Ride (Bayonet Scars) (17 page)

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks through a grunt. He slows down just a little, and I open my eyes, relieved for a break from the battering he’s doling out.

“No,” I lie. Because I want to give him this, and I
need
to give myself this. He’s treating me with, maybe, an ounce of kindness, and not much else. My eyes catch sight of the varied mess of open condom wrappers. I’m nothing more than another cum dumpster right now. This is what it means to be a Lost Girl—at the club’s disposal, fucking without emotion, fucking because Forsaken wants to fuck. Not because I want to make love.

These men are off-limits to you
, Ruby had said that day at the rest stop. She said it before I even really understood why. Now I do, only it’s too late to avoid getting hurt.

He picks up speed again, and it isn’t long before he’s grunting and jerking behind me, still providing no relief for me. When he stills, I hear him sniffle and mutter, “Fuck.”

Once he pulls out and backs up, I quickly turn over and fold into myself, looking up at him. Blood is streaming from both of his nostrils. He tries, and fails, to wipe it away. Once he gets it under control, he grabs my arms and pulls me out of bed. I don’t fight him. His jaw ticks; his gray eyes stare me down intently. I could convince myself he’s hurting in some way, from the sad look in his eyes, but I’m done trying to convince myself he gives a shit about me. Bringing me to stand before him at arm’s length, he says, “It’s you or my patch. Your pussy’s good, but it ain’t that good.”

He pulls the condom off, tosses it in a nearby overflowing wastebasket, and adjusts his boxers. His eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but directly at me. Before I can stop myself, insults come flying out of my mouth in Italian at rapid speed.
Still, he doesn’t meet my eyes. He just ignores me and, after a beat, walks to the door, unlocks it, and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. The last thing I see as he goes is a large tattoo of a Nordic warrior that spans his back from shoulder to shoulder and down to the line of his boxers.

I rush to get dressed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable burn between my legs.
Pulling on my pants and then my shirt and jacket, I can’t help but wonder what’s become of me. I’ve lost all control, all sense of morals—everything. Once I have everything as it was when I entered this room, I wait until I have the courage to walk out. I have no idea what’s going to await me. Eventually though, I tell myself that whatever it is can’t be as bad as being stuck in here waiting for Ryan to come back. He doesn’t want me here. He’s made that abundantly clear. I can’t bring myself to cry anymore. I just want to scream and let out some of my anguish and humiliation. I’ve been trying so hard to fit in here, but everything I do just makes me feel even more used and dirty. I hate it.
I hate this.

Gathering my courage, I pull on the knob and walk into the hall. Directly to my right is a full living room. Ryan sits—st
ill in just his boxers, in a Lay-Z Boy. Duke is across the room, sitting in a kitchen chair. His emotionless face turns murderous as he looks between me and Ryan. The attention makes me cringe, and want to retreat back the bedroom. But there’s no way out through there. So I soldier on and walk the rest of the way into the room. Forsaken, at least seven in number, sit on couches, and the floor. A few stand. The one on the floor is rolling a joint and lighting it. Ryan leans over, snagging the first hit, completely ignoring my presence. If he’s trying to make me hate him, he’s fucking succeeding.

“Duke’s going to take you home,” he says, not even turning to face me. Duke’s attention snaps to Ryan, his eyes narrowed with anger. Ryan pulls in on the joint, holds it, and then releases the content of his lungs. “Just fucking do it, or she’s going to have to take a cab.”

Duke shoots up from his seat, points a finger at Ryan and says, “We’re going to fucking deal with this later.” Walking over to me, Duke places a hand on my back and leads me out of the house. “Come on, Princess.”

Chapter 19

The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the ones worth suffering for.

- Bob Marley

EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS
moment makes me feel weak and exposed. The men in the living room watch as we leave. From the corner of my eye, I see Diesel lean in toward Ryan, who’s bent forward, his full back tattoo proudly on display. Diesel takes a moment just staring at Ryan before shaking his head and saying, “No good, brother. This is no fucking good.”

Diesel shoots up and darts past us and out the front door. I pause, but find myself pushed forward by Duke’s hand on my lower back. The reminder that he’s touching me makes my skin crawl. I can practically feel the layer of humiliation on my flesh. The last thing I need right now is to be reminded of sins not so long forgotten.

“Fucking idiot,” Duke mutters, his eyes on Ryan’s back, as we walk out into the cool night air. Walking down the driveway and onto the street, I see the bikes parked along the sidewalk in front of the house. How did I not hear so many bikes approaching? They definitely weren’t here before.

He swings onto a basic black Harley and grabs the helmet from the handlebars, passing it off to me. I strap it on my head and move to climb onto the back of the bike, but he stops me. With his hand on my wrist, he looks me in the eyes, and just stares. His expression is cold, merciless.

“This isn’t you, Princess. Letting him fuck you and toss you out like that? It ain’t right.”

His words sting me. The hypocrisy alone makes me want to call Ruby and beg for a ride back to the house.

“And what about what you did?” I ask in a snapping tone, unwilling to let him get away with that comment.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Don’t do it again,” I warn, narrowing my eyes at him. A warm smile spreads across his face.

“You’re so much like her, and you don’t even know it yet.”

“Who?” I ask, still throwing sass.

“Your moth—” he says, cutting himself off, and then finishing with, “Ruby.” He turns away, looking at the road ahead, and mumbling to himself. My heart stops with what I think he’s said, but then I think better of it. For a brief, pathetic moment I allow myself to think that just maybe he knew my mother. I open my mouth to ask, but think better of it. I’m really not up for anymore surprises tonight. Though I file this away for later. I’ve avoided mentioning my family in Brooklyn since I’ve been out here. It hurts too bad to think of them, let alone to ask any questions. So I just pretend like they’re all gone, figments of my imagination. And as much as I love my brother, and my aunt, and even in my own twisted way my father—it’s just easier to pretend they don’t exist. At least, not unless I have to. The one person I’ve wanted to talk about is the one who’s more of a mystery now than ever—my mother. It’s time I asked Ruby about her.

I climb into the back of the bike and hold onto his waist, careful to keep as much distance from us as I safely can. Even though he’s just giving me a ride home, it makes me feel even filthier having another man between my legs less than an hour after Ryan was there.

He starts the bike and we pull away, darting down the street faster than I’m used to. The wind whips around, chilling me to the bone. It’s an exhilarating feeling—being this exposed and unarmed from the elements. The slicing wind gives me something to focus on that’s not Ryan or Duke, or any of the other bullshit. We breeze through town, making it to the house quickly.

The second Duke brings the bike to a stop in front of the house, I go to climb off. He turns the bike off and climbs off after me. I remove the helmet from my head and hand it over, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he reaches out, grabs my upper arm, and pulls me toward him. Instinctively, I drop the helmet and push on his chest.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream. He flinches slightly, but doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Shut up, Princess.” Duke’s deep voice resonates in the stark silence of our surroundings. “You need to listen to me. Trigger’s fucking up. He’s always been wild, but lately, he’s fucking losing it.” He lets that settle before continuing. “He hasn’t taken orders like this from Jim in years, and he’s not handling it well. Just leave him alone.”

“Fine,” I snap. A knot twists in my stomach. “After what he did, you have nothing to worry about.” Duke sticks his chin out, releases my arm, and steps away. Picking up the helmet, he gives it a good look, then shakes his head.

“This thing is done for,” he mutters and gives me a flat look. Inwardly, I cringe. I know better than to drop a helmet. The moment you drop them, they’re useless.

“Then buy a new one,” I say, and stalk off to the house.

“You’re welcome for the ride,” he yells.

“Bite me!” His laugh only irks me further, and I respond in a rare fashion by flipping him the bird. Reaching out, I go for the door knob. Before I can reach it, the door opens and before me stands Ruby. Her face is turned down, and her brows are drawn together. Whatever it is, I don’t have the energy for it tonight.

“Didn’t you leave the house with Nicole?” she asks. I squeeze in past her and turn around, crossing my arms over my chest. She closes the door as Duke starts up his bike and flies down the drive. She turns and leans against the door, her face still contemplative.

“Yeah, I did. She got wasted and couldn’t drive.” I blow out a frustrated breath. I really just want to get in the shower, but Ruby’s obviously got something to say; so I wait.

“Alex, um, some things are happening. We’re going to tighten security up a bit.” Fidgeting, she pushes off the door and strides to the kitchen table, where she picks up a beer and takes a long pull before looking me in the eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask, following her into the kitchen.

“Nothing,” she says way too quickly, her voice lifting at the end.

Ian strides into the room behind me and plops into a chair. He keeps his eyes on Ruby as he says, “The truth, Ma.”

Her face scrunches up and she takes another drink of her beer. Setting it down on the table, she fixes me with a look of sorrow. “Gloria called. Your cousin Tony’s figured it out. Gloria’s said nothing, but Tony had her visit your father and uncle, who are being temporarily held at Rikers. Tony wanted her to talk to Carlo and Emilio about what he knows. She hasn’t, but she’s running out of time.”

My gut twists in knots and my mouth goes dry. I knew the calm had to end sometime and that the storm would roll in. I’m just not ready for it yet. I might never be ready for it. “Is she okay?”

“Yes, baby. She’s okay. We’re just going to up security because we don’t know when and how they’re going to get here.”

“They’re coming here?” I shriek. Loud footfalls sound behind me and a heavy hand rests on my shoulder. I look over to find Jim’s gray eyes, wrinkling at the corners, staring back at me.

“Don’t worry,” he says.

“Don’t worry?” I ask, raising at eyebrow at him. “How in the hell am I supposed to not worry?”

“We’ll talk over the details in the morning. Just get some sleep for now,” Jim says, walking to the fridge across the room and pulling out a cold beer. Using the bottle opener on his keychain, he pops the top and sucks in a long pull.

“You people expect me to sleep after this?” I let my jaw go slack as my gaze travels from Jim, whose amusement shows on his face. The corners of his mouth are turned up, showing a rare smile. I haven’t forgotten that underneath the jovial fatherly mask is a cold-blooded Charter President. I look to Ruby, who is far less amused. She wears a sad smile. Next to Ruby, Ian smirks, his cheek pulling up, showcasing his facial scar in the process.

“You think I’m going to let some fucking guinea take you after all the trouble we went through to get you?” Ian says. I flinch at the word
guinea
. I hate that word.

“Hey, you do know I’m Italian-American, right?” I say, pointing at my chest. Ian just laughs, making my temper flare. I may not have much of a temper compared to everyone around me, but it’s not entirely non-existent. You just have to push the right buttons. “Non insultare gli italiani se non vuoi che insulti il tuo club,” I say, telling him not to insult Italians if he doesn’t want me insulting his club.

“Oh no. Don’t you start speaking WOP to me.” He breaks out in a full smile now. He’s always so serious and quiet, fading into the background, when I’m around. I can’t help the smile that overtakes my face at the sight of Ian so relaxed for once. “You’re talking to me,” I say, a little surprised.

“Don’t think this means we’re best friends or something.”

Rolling my eyes at him, I try to keep the mood playful, even if the nerves in my stomach feel like they’re about to go Chernobyl on me. I might need to sleep for a year after the day I’ve had. “Don’t worry, the position’s been filled.”

“So I’ve heard. Just don’t go taking any cues from her. I don’t want to have to kick a brother’s ass for fucking around with you.” Biting my lip, I look down, and the entire room goes silent. All of the shame and guilt floods to the surface in this moment. Ian’s laughter dies immediately, and Jim clears his throat. I can’t see them, but I can feel all of their eyes on me.

“What’s going on here?” Jim asks. Pushing off the counter, he comes to stand beside me. Gently lifting my chin, he says, “What happened?”

I fight to keep the tears at bay, and succeed, but just barely. “Nothing. Ryan doesn’t want me. You don’t have anything to worry about,” I say. Jim’s gaze is cold, not even remotely surprised. Of course, what an idiot I am—Jim knows damn well that Ryan would never trade in his patch for some stupid little girl.

Squeezing past Jim, I cross the kitchen and rush down the hall to my bedroom. Just as I cross the threshold, I shut the door behind me, leaning against it. The pressure on my chest weighs heavily, and my heart beats loudly in my ears. Sliding down the door, my butt hits the floor, and I curl into myself. A rustling noise alerts me to movement on my bed. PJ stands on all fours from the center of my bed and yawns. Her short, floppy ears twitch, her head tilts sideways, and her wispy tail swings so furiously her butt wiggles from side to side. Patting my knee, I welcome her over. Excitedly, she bounds forward, leaping off the bed and crashing into my legs upon landing. I wrap my arms around her wiggling body and give her a smile.

Movement sounds on the other side of the door. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I shush PJ, commanding her to lie down on the floor. Ever the obedient dog, she does as directed, but her excited eyes stay focused on me. Turning toward the door, I place my ear against the wood and close my eyes. My room is the only bedroom on this end of the house, sandwiched between the kitchen and the rec room. People rarely ever pass by my door.

“Leave her alone, babe,” Jim says in a whisper.

I hear Ruby hmph and say, “She’s upset, Jim. She needs me. When I see Ryan, I’m going to tear him a new asshole.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“Does it matter? She’s upset, and he did it. That’s enough for me,” she hisses quietly. I strain to hear over PJ’s excited panting.

“Calm down, Mama Bear. Your cub is fine.”

“She better be,” she snaps and stomps down the hall.

“Fucking women,” Jim mutters. “And I know you can hear me,” he says a little louder. My eyes widen for a moment before I respond.

“Yeah, well, you’re in front of my door,” I say back, loudly. PJ jumps to attention, pressing her nose to the closed door, and whimpers at the sound of Jim’s departing laughter. I give PJ a grumpy look. Her body jerks forward, tail wagging once more, and then stops.

“Kisses,” I say, giving into her pathetic blue eyes. She darts forward and covers my face in slobber. Keeping my eyes closed, I giggle uncontrollably at the loving assault. It’s hard to be upset about everything else when PJ gets going. I’ve never had a pet until now, but now that I have her, I can’t imagine being without her. It’s amazing how kind and loving animals can be while humans can be so cruel and heartless.

Far too emotionally spent, I decide to skip the shower and instead opt for crashing for the night. It’s well past two in the morning, and my body is giving out on me. I don’t even worry about changing my clothes as I open my bedroom door a crack and crawl into my bed. Kicking my shoes off and patting the bed for PJ to follow, I snuggle into my pillow and close my eyes. The weight of everything—Jim’s orders, Ryan’s behavior, the way he felt inside me, the way he purposefully humiliated me in front of the club—slam into the forefront of my mind. PJ crawls in beside me, and I drift off chanting in my head,
I will not cry.