We’d still had the unbreakable connection we’d forged as children, but she was moving into a different club, not the motorcycle club we’d welcomed her into.
“You must love him,” I whispered, “if you’re forgoing Vera for Hospital Gown, off the rack.”
She smiled. “Yeah, Rosie, I love him. Very much.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. That I haven’t been here for you,” I choked. “I know from experience that the courtships in our family never go without one, or a thousand and one, hitches.”
Lucy reached out and squeezed my hand. “You’re here now.”
I sucked away my tears. “Yeah.”
Lucy’s beautiful eyes narrowed. “You want to talk about it?”
I stiffened, leaning back and fiddling with putting away my makeup so I didn’t have to meet Lucy’s eyes. “About where I’ve been?”
She shook her head. “No, babe. That’s a conversation for another day. When it’s not so fresh, and when talking about it can be done with a safe distance of time and memories,” she said. “No, not about where you ran to. But about why you ran. It wasn’t the same as the other times, was it?”
I froze, my hands on a makeup palette but somehow not.
My hands were covered in blood, one year old and yet it was somehow still sticky and warm. The past had preserved it perfectly for me.
One Year Earlier
My dating life had been decidedly sordid. As a stupid, heartbroken and reckless teenager, I decided if I couldn’t have the man I wanted, the man I needed, I’d have every other man I possibly could.
That didn’t mean I jumped into bed with every man who was half-decent to look at and had three legs. I wasn’t that bad. Also, a lot of the fuck-worthy men in my vicinity wore leather cuts and answered to either my adopted father or my brother.
Both of those men would’ve happily had me virginal until marriage, or preferably death.
But I was a biker princess. They made me that way. I hadn’t been virginal since I walked into the clubhouse and saw Lucky fucking some chick on the sofa.
I was maybe seven.
Lucky got in a lot of shit for that, especially since he was barely patched in. Even bikers didn’t like seven-year-old princesses getting firsthand knowledge of what ‘doggy style’ was.
Despite my barriers, my family, I dated. A lot.
I liked variety in my wardrobe, and I also liked it in men. I got bored easily too. Not many made it past a couple of weeks. Or a couple of dates. And I made sure to hunt for my next distraction in neighboring towns or cities when I felt like a road trip. Which was a lot.
There were a few good guys. I dropped them quick. I needed good guys like I needed a punch in my face. I was trying to get over the good guy. Which meant I needed to make sure whoever I got under was as different from Luke as possible.
There were a lot of average guys. Also a lot of wannabe bad boys. Then a few really nasty ones, which I somehow managed to stay with longer than the rest.
It wasn’t because of low self-esteem or daddy issues. It was because they gave me some sort of sick excitement. Or maybe I liked the bitterness of a toxic relationship, craved it on some level.
Of course, no one, not even Lucy or Ashley, knew about the real nasty ones. Especially not the club. They would immediately intervene, and things would get decidedly messy. Because I went for nasty guys, they were tangled up in equally nasty things.
I could handle myself with every single one of them.
Until Kevin.
Absurdly boring and harmless name for an absurdly unpredictable and dangerous man.
I didn’t particularly like him, but he was better at distracting than the rest, and he fed that ugly evil part of me.
So I kept seeing him.
Despite the red flags.
Despite the protectiveness and jealousy that was driven by anger.
Despite the fact that the sex began to scare even me.
It took a lot to scare me.
But I was also at the peak of my fucked-up state of mind. Luke was dating too. I think it would’ve been better if it was a revolving door of girls, but it wasn’t. It was some empty-headed bimbo with fake tits and faker Choos.
He was staying with someone like that, letting her into his life, in that spot I coveted, instead of me.
So I stayed with Kevin, fed into that ugly hunger that turned ravenous after seeing Luke with someone who was only better than me because she wasn’t connected to a motorcycle club.
Then he hit me.
I can’t even remember why. I spoke back to him, most likely.
I do remember lying there, on the ground, where the force of his blow had put me. I held my cheek in surprise rather than pain. Don’t get me wrong, it hurt, a fuck of a lot, but I could handle pain. The humiliation that I’d stayed with someone who thought it was okay to beat a woman who wasn’t as silent as a mouse, that was what I couldn’t handle. No matter how fucked up I was, I shouldn’t have landed myself there.