My mother passed out on a grimy floral couch, a needle stuck in her arm, her skin a sickly ashen gray, her eyes open and unseeing, a line of drool leaking from the corners of lips that used to be pretty when she smiled.
The bastard that she called her boyfriend, his breath reeking like whiskey, sneaking into my room at night. Watching me, commanding me, a lecherous grin on his pockmarked, floridflushed face. His black, soulless eyes shining with sick, perverted delight. His meaty tongue wetting his puffy, disgusting lips.
My mom begging me, in husky desperation, tears ringing her dark irises, when she couldn’t find a viable vein to shoot herself up, to inject her in spots she couldn’t reach.
That same pig boyfriend, a fat disgusting man with a paunch that hung over his pants, permanent sweat stains on his ill-fitting t-shirts and putrid breath, taking his belt to me later, as a teenager, hitting me with the leather, raising bloody welts along my flesh until he decided it wasn’t enough and turned the buckle against me too. The gleam of sadistic delight in his bulging eyes, too small in his jowly, sagging face.
Something soft and warm grazes my hand and I nearly snarl as I’m slammed back into myself. Me. The present.
I realize that I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk, feet planted, poised in readiness, panting like an animal, an enraged bull seeing red, ready to attack.
I blink, and as the black clears off my vision, Leena’s face swims into view. Her normally clear, sparkling eyes are darker, so that the brown comes through more than the green or yellow flecks, shadowed by her concern. I realize that I’m standing over her, threatening, dwarfing her with my size. She’s not afraid of me though. There isn’t a trace of terror on her face. Just anguish.
“Wraith?” Her warm little hand tightens on my wrist.
That flesh to flesh contact grounds me like a set of ties holding me down as gale force winds threaten to sweep me back into a past I barely survived.
“Wraith, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I- I have this habit of being too nosy. Everyone always said so. My father said I didn’thave any sense. My brothers said I never knew when to shut up. I didn’t mean to-”
I pull my hand from hers, but set it gently at the small of her back. “It’s fine.”
Her body heat burns through her t-shirt, and I can’t help but feel it spreading through my veins. She’s like an anchor, calming me, saving me from a storm of tossing waves and a churning sea.
Up ahead, Abby turns to look back at me like she can sense my turmoil.
“I’m sorry,” Leena repeats, her eyes swimming.
My chest clenches up and I nod at her quickly. I take the leash from her and steer Abby around. “It’s fine,” I assure her, even though it’s clearly not, I don’t want to see those tears spill over.
Last time I checked, I definitely wasn’t worth crying over. I realize how tender hearted Leena is and it tugs at something deeply rooted inside my soul, buried, but there, trying to sprout after years of darkness and neglect.
“We’ll take Abby home and then I’ll take you over to Wing’s.”
Distracted with the promise of seeing her sister and the reason behind the visit, a new light of determination in her eyes, eyes that are still flooded with moisture, but shimmering with the strength of a warrior, Leena squares her shoulders and graces me with a genuine smile that I don’t deserve.
God, I want to, though. Be worthy of it.
I thought that The Riders were the only good thing that had ever happened to me and ever would.
I’m pretty sure I was wrong, and I have no idea what to do with that.
Chapter 14
Leena
The roar of Wraith’s bike has barely faded into the distance when Steph opens the door for me and ushers me in. Wing’s house is nice. A corner house on a block with larger builds and even larger yards, the street is sparsely populated. There are maybe ten houses in total on both sides. The house is pretty, though it looks like it could use some attention. The peeling shingles match the peeling paint, and I know if Steph has anything to say about it, she’ll get the place fixed up. She grew up in a small house, a neat and tidy place with an actual white picket fence. Steph’s mom is nice, I’m not sure how she was ever with a man like my father.
My sister welcomes me with a warm hug. Her honeyed hair is done up in a messy bun at the top of her head and even with no makeup on, she’s prettier than any other woman on the planet. Her skin shines with a new radiance and her light eyes flash with a mysterious light that shines from inside.
She looks happy.
“Come in! Adam isn’t here, so we have the place to ourselves. Do you want tea? Something to eat? Do you want a tour? The backyard is really nice. I’m already planning out flower gardens and—” she laughs prettily when she realizes how rapid-fire her questions are.
Taking my hand, she pulls me through the house so fast that I barely have time to take it in. Unlike Wraith’s, it looksmore like a bachelor pad. Sparsely furnished, outdated finishes like frosted light fixtures and yellowed blinds at the windows, ugly carpet, and floral wallpaper. It was probably like that when Wing moved in and I can imagine that he didn’t touch the place, other than to put up a huge TV that captures my attention as I’m tugged through the living room into the kitchen that adjoins it.
Like the other room, the kitchen is old, with faded pink countertops and blond wood cabinets. It’s all in good shape, but it shows its age.
I like it though. It feels warm and homey even if I can’t imagine a guy who is actually in a bike club living here with flowery wallpaper and pink counters.
