by Cerys du Lys
“What do you have planned for today?”
I shrugged.
“Aren’t you going to yoga with Maggie and Christine?”
Oh, right. Bryan didn’t know that I blew off the last two weeks. The women who Bryan introduced me to insisted that it was “great exercise” and I wondered if they ever did anything to break into a sweat.
Lying on a blue mat and contorting my body into awkward positions didn’t exactly raise my heartbeat. It was nothing compared to the throttle of a motorcycle under my thighs, or the rush I’d get from one bump—just one bump of coke.
“Julia, I know you don’t like them—”
“We have nothing in common,” I said, staring at my husband’s worried eyes. “They’re perfectly nice, it’s just that I find them boring.”
“It would do you some good to get out of the house.”
He leaned in to kiss me and my kiss was like an automatic reply.
“Maybe.”
Bryan pulled back, beaming at me as I took another drag of my cigarette. A warm glow in my chest gently heated my skin. Not many men would tolerate a girl with a drug problem.
Bryan literally took me in off the streets, cleaned me up, sent me off the rehab, and paid for therapy. After helping me glue my life back together, how could I not accept his marriage proposal?
He made me feel safe for the first time in years, but often I prayed by my bedside for God to please, please make me love him as much as he loved me. Perfect, sweet Bryan was far better to me than Ace ever was.
The motorcycle club’s violent lifestyle drove me out, not before I royally fucked them over by stealing tens of thousands of dollars. It only took a few months for me to blow it all on coke. Bryan was good for me.
He kissed my neck, his hands circling around my waist as I felt the bump on his waist digging into my hip.
Not right now. Heart hammering, I pulled away from him, shocked by the swift wave of revulsion through my body.
Bryan’s face, still flushed, looked at me with a quizzical expression. “What’s wrong?”
I’m not attracted to you.
We were almost the same height, but Bryan was, on all accounts, a hunk. He was broad shouldered and tanned with a masculine face and strong jaw. Although he was fit, a layer of fat began to smooth the abdominal muscles ever since he started working at Chevron. It had nothing to do with his appearance, though. It was just—he was just not my type. Why didn’t I want him? What was wrong with me?
It crashed into me like a semi. Was I doomed to a life of unhappiness?
Suddenly dizzy, I turned my back to him and crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, staring out of the kitchen window at the rolling, brown hills. I shuddered as his hands snaked around me and slid the waistband of my jeans down. His bare palm slid around my abdomen and stayed there.
“Someday, there’ll be a baby in there. Amazing to think about, isn’t it?”
My chest froze as his fingers moved down, stroking the small amount of wetness that gathered between my legs. I didn’t even want to think about children. I knew it was expected of me, knew that Bryan wouldn’t be happy without them, yet whenever I thought about pregnancy and childbirth my mind froze in a blind panic and I shoved the thoughts aside.
I closed my eyes as I heard his pants fall and winced as his cock found my too-dry entrance. The harsh sound of motorcycles roaring across the highway made tears thicken in my throat. Thinking of the man and life I left behind, a sad moan left my throat as Bryan thrust his hips.
* * *
The fear that followed me everywhere was heightened today. I couldn’t shake it off all day, starting from the moment I saw a biker sitting outside the grocery store, his shades hiding his eyes. He could have been staring at me. I thought I saw a diamond-shaped tattoo on his arm. Is he from the Dragons? Did they find me? I almost dropped the bags of groceries.
He could just be a Hells Angel. Maybe he isn’t in a club.
But my mind burned with the image of the diamond-shaped tattoo and the large, spiky 1% inside it.
The groceries stayed in my car all day in the hot sun. I didn’t want to go home yet. Something—I don’t know what it was—dread, perhaps, told me not to go home. Bryan had no idea that I took birth control pills everyday. In truth, he had no idea who I was. I was a fucking mess.
I drove through the smog filled valley of Los Angeles, driving all the way out to the Hollywood Hills to park my car near the sign. All I needed was a little release. Chain-smoking, I sat on the roof of my van, oblivious to the groceries quietly rotting away in my car. It was a quiet afternoon, but the orange line of smog that lay across Los Angeles created a haze, giving the impression that it was later in the day.
A rumbling sound made me sit bolt upright. I dropped the cigarette and listened hard, willing that it was just a figment of my imagination. Another growl rumbled in my ears and I scrambled off the car, slamming the keys into the ignition to get the hell out of there.
The car peeled down the dirt road and I stared ahead, fully prepared to run them over. I could almost see the chrome blinding my eyes as it throttled up the hill. You won’t fucking take me. My eyes darted at any movement on the road, but all I saw was the wind rustling the shrubbery. There was no motorcycle. I wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Why am I hearing things?
On the way home, I spotted the pool hall I visited yesterday and felt a rush of excitement, along with sickening fear. Maybe they heard about it.
My hands slipped on the steering wheel and I briefly debated going back to the grocery store, because the meat was starting to smell.
He could still be there. He could be following me right now.
I glanced into the rear view mirror, watching carefully when I changed lanes to see if I had a tail. Red lights blazed in front of me and I slammed the brakes.
You’re going to get yourself killed.
My hand shot into the glove compartment to pop open the bottle of Xanax and in my shaking hand I spilled half the bottle on the car seat. Then the lights turned green. I let the cars behind me honk as I grabbed two of them and swallowed. I jerked the steering wheel to turn right randomly, to throw off the imaginary tails behind me. I sped down the streets, making another hard turn, and it went on until gradually my arms lost their compulsion to jerk the steering wheel. The pressure on the gas pedal lessened, but then I would think about that biker and my heart would start back up again.
I drove back to our house in Santa Monica, choosing speed over safety at ever juncture. It was almost four and I had nothing prepared for dinner. He would walk in, exhausted from a full day’s work, and his eyes would lower in disappointment when he realized nothing was ready for him. Guilt throbbed inside me.
All Bryan wanted from me was a clean house and food ready for him when he got home from work. And every week, I somehow managed to fuck it up. What’ll it be like when we have kids?
My stomach turned when I saw Bryan’s car already pulled into the driveway. He’s early. Shit. I parked the car next to his and grabbed the spoiled groceries. It was a short trip across our perfect, green lawn, I stabbed the keys inside the lock to turn, but the door pushed open without resistance. My mind sluggish on the Xanax, I stepped over the threshold, the groceries jostling a bit.
“Bryan?”
My voice echoed in the too large house, bouncing off the cream-colored porcelain tiles only to be swallowed by the equally neutral walls.
He’s in the backyard, probably.
Somehow, the house seemed too quiet. Usually, I kept something on all the time just to hear noise. I didn’t feel so alone with the radio or TV on, feeding me a constant barrage of human voices and sounds, so that I wouldn’t have to think about anything.
My mind sensed that there were more than a few male bodies sharing the kitchen. The air felt shared, somehow, but the pills numbed all instinctual thought and I blundered inside.
Three men in familiar leather cuts surrounded my husband, who was duct-taped t
o a kitchen chair, his eyes begging me for—what?
They found me.
The milk shattered on the floor as I turned around into a stiff, male body whose angry fingers grabbed my arms and squeezed. I kicked and screamed, feeling no panic, but knowing that I needed to make as much noise as possible. His hand over my mouth smothered my screams, so I bit and spat his palm. Pain. I needed to cause pain.
He released me with a grunt of pain and his fist crunched against the side of my face. I fell like a stone as pain exploded over my jaw.
“Crazy fucking bitch.”
A series of low laughs followed his comment and despite the calm in my brain, my heart hammered like mad—it knew that I was about to die.
From the floor I saw Bryan’s trembling legs. The milk spilled around my body like blood and for a wild moment I thought I was injured. He grabbed a fistful of my blonde hair and wrenched me upright, my brain pounding.
The bald man who stood beside Bryan gnashed his yellowed teeth in a frightening grimace. He held a gun against Bryan’s head.
“So where the fuck is it?” The man who held me up yanked on my hair.
I knew what they were talking about. They tracked me down to recover the thousands of dollars I stole. My mind was blank, the strange calm provided by the Xanax giving me no ideas.
“I didn’t—I don’t have it anymore. Please don’t hurt him.”
They laughed at the calm in my voice and Bryan flinched against the noise.
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
I couldn’t see the man behind me, but there was frustration in his voice. “Do we look like we’re fucking around? Where’s the fucking money?”
Bryan’s eyes stared back at me hopelessly and a sob shook my throat. He had no idea what was happening. He looked like a dog that was about to be put down. They’re going to kill him. And me.
“Maybe she’ll start talking if we start fucking her tight little pussy. Maybe that will open her up.”
I jerked against the man holding me. “No, Cain wants her to himself. You know how he is.”
The milk pooled around my hands, and I imagined my blood flowing into it, pinking the milk.
“Cruel” Cain—the rising star of the Dragons, wants me? I knew about him, and just the mere mention of his name was enough to make me retch onto the floor.
If I hadn’t taken Xanax, I would be screaming. There were awful stories about him, stories that reached all the way to LA. Some of them were downright stupid—like the ones about him beheading people with a long sword, or a pet bird that picked at the remains of his victims. I knew one thing about these kinds of stories; there was always some truth in the rumors. I heard of severed heads displayed on his victims’ cars, with notes written in blood on the windshield of the car to rival MC gangs that encroached on Dragon territory. The myth that surrounded him made me doubt in his existence, but one of the bikers just mentioned his name.
“Cain?”
The grin was in his voice. “Yeah, and he’s going to make you pay for fucking us over.”
A shudder ran up my spine as the man with yellow teeth cocked his handgun against Bryan’s head. He was shaking his head, silent tears running down his face. The sting of betrayal burned in his eyes and I finally felt a tiny bit of his horror.
“Why don’t we just do them both here?”
“Cain wants her,” he growled in my ear. “Are you fucking deaf?”
“All right then,” he said in a bored voice.
Bryan screamed through his duct tape and struggled violently and I willed myself to say something—do something.
Save your fucking husband! There was a small zwip sound, and a dark red mass flew out of the side of Bryan’s head, splattering all over the kitchen floor I just finished mopping. I stared at the chunks of brain sitting on the white porcelain, contrasting beautifully in a dark red hue. The milk crept around it and dragged the red pigment all over the floor.
What just happened? My eyes slowly twitched towards my husband. I wouldn’t believe it until I saw it. My eyes traveled up his trousers and his ironed dress shirt, his beautiful body, the one I marveled over, limp. Then I saw his slack jaw, the giant hole erupted from the side of his head, and brain matter slopping down his face. It was too much. I bent over and vomited everything in my stomach on the floor. Ruining the rest of my mopping.
“Ah, fuck!”
The man holding me jumped back as I fell face-first in my vomit, tears choking my throat. I killed him. He had nothing to do with this. He’s dead!
Wordless cries shook out of my throat as my elbows became slowly drenched with a mixture of blood and milk. Rough hands pulled me upright too quickly, and I swayed a bit as black spots crept over my vision.
“Stop screaming, or I’ll gag you.”
The man who shot Bryan cursed as he noticed blood staining his shirt. He wiped it on Bryan’s limp shoulder and I felt a violent surge of energy.
“Who the fuck are you looking at?”
“Let’s go.”
It’s my fault.
I didn’t feel rage for my captors, who hauled me upright and dragged me out of the house. Back towards the life I spent years trying to escape. I only had one person to blame. Myself.
* * *
Under my face, there was a rough, dry surface. I balled my hands and unstuck my face from the carpeted floor. There was no throttle of bikes, only the sound of a car engine and the three men’s low voices. Crusted with tears, I opened my eyes and realized I was on the floor. I raised myself on my elbows only to have one of their thick boots press down against my upper back.
“Stay down.”
My chest struck the ground painfully, without thinking I turned my head so that my nose didn’t smash against the floor. At least I had some instinct for self-preservation left.
They’re driving north up the highway, probably. Back to Victoria.
I’m being kidnapped.
I realized it without a jolt of fear. Who would notice I was gone? I had no friends or family. No one who loved me. Except Bryan, and he was gone.
Bryan’s coworkers would notice, and there would be a search for me, his wife, when they realized I was missing. What if they thought I was the one who killed him? They had no idea about the MC clubs, no idea who I really was. My situation was so hopeless that I wanted to laugh.
I tried to glance at the car door, but the angle was too high.
Maybe I should just open it—and throw myself out!
I would die. At this speed, I would get horribly injured and I would probably be run over. Weighing my options, I decided that the best thing would be to cooperate for now. What the fuck was I going to do with three huge men? I had no chance—no chance at all at overpowering them.
I should come up with something to save my ass.
For a second, Bryan’s hunched over body burned in my mind. How could I be so preoccupied with my survival, when Bryan would never be able to do anything ever again?
What am I supposed to do? He’s gone. Logic gripped me tightly, keeping my emotions from taking over.
I didn’t yet feel a crushing wave of despair, and I hated myself for it. I was always good at compartmentalizing.
You had to when you were the old lady of an abusive President of the Dragons MC. I never had regrets for fucking him over, and stealing his money—until now. For now, the Xanax or fear or adrenaline was keeping everything else at bay.
They’re going to kill me. He’s going to torture and kill me.
I waited patiently to feel blind with panic, or rage, or something—but I just felt uncomfortable from lying on the floor. It was cheap carpet, the kind you found in really inexpensive motels. I spent hours looking at the shiny buckle on one of their boots and my eyes glanced occasionally to their faces, trying to recognize them. I didn’t want to. The fact that they hadn’t covered their faces boded ill for me. Blood rushed into my heart as I heard the throttle of motorcycles around the car as it slowed down.
“Get the fuck up.”
He kicked my ribs; the steel-toed boot connected with the thin layer of flesh cover my ribs. It was a sharp, agonizing pain. I sat up to stare out the windows, which revealed a ranch house surrounded by a massive gate and barbed wire. The gate opened, and motorcycles sped past the car to park in a row of bikes that gleamed in the sun. The car parked and the door slid open, blasting me with hot sunshine. I barely stood up before one of them kicked me in the back so that I fell out of the car, onto the packed, dry earth.
They jumped out behind me, their laughter ringing around me as I spat out dirt. Are they going to kill me right away? I felt detached from my body as they hauled me upright. Bikers standing outside the clubhouse walked towards us, grinning at them and leering at me.
“Where’s Ace?”
“Ace is dead.”
The man who spoke had a dusting of salt and pepper hair. His face was leathered and there were sunspots from long hours outside. His jaw was hard as he looked at me through clear eyes. The man stood in front of me with a leather cut stretched across his chest with the small white “President” etched over “Dragons” on his right. His face had a scar that looked like someone slashed a knife across. As a result, the flesh pulled up his lips into a crooked grin. I didn’t recognize him.
“He’s—he’s dead?” I tried to conceal how relieved I was.
He spat on the ground in front of me. “Take this bitch to her cell.”
I should run.
Even though it was hopeless, the suggestion kept popping up in my head. I should run, I should run, I should run. The doors that led to the club were only a few meters away. Bikers jeered at me as I was led past them.
Am I just going to walk to my own slaughter?
Club whores gave me vicious looks as I was pulled into the club—a giant room filled with pool tables, booths, and a bar. There was a man eating something at the bar—a huge, bloody steak. His knife ripped into the flesh and cut another pink piece, opening his mouth and letting it rest on his tongue before he gave me a wink and bit down.
Then I lost it.
“LET ME GO!” I screamed and lunged for the billiard balls; they were hard enough to crack open someone’s skull. My fingers grabbed one before he, whoever he was, pulled me back towards him. I whirled around with it inside my hand and bashed it against him. I only got a few feet before I was tackled to the floor and a heavy boot smashed against my fingers, bruising them against the hard ball. I didn’t feel it, not really, not with all the adrenaline pumping inside of my veins.
