Just let me die.
“Imagine another with their dick so far down her throat that she fears her jaw is going to break, while she chokes on her own puke, fighting not to drown in it as her lungs protest, starting to SUFFOCATE!”
Strong hands wrap around me from behind, dragging me backwards, and I kick my legs out, landing a couple of blows into Daniel’s gut as I keep reliving that day.
“Imagine all of that happening to her, Daniel! Imagine it! And imagine while that’s happening, the other guys jack off all over her like she’s nothing but a piece of WORTHLESS TRASH!”
“STOP!” he finally screams back, and I shove at the hands keeping me at bay.
“Why, Daniel? Does that make you uncomfortable? It shouldn’t,” I snarl, my spittle flying from my lips. “You did that, Daniel. TO ME!”
“I-I—”
“Don’t you dare apologise!” I snap, kicking my legs out again, desperate to get my hands on him again. “You never cared about me, and I’m fucking fine with that. Butimagineall of that being done to your DAUGHTER!”
“STOP! NO!” he screams.
The hands holding me suddenly disappear, and the cold metal of the knuckle dusters are pressed into my palm.
I don’t second guess it. I don’t even look to see who placed them there. I just slip them on like they were made for me, and the monster in me takes over, just the way it did with Wendy, although this time, the monster is in for a long, slow torture.
Taking my time, I feel the crack of Daniel’s rib cage, and with every hit, a slither of the horrible memories from that day is vanquished from my mind.
I could do this all day. Each blow a therapeutic release, but it’s the distant crack of a gun that snaps me out of my daze, and I turn to see Brody running for the stairs.
13
“So what you’re saying is you don’t trust us?” Smitty barks from the head of the table, and I’m about ready for this fucking meeting to be done.
“What I’m saying is, from now on, information will be limited and shared strictly on a need to know basis,” I snap, and he glares down the table at me.
“Oh sure. You usedmymen andmyfucking stepdaughter to kidnap a pregnant teenager. Sneak her into the fucking compound. Hide her in your room, then declare her yours when she’s discovered. She ate our food. Used our hot water. And then was the reason for the pigs sniffing around while we were out dealing with a breach at the warehouses.” He leans forward in his chair, the old fucking thing squeaking. “Shall I go fucking on? Because you’ve done a wholefucking lot that isn’t very fucking clubman-like, and now you want to sit here and tell us you don’t trust us?”
“I did what you fucking wanted.” I grit my teeth. “I paid for the lie with the club beating. I married her when you demanded it. What the fuck do you want from me?!”
“Your fucking loyalty!” Smitty booms, surging to his feet, his gun already in his hand and aimed straight at me.
Chairs scrape the floor as my club brothers lurch back from the table, but I stay seated, glaring at my President.
“My loyalty?” I scoff. “What are you really pissed about here, Nate? That I finally woke up from my fucking zombie coma after Hope died and I’m no longer your puppet? Or that I found someone who makes me happy while you’re stuck in a marriage to a woman you don’t love, while forcing Celina to kneel just so she can earn privileges the other Doxies don’t get?”
The crack of the gun is deafening, splinters of wood exploding overhead where Smitty’s gun is now pointed.
“I should fucking kill you!” Smitty roars, and I slowly stand, seeing JD, Vender, Mex, and well… a lot of guys with their hands on their guns, ready to draw.
But not at me.
“If you wanted me dead, I would be,” I snap. “If you want me and my wife to leave, we will. Just say the fucking word and I’ll walk away right fucking now.”
Lowering his gun, Smitty breathes heavily like he’s fighting for control, but the gun gets placed on the table as he jabs a finger towards me.
“You would choose her over us?” he asks, but it’s more of an accusation.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I would chooseheroveryou.”
Smitty’s face turns red. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“No.” I shake my head, glancing at my club brothers packed into the small room we use as church at the back of the barn. “I’m not choosing my wife over the club, because they would never fucking ask me to. You are the one doing that. Last time I checked our bylaws, the role of President wasn’t a fucking dictatorship.”
