“No. You don’t have to wait on me, Cap. I’ve been keeping myself alive since the crash,” I shrugged. “For the most part at least.”
“I’m not waiting on you. I just like to eat, and I’m not going to make something you won’t eat when we get back to your house.” He shrugged like it was nothing.
“I don’t know if I have anything at the house that you would want to eat. Hell, the stuff in my fridge is probably bad already.”
“That’s what prospects are for, Ruby.”
I was quiet for a moment, remembering when Chase had prospected for his old friend’s club. Shivers ran through my body involuntarily at the rough memory of the brief time he had hooked up with the Hell’s Artillery. Chase’s friend from school was called Bazooka, and the man was massive with arms as big as my thighs that were hard and rolling with muscles. I swear he looked like he was juicing because his big frame was way too big for his head, and his anger issues made him like a tripwire ready to go off at any second.
Chase had found his old buddy again by accident, and the second they started hanging out, he was invited to prospect for Bazooka’s club. A cold shiver crept down my spine as visions of our last night at the clubhouse wreaked havoc in my brain.
The smell of stale beer, and used up pussy was a permanent fixture in my nose, just like the sounds of my muffled screams when massive hands covered my mouth and carried me into a room in the back. Their inebriated laughter was a wicked memory I couldn’t shake, just like the out-of-body experience my body went through as I was passed around like one of their cheap whores, and my screams became an internal silence. I saw the way their president had looked at me… the unwanted desire in his eyes, the way he licked his lips with need. It was like I could feel it coming before it even happened, and Chase couldn’t do anything about it, even though he tried.
When Chase burst into the room and tried to tear them off of me, one of the members held a gun to his head, forcing him to watch. They told him that it was part of his initiation, that in order for him to be a part of their club, they had to test out my holes… all of them.
“Watch them fuck your filthy whore, Prospect,” the member with the gun said with a wicked laugh. “Look at her eyes, she’s enjoying getting dicked.”With his free hand he started groping his cock, waiting for his own turn with me. “I can’t wait to feel that mouth around my cock.”
Four of them had their way with me… and besides Baretta, their president, I had no idea who a single one of them were.
For one horrifying hour, they held Chase’s eyes open, and despite the tears that were pooling, not a single one rolled down his face. A tear would be a sign of weakness—something he couldn’t show in a club like that. When they were done, they left me there discarded on the floor, like the filthy whore they made me out to be, throwing me at his feet. Before he could comfort me, they beat the shit out of him, until he fell to his knees beside me and collapsed. All I remember before I blacked out was his hand curling over mine, and the weak, “I’m sorry” that left his lips, as they carried both of our bodies out of the clubhouse and discarded us into the ditch behind it.
I’ll never forget them or that night. And it’s the main reason I will never step foot in another clubhouse ever again. I don’t care what Cap says… all biker clubs are bad… and I refuse to put myself in a situation like that ever again.
I can’t.
I won’t.
The sad part was that we were both down for Chase joining the club, but after that night, Chase made a choice then and there to walk away, choosing me over the brotherhood he had always longed for. It wasn’t until later that we found out Bazooka had told Baretta that Chase wanted out, and this was their way of letting him go… rape his woman, then beat the fuck out of him until he was barely breathing. The men of the Hell’s Artillery were scary as fuck, had tempers that made my skin crawl, and were extremely dangerous. I think Chase knew they were outsidethe law going in, but I don’t think he expected them to be as bad as they were.
He chose me over that fucked up club, and I chose him over my stuck-up, judgmental family. We were a team–a packaged deal. It was literally the two of us against the world. He was my ride or die, and now that he’s gone, I don’t know how to breathe without him. I don’t know how to exist without him.
Silent tears slid down my face as my heart broke down again over the loss of the only man I’ve ever loved. I brushed the tears away, hating them for the sign of weakness they were. Processing emotions is something I’d never been good at. That mostly stemmed from my childhood and not being allowed to feel or react. When you have parents in places of political power, you learn to hide everything behind a mask or the press will eat you alive. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me I was having a mental breakdown caused by depression, anxiety, and grief. It was incredibly clear to me what was going on, but I wasn’t sure how to stop it or if I had the energy to even try at this point. I was so tired of being held together by tenuous threads of what was left of my soul.
Cap pulled up in front of my house and turned off the car. I looked over at the bike that had been sitting under the carport for far too long. I didn’t ride by myself, and Chase’s bike was sitting under a bright blue tarp. I hated looking at it because it was a reminder of him. His bike was his second love, and looking at the beautiful chrome machine made my heart ache even more.
He must’ve been watching my actions because his next words stunned me. “When’s the last time you rode?”
“Before Chase died. I’m not sure I can bring myself to ride again. I should sell the bikes.” My heart clenched as I looked toward the bigger bike–Chase’s bike. “Both of them.” I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of his things. Keeping Chase’s stuff around made it feel like he was still there, like his ghost wouldsuddenly walk in wearing his favorite shirt, and that cologne bottle in the bathroom would be used, filling the room with his warm scent. None of it had been moved, and I don’t think I could bring myself to throw any of it away.
“Don’t make big decisions when you’re hurting, Ruby. That’s rule number one.”
“Like selling bikes?”
He nodded. “And deciding to end your life.”
I looked away from him. “People who take their lives are always hurting. If they weren’t hurting, they wouldn’t do it.”
“I know. That’s why it’s rule number one. When you’re grieving, hurting, or angry, you can’t be trusted to make wise decisions. Your judgment is compromised.”
“Makes sense.” I shrugged.
“You ready to go in?” Cap nodded toward the house as he reached up and pulled the keys from the ignition.
“Yeah.” I pushed the door open and grabbed my purse that the hospital had kept locked up while I was imprisoned inside their facility. My keys were buried inside the bottom of it, and I fished them out while Cap grabbed his bags from the backseat of his truck.
The sound of the door shutting behind Cap seemed to fill the space. It was the first time anyone had been in my house since Chase passed away, apart from when Cap found me. He was definitely the only man I’d ever been alone with in this space, and it felt like a betrayal to my husband. I ran my thumb across my wedding ring. The small fake diamond was all he could afford when we first got engaged, and I treasured it. Even when we could have replaced the cheap ring, I didn’t let him. It was bought with love and was the symbol of the start of our life together.
“You okay?”
