I ripped open closets and checked underneath the bed. I raced out of the room, booking it for the kitchen to see if she had gone to get herself some more coffee. I slid down the hallway, my feet squeaking along the floor as I searched high and low for where the hell she could have gone.
“Rose!” I roared.
But even though I checked every room, every closet, and every dark corner of the clubhouse, she was nowhere to be found.
And panic unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life gripped me by the motherfucking throat.
18
ROSE
What? You just gonna sit there and play the victim?
“Charles! Stop it!”
“Daddy, no!”
The crack of my father’s hand against my cheek echoed across the cluttered caverns of my mind and it pushed nausea through my entire system. I had stooped to his level. I had hit someone. I had done the one thing I promised myself I’d never do, and I became my father. I became the abusive asshole I had wanted to escape for so long, and I let the tears pour forth.
I cried, and I cried, and I cried some more. I cried for the life I had lived. For the life I had wasted just trying to get away from my home. I cried for my mother, who would never understand a single ounce of freedom until the day my father finally killed her. I cried for my childhood, and how the only escape I had from my torture had stormed out of my life after showing me exactly what it meant to be cherished and treasured by a real man.
And as the memory of my father hitting me for the very first time played on repeat in my head, I picked my face up.
Before I looked down at my trembling hands.
“I have to get out of here,” I whispered.
I was nothing, as far as I was concerned. I had become my father, and I deserved everything that came my way because of it. But no more. I’d no longer sit there in a corner and cry like a victim. If I was going to be like my father, then I’d take it all in stride. I’d slap every single motherfucker out of my way if it meant finally finding my peace, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to find my peace in a god damn clubhouse.
So, I wiped my tears, picked myself up from the floor, and got to work finding my clothes that we had slung around the bedroom.
“Time to get on with my life,” I murmured.
I was so sick and tired of people gaslighting me. Telling me what to do or how to feel. Yanking me around like some sock puppet until they were tired of the funny faces I made every time they shoved their hand up my ass to propel me forward. If I was going to stay in bed all day, I’d do it in my own bed. If I was going to pick myself up and keep chugging along, I’d do it in my own condo. If I needed to get away from Blake, I’d find a way to do it my own damn self because I didn’t need a man in my life. I didn’t need someone to keep me propped up. I didn’t need someone to bail me out of trouble.
Hell, maybe I’d just kill Blake and live the rest of my days no longer worrying about whether or not I’d eat or have a place to sleep.
I could fend for myself, if these kinds of men were the only kinds of men that would ever gravitate toward me.
“Now, where the hell are those keys?” I whispered.
I hadn’t driven a bike in years, but there was a small window of time when Caleb had gotten his first rust-bucket of a bike where he had taught me the basics. Shifting, where the clutch was, how to kick off safely and merge into traffic without feeling like I was about to fall the fuck off into the road. And while I’d never be able to cross-country trip with those skills, I knew I’d be able to get myself home.
You know, after I swung by Reaper’s place and snatched up all my things first.
I threw open drawers in an attempt to figure out where in the hell he had placed them. I tried recounting the events of last night, hoping that something might jog my memory. But all I remembered was the safety I felt every single time he pumped himself into me.
Which only broke my heart further.
“Come on,” I grumbled as I shook my head, “focus.”
I closed my eyes and forced my mind to be still. They couldn’t be far, especially since Caleb seemed to live his life on a hairpin trigger. So, they’d be easily accessible and not far out of sight. I slid my eyes open and gazed upon the bedside tables. I rushed over to them and yanked out both drawers, only to find them empty. Then, it struck me.
The bathroom.
I rushed into the bathroom and right there, beside the sink, were his keys. I smiled as I snatched them up. I studied the throng of them on his keyring and wondered which one went to his apartment. But it didn’t matter. I’d figure it out. I tossed them into the air and caught them in my palm as a couple of men flounced by the door Caleb had slammed closed on his way out.
And after their voices disappeared down the hallway, I made a break for it.
