Bloodlines: Sin City Outlaws (Book #5)

by Forgy, M. N.

  His face reddens, his mouth parting as he looks to the marbled floor unhappy that he didn’t get a response out of me about marrying him.

  “It seems you living with bikers these last few months has made you… an idiot?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look at yourself!” His hand waves at my attire. Glancing down at my torn shirt and sweatpants I roll my eyes. “Because I’m not in a designer brand, I’m an idiot?”

  “Yes, and the way you hold yourself and talk… it’s trashy so stop it now!” The order in his voice makes me jump where I stand. My nostrils flaring at his continuous insults. It’s not trash to hold your nose at the level of everyone else, wearing a t-shirt instead of designer polo is not tasteless.

  Taking away materialistic things in my life, I’ve learned to live like everyone else in this world, and that’s what I’m doing regardless of what thread count my bedsheets may be. I’m happier this way. I don’t have to please anyone.

  “Piss off. I’ll talk and act however I feel.” I lift my chin in defiance. Veer raises his hand and backhands me. I stumble onto my knees, my hands catching me just before I faceplant the floor. A searing burn races across the apple of my cheek. The side of my face throbs with the beat of my heart, swelling blooming across my cheek.

  My hysterectomy incision burns from the sudden movement, and I hiss from the pain.

  Veer steps forward, his polished shoe stepping onto my hand.

  Closing my eyes, the day I was a little girl playing with chalk on my parents’ patio, blurs behind my dark eyelids.

  Just as I set the chalk down a shiny shoe slammed on my hand. Pressure and a piercing sting slithered up the bones in my fingers.

  “Ow!” I cried, trying to pull my palm out from under the foot. Using my free hand, I pulled at my wrist until the prisoned fingers freed. With heated eyes, I looked at the person who purposely stepped on my hand.

  It’s a boy. The sun shined behind him casting a shadow amongst me and the colors on the sidewalk.

  “Respect me!” he roars, bringing me back to the now. I don’t say anything, I don’t have the strength in me to fight a second longer. Leaving my daughter behind has taken everything from me. Pulling the sole of his shoe away from my red fingers, I pull my hand to my chest and stand. Feeling numb, I look away not sure what to say or do. The little bit of bravado I had, he slapped into the wind.

  “Billiard, please escort Miss Ray to her quarters for the night,” he instructs his butler. “It’s best we take some time to settle into our new situation apart.” He straightens his tie, looking down at me like dirt on his shoe.

  Holding my sore cheek with my sweaty palm, my face shakes with anger. My teeth clashing into one another like icebergs ready to crack. I want to kill him.

  “Right away.” The man’s throaty voice vibrates his Adam’s apple.

  Stepping past him, Veer snatches my hand from my face. The feeling foreign and making my stomach churn.

  “I’ll see you at dinner. Tonight.” Pulling my hand free, I wipe at the artic feel his fingers left behind.

  “I’d rather starve.” I snarl and step away.

  I said I wouldn’t run from him, I never said I would cooperate with him. Ever.

  No matter how many backhands, punches, or abuse he bestows upon me. I’ll never love him, not like Mac.

  Inside my room, I slam the door shut and slink to the floor. Tears spring from my eyes, and my nails claw into the plush carpet. No matter how far away from Veer I am, a dark presence looms over me, reminding me what he took from me. Clenching my eyes shut a kaleidoscope of heartwarming memories of Mac and Catori swirl with color in the back of my mind.

  When I woke up in the hospital and Mac was holding her. Him changing her diapers; feeding her. I can’t help but think about what our life would be like if Veer never showed up.

  We’d move to a house outside the city, have a big swing set in the backyard. Catori walking to Mac who’s on his bike in our perfectly paved driveway to kiss him goodbye before he leaves for a club run. We could’ve really been happy. I’ll never forget them, the ache in my chest will never stop until we are reunited once again.

  Sobbing, I swipe at the tears staining my face and look around the room. It’s huge compared to the rooms I’ve stayed in of late. In the middle of the space is a step-up platform to a king size wooden canopy bed. Blankets bright white and clean of any lint drooping over the sides.

  The windows behind it are draped in golden silk, and across the room a dresser holds golden hair brushes and combs with one large spotless mirror across the back of it.

  It’s as if Veer is trying to compensate for something with all the money he’s spent on his house. Who needs a golden brush?

  Standing on wobbly feet, I inspect the room further, the smell of money making me ill. I long for the smell of baby puke and leather. I hiccup, feeling alone and cold without Mac and Catori. There’s a piece of me that’s missing, and I’ll never be whole again without them. My heartbeat will be one beat short, my body temperature a few degrees off, and my focus always on what they might be doing at that exact moment.

  My mind drifts to wander, what are they doing right now?

  Shaking my head of the rapid thoughts, my finger drifts across the white embroidery on the luscious comforter drowning the bed, as I head to the large window.

  Rays of sun shine down on a red barn with the most beautiful horses I’ve ever seen prancing around; their heads held high.

  I snarl at them; their noses in the air remind me of Veer.

  I don’t want to ride a fucking horse. I want to ride a motorcycle, with Mac. I never got to ride with him come to think of it.

  Tears fill my eyes at the sudden thought.

  The door suddenly opens, and I swing around to see who it is.

  A little old lady wearing a black and white uniform with white trim waddles in. Her curly hair lacing around the ruffled headpiece across her head.

  “Oh good, I was hoping you were still awake. Here’s a change of clothes, my dear.” She sets down a silky baby blue pajama set on the end of the bed and wipes her sweaty palms on her maid’s outfit. “If you need anything else, just let me know.” Her thin lips press into a smile before her brows raise. “Oh, and I’m Miss Fowler.” She gives a quick bow and waddles out of the room.

  She’s a handmaid, I had one until Dad fired her.

  Sauntering to the bed, I unfold the top of the pajama set. It’s the perfect size and made of the most expensive silk I’ve seen in a long time.

  Scoffing, I toss them on the floor and opt for Mac’s shirt I’m still wearing and the sweatpants. Climbing onto the bed, my hands and knees press into the expensive material as I squirm myself to the middle. The cut across my stomach pulls with my stretching, I can’t help but wince in reaction. I’m so tired. I’d do anything to hold Mac’s hand right now, to hear Catori cry from the other room. The silence of this place is deafening and making me insane.

  Throwing the sheets and blankets over my head, I consume myself into complete darkness as I begin to cry again. A hint of mint has me pause my sobbing, the smell of Mac making my heart almost beat normal again. My wet lashes blink rapidly, and I grab the shirt I’m wearing and pull it to my nose. The smell of minty sweat smothers my pain for just a second before tears pour from my eyes.

  Will I ever see the two people I love most again?

  31

  Simone

  “Miss?” A pudgy finger pokes me in the arm, waking me from an ocean of blankets and sheets. Untucking my arms from the material, I pat it down to find Miss Fowler looking at me from the edge of the bed. Her gray eyes wide as saucers, and brows lifted to her hairline.

  “Yeah?” I croak.

  “It’s time for supper. Veer has requested your presence, and to wear this.” She holds up a white and golden sequin dress, and my mouth drops. “He asked to meet him down in the dining room in ten minutes.”

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” I scoff,
sitting upright on the mattress. Miss Fowler scowls, turning around and laying the dress across a white accent chair in the corner. She must be team Veer.

  Giving me a look over like I’m a thug, she leaves the room.

  Hmm. Maybe Mac’s language has rubbed off on me a little.

  My stomach growls, reminding me it’s been over a day since I last ate. I’d starve and die just to prove a point but there’s a sliver of hope that Mac will come to save me, so I shouldn’t give up too soon.

  Throwing the blankets off me, I shuffle out of the bed and stretch. Gazing at the dress, I decide to look at it a little closer. Picking it up I can already tell it’s going to be itchy and uncomfortable.

  I don’t miss wearing this kind of crap.

  I drop it.

  I’m not going to be told what to wear. The baby blue pajamas on the floor grab my attention though, and I smile. Those look comfy enough for dinner.

  Pulling out of my wrinkled clothes, I dress in the pajamas. The silk is so soft and light it feels as if I’m wearing nothing but air.

  Stepping out of my bedroom, I look down the hall, my hands braiding my hair down my shoulder as I look around. I’m not sure where the dining room is. Clinking of dishes downstairs causes my feet to head down the steps. My hand slides along the cool golden banister, my bare feet not making a sound on the thick carpet. It’s so white and clean, I wonder how many times they have to shampoo it.

  This is definitely not a place for children. Catori would have this place in a frenzy in less than two hours. Butlers running for bottles, maids cleaning up puke and poop.

  A smile breaks through my sorrow just thinking about it.

  Rounding the staircase, a door next to it is open. Peeking inside, I see a large dining table with candlesticks lined down the middle. I guess I found the dining room.

  Crossing my arms, I push my feet forward. The smell of meat and mashed potatoes making my mouth salivate. Inside the dining room, there are abstract paintings along the walls. A dining table that is the length of the room with high back chairs framing it covered in delicious looking rolls, salad, and fruit. Taking my seat at the far end of the table, my ass presses into the memory foam seat. I feel out of place being here, hell, I don’t even remember the last time I ate at a table.

  “Ah, you –” Veer stops mid-sentence, his face contorting into anger. “What are you wearing?”

  Biting back my smile, my eyes drop to the china on the table.

  “Something comfortable,” I mutter with a light shrug. It pleases me to know he noticed my defiance.

  He unbuttons his suit jacket, sighing as he takes his seat at the opposite end of the table.

  “Have you seen my horses?”

  I startle at the strange question, my eyes lining the table until meeting his black soulless irises.

  “Some of the most thoroughbred horses in the states are on my land, and I’ve broken them all. I will break you too.” He points his fork at me threateningly. A rise in my body temperature has me shift under Veer’s intense stare.

  “When the help brings you something I’ve requested you to wear, I expect you to wear it then. Those pajamas were for your nap, not dinner!” he snarls. “Have some damn respect.” His fist slams on the table, rattling the dishes, and I tense where I sit.

  Sandpaper lines my throat, and I opt not to say another word for now.

  In between the silent stares, two servers wearing white pantsuits rush inside the room with silver platters, placing them in front of each of us.

  “Thanks,” I mumble, pulling the top off. Roasted lamb and mashed potatoes waft in a delicious steam in front of my face.

  Grabbing the knife and fork to my right, I tear into the meat and begin eating. The meat literally melts in my mouth it’s so tender. Flavor bursting with every chew, I can’t get enough.

  “Do you not say grace before you stuff your face like a pig with the bikers?” Veer asks hatefully, his voice echoing through the room.

  Ignoring him, I bite into another chunk of meat. Ideally, I would set my silverware to the side, apologize, and say grace as my mother has raised me better, but the more I disgust Veer… the better.

  “You will learn when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.” His voice laces around my throat and squeezes the independent woman defying him. Our eyes locking as I fight his attempt at making his idea of the perfect wife.

  A tall woman wearing a black dress, sashays into the room, her long lashes fluttering at Veer. Her blonde straight hair curves at her sharp jawline and her pouty lips smile at Veer.

  “I’ve got our best wine, Veer,” she informs, her voice thick and lustful.

  “That’s my girl.” He grins, his teeth scraping across his fork. Goosebumps chill my skin at the sound of it, it’s one of my pet peeves.

  Filling his crystal glass with blood colored wine, their eyes never break. They’re obviously screwing each other, why doesn’t he just marry her? Make both of our lives easier.

  “Hers too.” Veer points to my glass. Looking at me, her face goes sour. Lifting the bottle away from Veer’s crystal, she heads my way, filling my glass only halfway. Snatching it from the table, I take three huge gulps. The sweet red wine filling my mouth and causing it to pucker at the same time. My taste buds argue if it’s sweet or bitter.

  When she leaves, I can’t help the sudden bravado bubbling within me, again. I’ve lost everything, what else do I have to lose saying what I think? Doing what I feel? I’d blame it on liquid courage, but surely it hasn’t had enough time to affect my thinking just yet.

  “Why don’t you just marry her?” I ask, cutting into the lamb once more.

  “She doesn’t have a last name worth anything, you and I together will change history and make a wealthy future.” His callous tone pisses me off. Sliding my tongue along my teeth, I stare him down. I can’t help but wonder how his parents raised him, how does a man like this sleep at night?

  “So, it doesn’t matter if you like me or not, you just want—”

  His loud sigh has me pause. Setting his fork down, he scowls down the table.

  “I want your DNA. Your blood is worth a lot to our families and slapping the Walsh name on it is priceless. Who I fuck”—he waves his hand to where the wine girl just left—“is not your concern, I assure you.” Picking up his fork again he begins to eat like a prince on a throne. Small petite bites, little chews.

  Mac ate sandwiches like they’d literally jump from his hand if he looked away. He ate like a man.

  Wait a second. Did he just say he’s using me to make babies, and he will continue to screw whomever he wants? Well, the joke’s on him, I can’t have any more children.

  “Yeah, that will never happen.” I purse my lips, shaking my head at his bizarre outlook on where this relationship is going.

  His silverware drops on his plate, the clanking causing me to startle. My eyes bolt to his. His chair pushes back with haste, falling to the floor. Standing from his seat, he stomps my way.

  Swallowing the food in my mouth, I casually look up at him, trying not to shrink into my seat from fear. He disgusts me on so many levels it’s easy to replace my terror with anger. His backwoods way of how a woman should act in a marriage fuels a side of me I’ve never felt before.

  Hatred. Violence.

  A vein throbbing in his neck has my eyes slide to his throat. I envision that little vein being slashed open and bleeding out with every pump of his heart.

  His hand suddenly darts out, gripping my chin painfully. Wincing, I shift in my seat my toes curling into the floor to ease the bruising he casts upon my skin.

  “You’re mine. You were mine when we were kids, you’re mine now, and always will be. You will do what ask when I ask it, and fuck when I want to fuck.”

  “No,” I push out through flushed cheeks.

  “No?” His head turns to the side.

  “I wouldn’t touch you when we were kids, and I won’t now.” I remind him of when he tried to kiss me
when we first met, and I kneed him in the balls.

  Challenge sparks in his eyes, and my nostrils flare.

  Bending down, his lips purse as if he’s going to force a kiss upon me. Blinking, a burning sensation drives through me. Possessed with rage and a broken heart, I clutch the fork in my hand, hold my breath and scream as I thrust the tongs of the fork right into the throbbing vein in his neck. His lips a hair’s length away from my own he freezes while I push the silver in as far as it will go, his body tensing. Blood trickles from the prongs of the fork, spilling onto my sleeve and soaking it into a design like one of the paintings on the wall.

  “I’ll never kiss you,” I whisper, our eyes locked on one another.

  He swallows, the look of shock coloring his face as he stumbles back. He jerks the fork out of his neck and blood spurts out all over his perfect carpet. He falls to the floor gasping, choking, and crawling for the doorway.