by Joy Blood
“You think you can just lay hands on a woman?” the man shouts, landing another swift kick to Tarrance’s ribs. Tarrance sobs and gasps as he tries to crawl away from the man, to no avail.
“No. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Tarrance whimpers out, attempting to crouch into the fetal position to protect himself.
“No, you fucking didn't. I should pull your pants down and fuck your ass with my gun, see how you like being forced on. Fucking sniveling prick!” The shadow man bends down to grab ahold of Tarrance’s hair and pulls him up so he can face me. “You see that girl there? That girl you violated?” he yells.
“Yes. I d-d-do.”
“This is the last time you will lay eyes on her. You will not glance at her, not breathe the same air as her, not even so much as think of her for a second. You got that, prick?” shadow man grits out, shaking Tarrance until he answers with more pleas and sobs.
“I won’t ever, I swear!” he yells. His body is lifted higher and shadow man slams his fist right into Tarrance’s face, effectively knocking him out. Tarrance’s limp body falls to the ground, and shadow man looks my way, wiping his arm across his forehead. As he steps closer, I get a better look. He has a hood up over his head and is dressed completely in black. Blinking, I notice a vest of some kind hanging over his shirt. As he gets closer, patches come into view, and I'm reminded of a show I once watched involving bikers. Bending down, he extends his hand, and I catch a glimpse of his full beard and dark chocolate eyes.
“Take my hand, Grace,” he says, his deep voice reverberating through me. It sounds completely different from when he was just yelling at Tarrance. I pause for a moment, wondering how he even knows my name, but the fact that he just stopped something horrible from happening has me taking his hand without questioning anything. It’s warm, filling my trembling body with a welcome heat. “Good girl. Up you go.” He pulls me up, careful not to touch anything but my hand. When I stand, I can feel his gaze wandering over my body as if to assess the shape I'm in. When he reaches my legs, anger flashes across his face. Quickly, I look down to see what has him so mad. My skirt is still bunched up, barely covering the juncture of my bloodied legs. I cringe at the sight and yank down my skirt only to look up and see the man stomping over to Tarrance’s still unmoving body. Before I can say anything, the man pulls something out from the inside of his vest and points it directly at Tarrance. The glint of the moonlight catches my eye, and I know exactly what he’s holding.
“No!” I yell, halting him. “No, don’t kill him. Please.”
“No? This fuckwad rapes you, and you tell me not to put a bullet in him? What the fuck?”
“He didn’t get that far. He only—”
“Doesn’t fucking matter. He made you bleed. Jesus fucking hell. You don’t want me to kill him?” he questions, his voice a mixture of stunned and disappointed.
“No. Don’t kill him,” I confirm.
“Fine,” he grits out, “but he’s dead if he comes near you again,” he promises, and I know for a fact he isn't kidding.
“All right. That’s...okay.” He lets out a sigh, then puts his gun away before walking toward Tarrance’s still running car. Stopping a few feet away, I squint my eyes, trying to see what he’s doing through the inkiness of the night. He walks over to me again, holding something out. My eyes adjust, taking in the hooded sweatshirt as I grasp the material.
“Put this on and grab your bag,” he instructs, and I do just that, becoming engulfed in his scent—a cross between motor oil, cigarettes, and him. I cringe as I reach back into the car for my shorts and panties, then put them back on to cover myself, making a mental note to burn them and my cheerleading uniform when I get home. “Let's go,” the man says, and I follow him over to a motorcycle with hesitation.
I wince at the contact when I sit down on the cool seat. “Sorry. All I have is the bike. I’ll make the ride quick,” he tells me as the engine roars to life. The ride, as promised, doesn't take long before we’re pulling up half a block down from my house. He cuts the engine and helps me off. “I would have brought you right up to your door, but I don’t want your parents asking too many questions.” He sits back on his bike and grabs a cigarette out of his pocket. My eyes follow his motions as he lights it up, thinking maybe one of them wouldn't be too bad right now, even though I’ve never had a drop of nicotine or tobacco enter my body.
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
“A friend of your father’s,” he says, and I scrunch up my face.
“No offense, but I don’t think my dad would be friends with a...biker,” I say, skeptically.
“No, not your dad, your father,” he says, letting out a small laugh.
“What?” My brow furrows as confusion clouds my mind.
“Stay out of trouble, kid. You ever need any help and I'm not there, give me a call.” Reaching into his pocket, he grabs a small square and hands it to me. I take it from his fingers, realizing it's a book half full of matches with a number written on the inside. “I will come as soon as I can,” he tells me, then tosses his cigarette butt to the ground.
“What’s your name?” I ask as he brings the bike back to life.
“Gin,” he shouts over the noise as he draws up his heavy leather boots onto the foot rests and rides away, the once loud noise dying the farther from me he gets.
Two
Gin
On the ride back to Cental, it takes everything in me not to drive out to where we left that prick passed out and kill him. I turn around twice before deciding it’s not fucking worth it. I made a promise, and I don’t re-nig. I’m not that guy. But as images of Grace plague my mind during the long ride back, I want to be that guy. I want to shove my gun down that fucker’s throat and fire off every bullet in the chamber, but I don’t. And it fucking kills.
Whenever I’m in Wyoming, I always check up on the beautiful but naïve girl—another promise I made to a friend. I’ve watched her grow up these past few years with that asshat of a boyfriend. He always seemed like a prick, but I didn't think the guy would have the balls to try something like that on her. Just that thought has my urge to turn around for a third time hitting hard, but I force it away once more.
The club is still quiet when I pull up. After the shooting, we burnt the place to the ground and left, only to come back a couple years later and rebuild, with Rock taking over as Pres and Jake being our VP. Even with the place being built new, I could still feel Brit everywhere I went. Could still see her rounded with my child every time I opened my eyes. She was here. Sometimes, she would even visit me in my sleep, and I would wake up rock hard in need of a club whore. Only, when I got my hands on one, my dick went soft. They weren't Brit. It was fucked, but it was my hell. I might not have died that day, but my soul did, and now I’m living in purgatory. My singed flesh had healed better than the doctors thought it would, but I still couldn't grow hair on a small part of my scalp, and some of my face was rough and scarred. I wore a bandana to cover it, and kept my hood on when I wasn't around people who were used to the damage.
Pushing open the door to go inside, I find the bar empty and sigh in relief. I’d rather not be dragged into conversation right now. I just want to pass out. I go down the hall to my room and collapse onto the small mattress, falling right to sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the day, I wake up and go down to the common room. Kimi, Jake’s woman, is busy making lunch for the few brothers sitting at the table talking. “Hi, Gin.” Kimi smiles wide.
“How are ya, babe?” I ask, putting my smile in place. I never used to have to fake this smile, but it's been getting harder.
“Good. Do you want a sandwich? I'm making some for the guys.” I nod and walk over to Sage, Ringer, and Jake, our VP.
“Hey, man. Saw your bike out front. Was wondering when you were going to crawl out of your hole,” Sage says, getting a chuckle from Ringer.
“Yeah, could have used a few more hours, but someone was moaning in the room next to
me.” A wide, cocky grin grows on his face.
“What can I say? Mirella is a screamer and she loves my cock.” Sage shrugs, ignoring the grunt from Jake. When the shit went down with the Cantrell fucker, Jake took a bullet to the neck and it fucked up his voice box. He can still talk, but it's in bouts of whispering and clipped sentences. Throat gets too dry and causes him pain.
“Gin,” Pres, Rock, calls out as he walks by the common room. When we came back to Cental to re-establish the club, my brothers tried to vote me in as President again, but I couldn’t accept, so we voted in Rock, the former President from the Chicago chapter.
“Guess I’ve been summoned,” I grumble as I stand and move toward him to face the music. Rock and I have been at odds since I headed out a month ago. Shit, we’ve been that way for three years now, ever since this chapter moved back to Cental. Coming back felt right at the time, and it kept me busy with the task of getting the new clubhouse up and running again, but all my bad memories, and good ones, seem to still plague me here.
Crossing the threshold of his office, I find him sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, waiting for me. “Pres,” I greet, closing the door behind me.
“You get your shit sorted?” he asks, getting right to the point.
“Some of it,” I admit. After our club had gone to war with some Mexican asshole by the name of Flores, I decided to take a break from the stench of death and go nomad.
“Good to hear. You ready to come back yet? Could use your help tracking down the rest of the turncoats. The outfit in town is keeping a tight lid on the shit-stains, if they’re even there.” When the smoke cleared, we ended up finding one of the traitors Flores had been hiding. After an extensive Q and A, we learned the rest of the bitches were hiding in Cental right under our noses.
“Why I came back. I got some other shit to handle. Personal shit,” I say, knowing he knows what I’m talking about.
“Everything good with the girl?”
“Boyfriend roughed her up a little. I want to go back for a bit and make sure the asshole stays away,” I admit, and he nods in understanding.
“How long?”
“Four months. Five at most.” The look on his face gives nothing away, but I know he doesn't like that I’m going to be gone even longer.
“You have it.” His stoic expression doesn't waver as he rises out of his chair to extend his hand. I shake it firmly before turning to leave.
“Thank you, Pres.” We give each other a curt nod, and I leave his office, bypassing the common room and that offered sandwich. I get to my room and pack my bag full of the few items I left behind the last time I drove off. Which isn't much, just some clothes and guns. I bundle up the sheets and toss them into the laundry room on my way out, leaving the bedroom door open—my silent way of saying I'm gone.
Knowing Pres will tell everyone in church, I don’t stop to say goodbye. I don’t get away with it, though. Outside by my truck, Jake stands there, waiting for me. Guess I knew I couldn't get away that easily.
“This about?” he rasps.
“It’s about me and my shit.”
“Comin’ back?” he asks, getting closer.
“Yeah. Four to five months. I’ll be back,” I confirm, walking to my tailgate. “Since you’re out here, give me a hand getting my bike in the back.” He nods and heads to where we keep the ramps while I walk over to roll my bike to my beast of a truck. That’s what Brit called it: Beast. She also went and named my bike Beauty. The girl had a thing for fairy tales. Never could figure out what she saw in me. I sure as shit wasn’t a prince. I couldn’t even pass as a knight in shining armor.
We get the bike loaded up, and I slam the gate shut. “Key’s pregnant,” Jake says, and my head snaps back his way.
“No shit? That’s good to hear, brother.” And I’m not lying. They had themselves a rocky start just months ago when they got married at Kimi’s parents’ place. “I noticed a little bump on the girl, but didn't want to ask. You know how sensitive women are about that shit,” I force out the joke and pull open my door to get in.
“Four months,” he says, and I give a curt nod in response, needing to get out of there before the regret and shit hits full on.
“Bye, Jakey Boy,” I say, slamming my door shut.
Three
Grace
I thanked my lucky stars my mom and dad were already in bed when I got home at five to ten. I told them, “Hi,” from their door and went to my room. I probably took the world's longest shower that night and slept for the rest of the weekend. I told my mom the next day I felt like I was coming down with a stomach bug. It wasn't all unfounded because every time I thought of Terrance touching me, I went running to the bathroom to throw up.
Now, it's Monday, and instead of cowering in my room, I decided to get up and go to school with my head held high. Probably the worst idea ever. As soon as I saw Tarrance, I ran as fast as I could into the parking lot where my car was parked.
“Grace!” he yells from behind me as I shuffle through my bag to find my car keys, cursing myself for locking my door. “Grace, don’t you fucking run away from me,” he shouts, getting closer.
“Please, leave me alone.”
“Or your bodyguard will kill me?” he scoffs. “Yeah right. Who the fuck was that asshole? He broke my fucking nose!” he shouts, gripping ahold of my shoulders to spin me around. My gaze lands on the tape over the bridge of his nose and the dark bruises framing his eyes.
“What...what did you tell people?” I ask, wondering if he went around telling people a biker mugged him.
“Depends on what you said. You tell anyone about the other night, princess?” My skin prickles as he draws closer and skims his lips along my ear, whispering, “I felt a snap when I pushed my fingers inside you. Did you bleed?” Tears start to roll from my eyes as he speaks. This boy is nothing like the one I’ve been dating for the last four years. “Even though it wasn't my dick, I still got your virginity.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I suck in a deep breath and muster up the courage to push him away. Placing both hands on his chest, I surge forward, pressing as hard as I can, but only getting him back up a couple steps. My chest heaves, my heart lodged in my throat as the beats echo in my ears. “Leave me alone. That is all you’re going to get from me, or else—”
“Or else fucking what? That prick will kill me? Ha! Bull fucking shit. You forget who my father is? He owns this fucking town, princess,” Tarrance growls before backing away and heading back into the school. Trying to catch my breath, I drop to the hard pavement and sob through my hands. It could be five minutes or an hour before I get myself under control, but when I do, I find my keys and unlock my door. I sit inside my car for a while longer until my nerves are calm enough to drive away, and I do with no intention of coming back.
“Mom, can I talk to you?” I ask, tapping on her bedroom door the next morning as she gets ready for work.
“Gracie, why are you up so early? You don’t need to be at school for three hours.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I admit, hoping it will be enough, but it isn't.
“What happened? Are you—oh.” I know right where her mind is going, so I shake my head quickly.
“No. No, I'm not pregnant. I...I just don’t want to go back to school. Um, Tarrance and I broke up, and, well…he isn't being very nice about it, so—”
“Sweetheart, I'm sorry to hear that, but it’s part of life. If he’s bullying you, we can call his parents—”
“No!” I shout, surprising us both. Clearing my throat, I lighten my voice before continuing. “No, you don’t need to do that. Just...can I maybe take a few days off? Just to let it blow over?” I try. She seems to think about it for a moment and must find the sadness in my eyes believable enough because she nods.
“You can have the rest of the week. Then you need to go back. Sound reasonable?” I nod in agreement. “Have one of your friends gather your homework, you don’t want to be falling behind.” She gives me a hug before
she goes back to getting ready for work.
Lying down in my bed, I curl up under the covers, gripping onto the black sweatshirt that smells of cigarettes and motor oil. The smell is calming. Safe.
In my hand, I flip the small matchbook open and look at the number I’ve already memorized. He claimed to know my father. My birth father. How is that even possible? I was told there wasn’t one named on my birth certificate. Nor was there any record of one being present at any point in time and my dead mother wasn't talking. What did Gin know? Did he know him? The more questions I have rolling around my head, the more I think about the man who put them there.
Tall, so tall and hard, almost scary. My hands barely reached each other as I wrapped my arms around his waist. I could feel how he flexed under my grip as we drove toward my home. The ride was a blur, but I remember that much. Even with everything Tarrance did to me that night, I can still feel my body heat at the memory of Gin.
* * *
My phone rings twice before I silence it and try to go back to bed, but it only starts vibrating with text messages and a voicemail notification. Accepting defeat, I grab the phone and look at it. Five texts. All Tarrance. Shuddering, I decide to listen to the voicemail. “You little bitch. You said something to your daddy, didn't you? You had better fucking watch it, little girl, because I'm coming for you.” Chills break out all over my body, and I slink back under the covers, clutching the sweatshirt even tighter this time.
* * *
True to my word, I go back to school and try my best to keep my distance. Every time he looks my way, I want to vomit, but I get through it. That is…until I'm walking to my car after school. Denise comes bounding up to me before I have the chance to get inside. “Girl, what are you doing? We have practice, and you missed a whole week already. The tournaments are coming up this weekend.”
