He curses but nods. “I’m on it.”
I lock up behind them and tidy up before shutting everything down. I set the alarm and head out, walking over to my bike. Pulling my helmet on, Lil’s words are still echoing in my head. As much as I want to admit she’s wrong, she’s not. She just doesn’t have all the facts.
There’s a reason I kept telling her I couldn’t be with her. And it wasn’t because she’d slept with my brothers––that was just an excuse I told myself. The truth? If you don’t let people in, they can’t let you down. Simple as that.
After twelve different foster homes—some decent, some hell—I learned to keep parts of myself locked away. Sure, I thoughtabout the future when I was younger. I thought I’d have a wife, a kid or two, and a dog. That was shot to shit, thanks to a virus and a neglectful asshole. Now I’m stuck in a limbo of my making, trying to figure out what the hell I even want.
I start my bike and pull out. But instead of riding back to the compound, I find myself heading toward an apartment complex in the next town over, a place I end up most nights, whether I mean to or not.
Chapter Fourteen
Legs
I siton my sofa in my underwear, eating cereal, going over the rest of my day for the fiftieth time after I somehow managed to make it home in a daze.
I stare at Del, resisting the urge to rub the tattoo on my wrist. She recognized the mark, I know she did,so I’m not sure lying is an option right now. Fuck, this is not how I thought this day would turn out. Part of me wants to lift my head, tell her to mind her business,and stroll out with my pride intact. The other part knows I need to swallow that pride down and lay myself bare. At this point, I have nothing to lose. Something tells me she’d be able to find out the truth anyway.
“I used to live with an MC.” I hedge.
She leans back, her intense eyes laser-focused on mine. “Used to, huh?” Her voice has a bite of sarcasm, so I sigh and tell her the truth.
“I left a little over six weeks ago. I’ve been thinking of leaving for a while, but something–– or someone––always held me back. Then something happened that forced my hand, and here we are.”
“You’re not an old lady.” It’s a statement, not a question. Old ladies don’t get these kinds of tattoos, they get “property of” ones.
Who is this damn woman?
“No. I was a club girl. Have been most of my life, though not for the same club.”
She frowns, leaning forward. “Tell me, Hazel, if a member of Raven Souls came in here and asked you to go back, would you?”
“I didn’t tell you the MC was called Raven Souls,” I tell her softly, making her freeze and swallow, but I answer her anyway. “No, I wouldn’t go back. Nothing’s changed”.
I pause. “Actually, that’s not true. I’ve changed. I’m not the same kid I was when I got dragged into this life.”
“Kid?” Her voice softens.
Dammit. Here goes. “I was fourteen when my mom died. She made arrangements for me to become a club girl.”
Her mouth drops open, a look of horror crossing her face. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes. I don’t share this part. I mostly try to pretend it happened to someone else, but the things a fourteen-year-old me was forced to endure to survive were things I’d not wish on my worst enemy.
“Shit. How? No, don’t answer that. I know how these bastards work.”
“I don’t think many of them knew my real age. Rock made me tell everyone I was eighteen.” I dip my head in shame, knowing now what I didn’t realize at the time. Every time I opened my legs for one of them, I made them an accessory to a crime they had no idea they were committing.
“Rock?” She squints, and I see a lightbulb go off above her head. “Chaos Demons? He used to be their president back when I—” she cuts off whatever she was going to say with a shake of his head.
“Okay, shit,I didn’t expect this.” She glares at the ceiling as if it has all the answers before focusing on me again. “I’ve gotta ask how your hand was forced and how likely they are to come looking for you. I have a no bikers policy here.”
I jolt at that, surprised. But her knowledge about MCs and the players tells me she has had run-ins with them, and they didn’t go well.
“I had a—I don’t even know what to call it. It wasn’t a relationship because club girls and bikers don’t get happily ever afters, you know, but there was something there between us from the start. It was as if he knew he couldn’t have me, but he didn’t want anyone else to have me either.”
She snorts. “Fucking figures. Chauvinistic assholes, the lot of them. An MC is a man’s world. They are the be-all and end-all. Women are only permitted entrance if they have a use, and once that’s gone, so is she.”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with that part. Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t all him. I knew the score. I knew he’d never give me anything but his dick, but it was enough.”
“Until it wasn’t,” she finishes for me.
