“Hey.” I turn to see Tracie standing in the doorway. “Food almost done? Guys are starting to get restless.”
Lucy rolls her eyes. “Just waiting on the pasta, so like five more minutes.”
I expect Tracie to head back out, so I’m surprised when she comes over to stand by me, leaning over and dipping a finger into the sauce, licking it off and giving me a thumbs up. “Are you coming back to work at the club anymore?”
I don't know how to answer that. I'd love to have something to occupy my time, and it was nice to feel useful. Plus, it would make me feel less indebted to Cutter if I was helping out. On the other hand, Dylan is after me and he knows I was working there.
"I . . . uh . . . I don't know if I can right now."
Tracie’s head cocks to the side. “What’s up?” Her gaze moves between Lucy and me. “Come on, bleeding heart. If she won’t tell me, it won’t take much for me to get you to spill.”
Lucy looks over at me and shrugs her shoulders. I nod, giving her permission to give Tracie the story. Lucy doesn't have all the details, so I'm not too worried about all my insecurities getting laid out. Besides, if I want these girls to trust me, I need to let them in.
“Remember the guy that went after Melanie?” Tracie nods. “That’s Jaz’s husband.”
If Tracie is the vice president’s “old lady” then I don’t doubt she’s seen a lot of stuff going on. You don’t have to be a genius to work that out. Which is what makes my stomach drop even further when her eyes almost pop out of her head.
Lucy looks over at me, making sure I really am okay with my story getting aired out. At least this way, I can control what people know. There’s nothing worse than having people hear half a story, and them making the other half up.
“He’s an abusive prick. Cutter helped her get out, but the husband isn’t accepting the fact that she’s left. It’s unclear how far he’ll go or what he’d do right now, and that’s why she’s here. Going to the club is rough because he knows it is somewhere she’s been.”
Tracie nods for a minute before turning to me. "You don't let any asshole control you with fear. No matter if you feel it, you suck that shit in and ball it up until it makes you so angry that the anger gives you strength. You let him hold you back, he wins. I spent years holding myself back from what I wanted because of a fear some asshole instilled in me. Being afraid doesn't make you weak—hiding does. Show him you’re better without him, that you can thrive now that he's gone.”
My breath leaves me. There is so much in what she said that I can’t even begin to wrap my head around it. I open my mouth, but before I can talk, she holds up a hand.
“You're coming to work tomorrow. Don’t give me any of that scared bullshit. I’ll make sure the place is stacked with security. You can ride with me and walk into that building with your head held high."
I look at her for a minute, taking note of the mix of pain and strength etched across her face. "Okay."
“I’ll let the guys know about the food.” She walks out of the kitchen and I turn to Lucy.
“Tracie may be crazy, but she’s right. You can’t stop living because of him.” And like she hasn’t just witnessed something huge, something that very well may change my life, she turns back to the stove. “Pasta’s ready.”
Fear and anxiety fill me knowing what is going to happen tomorrow.
But there’s also a stirring of something deep in my stomach. A fluttering in my chest that sends tingles rushing through me. Because tomorrow won’t just be about facing my fears.
It’ll be the day I start to take my life back.
Chapter Seventeen
Jasmine
I reach for the house phone. Being in the house alone all day is enough to make anyone crazy. There are weeks when the only other voice I hear is Dylan’s, and then he’s rarely saying anything nice, if at all. Ever since we moved, I can’t seem to get things right. Maybe talking to someone will help? Not that I’d mention what’s been going on. It’s bad enough that Dylan thinks badly of me. I don’t want that to happen with anyone else.
I really need to talk to my sister. Listening to her talk about her life always cheers me up. I love hearing all about the characters she meets at work. She has some of the funniest stories. Dylan doesn't want me looking for a job. He says I should be here, taking care of the house. It’s a shame because being here alone most of the time means I don't have any friends. If I’m honest . . . I'm starting to regret coming here.
I type in her number and am about to hit the green button when the phone is ripped from my hand.
Dylan.
“What are you doing?”
“I . . . I just wanted to call Sara. I haven’t talked to her in a while.” My voice is quiet. I feel like everything I say or do lately is wrong, and I really don’t want to make him mad today.
“You know she doesn’t like me. All she’s going to do is fill your head with lies about me.” He looks down at the phone and then back at me. “I don’t want you talking to her. I love you, that should be enough. You don’t need anyone else.”
“But, she’s my sister. I can’t just stop talking to her.” Tears well in my eyes.
He throws the phone and it shatters against the wall. “You can and you will. All those people, your whole family, they’re all fucking trouble makers. Don’t try and go behind my back, either. It’d be a shame if something happened to one of them.” He smiles at me and I watch his eyes turn black.
They do this often. Way back in high school, I’d fallen in love with those eyes. Eyes that were as deep as swimming pools on hot summer days. But everything is different now. Dylan is no longer the athletic, handsome man he was back then. With dark shadows under his eyes, his hollow cheeks, and the way he moves around the house as if he were boneless, slithering from room to room like a snake, always trying to catch me doing something wrong. He was different, but so was I. In high school I made him happy. I did things right. He would kiss me and tell me I was beautiful. Pull me close and hug me. I can’t remember the last time he touched me without anger.
“Don’t you have some cleaning to do?” His eyebrow arches.
I don’t respond trying to process exactly what just happened. He doesn’t want me talking to my family, at all? How can I do that?
“I asked you a goddamn question!” His hand grips my upper arm and I wince as his nails dig into my skin. He shoves me onto the floor and I slide into the end table knocking it, sending everything on it crashing to the floor, the vase and picture shattering, glass seeming to fall in slow motion until the carpet is nothing but a sea of glittering fragments.
Dylan backs away, grabbing his jacket from the back of the door. “Another fucking mess to clean up. Have it done before I get back.”
The next day, I’m vacuuming around by the console table when I see it.
The cord of the phone.
The wire cut in half.
I jolt up in bed covered in sweat, my chest heaving up and down. It takes a minute for me to realize I'm in Cutter's room at the clubhouse.
Safe.
The clock on the wall shows eight o’clock so I decide to grab a shower. I'm supposed to head to the club with Tracie today around ten which leaves me loads of time, but I’m trembling so badly at the thought, I want to allow myself enough time to calm down.
Or at least fake calm.
I stand under the water, hoping it’ll wash away the dream. When Cutter gets back, I want to ask him to help me find my family. There's very little information we can go off, though. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I don't remember their phone number. I'm not even sure if they live in the same house. Sara has probably moved out and started her own life by now.
As crazy as it is, I’ve missed having Cutter around last night. In the little time I’ve known him he’s become a rock—someone I can lean on. Someone who supports me, without making me feel like I owe him something. He’s made me feel so safe with him. Him being away just doesn’t feel . . .
right.
During the night I woke up and moved across the bed to find him. Of course, he wasn’t there. I called him before I went to bed, and told him about Tracie’s determination to get me back to the club. The line went silent for a while and I thought he might shut the idea down, but he seemed to take a deep breath and regroup, assuring me that he would make sure there would be people there, watching out for signs of any trouble. He also said he wanted to talk to me when he gets back this afternoon.
When he said that a pit formed in my stomach, and I immediately thought of all the bad things that he could need to talk to me about. The possibility that being away from me made him miss the freedom having me around took from him? Maybe he met someone who he didn’t need to be put back together? So many things plagued me, and I tossed and turned until I fell asleep from the exhaustion of worrying.
I walk out of the small bathroom to find Tracie standing in my room.
"Hey, girl. Thought I'd stop by and give you a little confidence boost with an old lady makeover." She smiles at me. A makeover? She's holding clothes in her hand and my eyes travel to where I already have mine laid out on the dresser.
"Check your phone."
I walk over to the dresser and pick it up to see a message.
Cutter: Tracie has some crazy makeover idea. New clothes, hair, makeup. I know you have your outfit already. If you want to let her fix you up, I’m okay with it. You’ll look great either way. Don’t stress out, I’ll see you soon.
Tracie holds the clothes out. Is this what I want?
I haven’t thought about that for the longest time.
What do I want?
I want to be happy.
I want to be with Cutter.
I want to have friends.
I want to leave the old Jasmine behind.
I want to be Jaz.
Decision made, I take the clothes from her and offer her an apprehensive smile.
“You got this, girl.”
Getting dressed into this outfit is kind of like putting on a costume—one I’m going to work until it erases every part of the old me. Feeling like this might be the first step in a whole new life for me, I pull on the lace panties, and bra, jeans, and shirt and when I look into the mirror I barely recognize myself.
The jeans are skin tight with rips on the thighs. The black shirt has the club logo on it, small slits cut over the chest area showing small areas of skin. My boobs are pushed up high, my cleavage poking out above the scooped neckline of the shirt. I immediately want to cross my arms over my chest, but I fight the instinct.
Taking a deep breath, I walk out of the bathroom to find Tracie, and now Lucy, standing in the room.
"Damn, girl, I am good." Tracie eyes me with approval and it might very well be one of the first times I’ve ever been on the receiving end of one of those looks. It’s something I could get used to.
Lucy bumps me with her hip. “You look good. I came to make sure Tracie didn’t have you walking out of here looking like one of the club girls.” She laughs.
“Shut your mouth, I would never.” Tracie shoves Lucy and I watch them intently, hoping that one day I’ll be a part of their group. “Come sit and let’s do your hair and makeup.”
“I don’t think she’s been this excited since she got to go to town on me.” Lucy shakes her head and I smile. If Tracie had a hand in Lucy’s transformation, then I’m excited to see what they come up with if they work as a team.
Tracie holds up a straightening iron, wielding it like some sort of weapon. An inordinate amount of makeup covers Cutter’s dresser. I hope I know what I'm getting myself into. I try imagining Cutter's face when he sees me. I want him to want me.
That might make me sound pathetic, but when you come out of something like I had, the biggest thing ever is feeling wanted and important to someone. I’m working on feeling good about myself, but having that reassurance from him would definitely help, especially if it makes me feel less like an outsider when I’m at the club. The girls here aren’t exactly shift dress and sandal people.
Over the next two hours, Tracie works her magic. The excitement and anxiousness builds inside of me as she swipes something over my eyelids, followed by a dab of something else on my cheeks and a flick of something on my eyebrows.
My eyebrows!
I haven’t worn a full face of makeup since high school, before Dylan, and I’ve never worn this amount. I gave up on my appearance, aside from what Dylan told me to do, because it felt like nothing I did made a difference so I spent years feeling ugly. Today I want to feel different.
While Tracie works on my face, Lucy tugs at my hair, pulling me this way and that way. A very odd smell fills the air at one stage and my heart begins to race. She leans over me and squeezes my shoulder. “All good, Jaz. Just breathe.”
Just when my butt is starting to go numb, Tracie steps back and crosses her arms, looking me up and down, up and down, until I start to get a complex. She and Lucy have huge smiles on their faces. Suddenly Tracie steps back and takes a low bow. “I’m a genius.”
With a deep breath, I pluck up the courage to turn around. Today I am making a promise to myself.
I am going to be the person I want to be.
I will do the things that I want to do.
I will be happy.
As the mirror reflects back the image of the new me, I freeze. My long dark hair hangs around my shoulders, the ends curled, it has a few dark red streaks through it. My eyes look huge, bright eye shadow contrasting with dark eyeliner. My lips are accentuated with a dark red lipstick. I walk forward almost not believing the person looking back is me.
“So the red is temporary. It’ll wash out after about three shampoos. It’s a spray I use for my roots, but it totally worked for your streaks. If you like it, we can always go to my girl and get it done.”
I give Tracie a hug, not able to express my thanks in words. I feel like she’s given me a new identity today, a new life. A feeling of belonging overwhelms me as I turn back to look at myself, closing my eyes and hoping that when Cutter comes back today he loves the new me as much as I do.
"All right, before we all start sharing sob stories and holding hands, let's get out of here." Tracie walks toward the door, snatching up her leather purse from the bed.
“Way to ruin the moment, Trace. You look great, Jaz.” Lucy offers me a smile. “I need to get some stuff done around here, but I’ll see you later.” Lucy blows us both a kiss, one Tracie makes a big show of catching and throwing back at her, then walks out of the room.
Still unable to comprehend that the woman in the mirror is actually me, I glance one more time at myself.
“You look great.”
I look over at Tracie and nod. “Come on, hot stuff,” she says, grabbing my hand and tugging me from the room.
By the time we get downstairs, my confidence has waned somewhat and my eyes are trained on the floor. I don’t even notice that Tracie has stopped walking until I walk straight into the back of her. “Sorry.”
"Lesson one: walk like you're the only girl in a room full of starving men. Know that you're desirable and use it to replace the confidence you don't have yet. Looking the part is only half the battle. You gotta carry the look for it to work. I can guarantee you right now that you'll be these guys’ wet dream tonight." I scrunch my face in disgust. "Yeah, well, as much as it might not appeal to you, you have to admit it feels good, right?"
I look around, seeing the guys staring at us. At first, I think they must be looking at her, until their eyes are making contact with mine. One guy even licks his lips. My instincts tell me to shrink away. Cutter would get mad if I was letting them look at me.
No, he wouldn’t.
Dylan would.
Let them look, I think to myself as I scan the room again, taking in the way they’re looking at me. Their gazes scan my body, there’s fire in their eyes. A spark of something shoots up my spine, making me stand taller, making me hold my head up higher. Wow, it
feels good to know you’re desirable. This feeling is one I haven’t felt in the longest time.
“Lesson two: when your man is around, don’t notice them looking at you.”
She winks at me before leading me out into the car park and into a sporty silver car.
“I like this.” I run my fingertips over the sleek curve of the hood.
"Thanks. Torch hates that I drive myself, but I refuse to be Driving Miss Daisy twenty-four seven." She shakes her head as she laughs and I can’t help but smile with her.
When we pull out of the lot, a bike pulls in front of us. My heart begins to race when another cuts in behind, following us. Tracie notices. "Those would be the babysitters. Normally I only get one, but given current circumstances, we get two."
“Are they staying with us all day?”
"Probably. They're prospects so it's not like they have club business to do."
My eyebrows draw together. How can they be with the club and not be a part of it?
Tracie laughs, wiping at her eyes. "Wow, Cutter didn't go into much at all. That boy. Okay, prospects are like interns—they want to be a part of the club, but they aren’t yet official members. You have to hang around the club for a little before someone sponsors you in and basically says you deserve a spot. Once they do, you're a prospect. They’re like the brothers’ bitch-boys. They follow orders, ask how high when they're told to jump. Eventually, most earn their patch and become a brother. Some don't.”
“What happens to them?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
Tracie shrugs. “They’re told to leave."
There is so much terminology I have to learn, so much I don’t know about this life.
“Per Lucy’s request, I will not get into the details of the club girls. Besides, I think your head might explode. You do need to understand that they serve a purpose. They keep the brothers happy and serve the club when asked to. Some brothers cheat with them. The good ones don't. Most of those girls are vile and ruthless—patch chasers. But no brother would ever take a club girl as his old lady. Take what Izzy said seriously; they give you any shit you give it back. You don't, they’ll walk all over you, and they'll be assholes about it."
Mayhem (Deathstalkers MC Book 5) Page 12
