. I gave it to you.”
“I figured prison had changed you.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed.
I shrugged helplessly. He was right. I’d assumed he was sleeping with Barbie because it was easier to believe than think he might be waiting for me.
“Even if prison did change me, it didn’t make me want to fuck everything that walked.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered meekly.
“Your opinion of me doesn’t matter.”
It was another lie. Before I could call him on his bullshit, the phone rang.
“What?” he answered in a way that would have made most men quake in fear. “I’m on my way.”
He stood and tucked the phone into a pocket on his jeans. “I’ve gotta go.”