by Cora Black
My hands gripped the sides of my mug so hard, the heat from the coffee burned them a little. I welcomed the pain. It reminded me of who I was, how much I could tolerate. I could get through anything. Hadn’t I proven it to myself? I shook my head at the random thoughts floating through my consciousness, blaming it on a night spent tossing and turning while thinking about a frustrating woman with deep blue eyes.
“You doing okay?” One of the club’s girls, standing behind the bar. She had made the coffee for me after I spent the night in our clubhouse.
“Just fine, darlin’. A little distracted is all.” Carly was a nice girl. I had even slept with her once or twice after that last night with Lauren. She cared about me, I could tell, but then again I had never had trouble finding women to care about me. It didn’t help that Carly knew my whole sick, twisted backstory. She wanted to fix me, the way women always did when the wrong man came into their lives.
“You seemed upset.” She wiped down the bar, humming to herself.
“How old are you?” I asked. “I can’t believe I don’t already know the answer to that.”
“Twenty-three. I’m getting pretty old.” I rolled my eyes, and she smiled.
“I guess thirty’s ancient, then. Better get me a cane and a discount card.”
“Why do you ask?” She stopped what she was doing, leaning toward me over the bar. Most times, the sight of her tits pushing together over the top of her tank would’ve been enough to set my imagination off. I wasn’t in the mood for that.
“I wondered—this is gonna sound so stupid—I wondered if you ever knew a girl who dated an abusive guy. Like, why do they do it?”
Her eyes went wide, and she looked like she seriously considered the question. I hoped like hell that I hadn’t hurt her or triggered her or whatever. I didn’t know her history outside of the time she spent with the club. I didn’t know what she did otherwise, if she had any kind of life outside the clubhouse doors.
When she spoke, she spoke slowly. “I knew a girl once, in high school. Scarlett. She was so sweet, and really smart. Smarter than any of my other friends. She was from a family like mine. You know, no dad, her mom was never around. Her older sister raised her. Anyway, she tried hard in school. She wanted to get a scholarship to college. Then she started dating this guy Mike.”
Carly shivered, rubbing her arms like she had goosebumps. “He was bad news. I knew it right away. We all did. He never wanted her to hang out with any of us. Know what I mean? She stopped coming around. She stopping doing her club stuff, too, which was weird. She used to be in the choir and the drama club, but she dropped out of them. And I mean, this was all in like two months. She met him, and all this happened.” She shook her head. “We all knew it was him, but she swore up and down that he didn’t have anything to do with it. She needed to help out more at home, she told us. Now that I could believe, since she had two brothers younger than her. It just seemed funny, though. Like, totally obvious that she changed after she met Mike.”
“What happened to her?” I asked with a sick feeling in my stomach.
“She started wearing turtlenecks when it was warm outside.” Carly smiled sadly. “You see where I’m going.”
“Yeah, I do.” My blood boiled just thinking about it, and I didn’t know the girl.
“She broke up with him, finally. We were so happy. Then she left town and didn’t say why. She never told anybody she was going. Not even her sister.” Carly’s wide eyes stared into mine. I knew what she was trying to say, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. Who would?
“Jesus,” I muttered. “Why do you think girls stay with guys like that? I mean, you said she was smart. It sounds like she had a lot going for her. Why do that, then?”
“I used to ask her all the time, honestly.” Carly lit a cigarette, and I noticed the way her hands shook a little. I hated myself for bringing it all back up for her. “And you know what she said? I swear to God, it was the saddest damn thing I never heard. She looked at me, plain as anything, and said, ‘If I break up with him, I’ll never find another boyfriend. If I do, he won’t love me like Mike does.’ Can you believe it?”
“So, what, you think he tricked her into thinking that?”
“I do. I think he made her believe it. Because seriously, she was beautiful. Any guy would have gone out with her. He did it to her.” Carly’s voice shook with her hands.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole.
She took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh. “She taught me a lesson, anyway. A man ever lays his hands on me, he’ll find out why I took a year’s worth of self-defense classes.”
I had to laugh, and I asked her to show me her moves some time before going to Chase’s office. I needed a little alone time, and I knew he wouldn’t care—he wasn’t there, and wasn’t he the one always telling me I would take over for him one day?
I stretched out on the sofa against one wall, closing my eyes. My whole body screamed for sleep, but my brain wouldn’t stop bugging me with memories of the night before. Holding that asshole by the throat, wishing I could put just a little more pressure to it. Just enough to make him stop breathing. The way Kara had looked when he shook her. The way she looked when I “saved” her, and she told me she didn’t need it. The kiss. The fucking kiss. I couldn’t get it out of my head.
Had he done the same things to her as Scarlett’s boyfriend did? Had he broken her down, made her think she wasn’t worth any better? Anybody could look at Kara and know she could have any man she wanted. She was gorgeous, with those eyes and that dark, curly hair. I wondered what it felt like to bury my hands in it. All I had touched was her waist when we kissed. She hadn’t given me enough time to explore her. My cock ached painfully when I remembered how it felt to touch my tongue to hers, the way she sounded when she moaned.
You’re all wrong for her. I knew it even before the voice in my head told me so. I was wrong for any woman I ever touched, so why should a random diner waitress be any different? And there I was, thinking I could be a hero, trying to save her from the shithead she used to be married to. I had no right acting that way, because I wasn’t a good guy. I wasn’t a hero. I was the sort of man women tried to get away from. Just because I had never hit a woman didn’t make me any better.
It had been the same way with Lauren. I had never felt good enough for her, and it wasn’t in my imagination. I really wasn’t good enough. She was the golden girl, the one everybody expected big things from. She’d been near the top of our class in high school—before I’d dropped out in senior year, anyway. That was when I’d joined the club full-time. There wasn’t enough time in the day to go to school, study and work with the club. I’d made my choice, and I’d never regretted it.
Still, she’d wanted to be with me. It was the biggest surprise of my life the first time I’d asked her out, back when we were both still students, and she’d said yes. I remembered thinking it was a joke, like all the smart, preppy kids would come out from whatever corner they were hiding behind to laugh at me. The kid from the wrong side of the tracks, asking out the valedictorian track star. She had meant it, though, and she’d even stayed by me when I dropped out.
I remembered the look on her face when I told her. Her beautiful face. The big, green eyes. Like emeralds. She had been so disappointed, but she’d known enough about me to respect my decision. There was no way I would change my mind.
Meanwhile, she’d gone on to college. Then to medical school. All the time, she stayed with me. She loved me. She used to tell me she’d loved me ever since the first day of junior year, when I’d ridden up to school on the back of my first bike. She had fallen in love.
“You fell in love with an image,” I used to say. “Not with me. You don’t know the real me.”
She would take my face in her hands whenever I said it. “I know who you are. I know what you do. I would have to be stupid not to know. But I know your heart, too. I know the person inside. I kno
w you have a beautiful soul, even if you don’t want the guys to know. I’ll keep your secret for you.” And she had, until the day she died.
I would never forget it as long as I lived. Two years ago, in front of the clubhouse. It pained me every time I walked past the spot where I held her. The blood was gone, washed away. It was always there in my head, though. I didn’t need to see it to remember the way it had looked, watching Lauren’s life spread out under her in a red pool.
My heart ached when I thought about it, but I couldn’t stop once I got started. I knew enough after two years not to bother trying to change my thoughts. It was no good. Once I started thinking about Lauren, I had to see the story through to the end.
It had been late at night. She’d worked a double at the hospital, still in scrubs when she climbed out of her car in front of the clubhouse. I’d met her outside. She’d smiled, starting to walk toward me.
Then, headlights. Coming from every direction. I’d screamed at her to get down, to go back to the car, something, anything to get her out of there. She was too far away from the clubhouse doors to make it. She’d been a sitting duck.
I’d screamed for help, screamed for my guys to come out and back me up. There was a gun fight. Lauren fell to the ground, but I didn’t know if it was to take cover or because she had been hit. By that time, a dozen Blood Bandits had come out shooting, so I took the chance to Army crawl across the parking lot until I reached her.
She was already bleeding out. Hit once in the shoulder, once in the midsection, both from behind. The bullets had gone through both times. I turned her over, and she was already coughing up blood. I couldn’t stop it. There had been no way to stop it. I remembered asking her what to do—she was the doctor, not me. She couldn’t speak except in whispers, and all she’d said was, “I love you.”
I squeezed my eyes even more tightly when I remembered the panic, the fury, the helplessness. There was nothing I could do but hold her while she bled to death in my arms. It had only taken a minute or two by the time I reached her.
I killed her. I might as well have. If she hadn’t been there that night, she would have lived. She would be a respected doctor. She might have a family, kids, a husband. A happy life. A life, anyway. If it weren’t for me.
I threw an arm over my eyes, willing myself to calm down and stop thinking over it again. How many times had I replayed that night? Hundreds? Thousands? A few times a day? All to remind me of one thing: I was no good for anyone. I had pushed everyone and everything I ever cared for out of my life after that night. I was close with my guys, but not too close. I slept with women, but never more than once or twice and never two nights in a row. I lived alone. I never went out except with the club, and usually only when we had a run to go on. Otherwise, it was just me. By myself. I liked it that way. That way, I wasn’t accountable for anybody but myself. And I wouldn’t get anybody else killed just because they loved me.
Chapter Six
Kara
The sleep did a world of good. When I woke up, my arms hurt, but I felt more clearheaded than I had in weeks. Months, maybe. I understood why when I looked at my phone. I sat up so fast, I nearly hit my head on the underside of the top bunk.
“Two thirty?” I shrieked, flying around the apartment. I put on my sneakers and raced out the door without even going to the bathroom or looking at myself in the mirror. It didn’t matter. I had to be at the school by two forty-five to pick up Emma. All I needed was for somebody to think I was unfit when it came to picking my daughter up from school. And I couldn’t have her thinking I wouldn’t come for her.
I made it there with just a minute to spare, pulling into the pickup line in front of the school with a sigh of relief. I’d probably broken a half dozen traffic laws to make it there in time, but I’d managed to fly under the radar, thank God. Somebody up there was on my side for once.
A knock at the driver’s side window. “Hi, Kara.” Wendy, one of the shiny, happy moms. Didn’t I used to be one of them—or, rather, didn’t I used to pretend to be one of them? I wished she had known me back when I was like her. When I used to get my hair done every four weeks, along with my hands and feet. When I used to exercise like a demon to keep myself in shape, or risk being called a fat cow. When I dressed impeccably rather than driving to my kid’s school without a bra on beneath my t-shirt.
The smug tone of Wendy’s voice told me everything I needed to know about my appearance. To think, when I was a kid I used to believe there were no such things as bullies once a person grew up. I wished somebody had told me bullies never went away. They just got bigger.
“Listen,” Wendy continued, “Mrs. DeSilva is going out on maternity leave at the end of the week, and all us moms thought it would be nice to put a card together for her. You know, with a gift card inside for a baby store or something.”
I knew where she was going. “That sounds great,” I said, smiling. I was so used to forcing myself to smile, it was sad.
“I figured you might not have the money, so I put twenty dollars in for you. You can get me back whenever you have it. No rush.” She smiled like she thought she was Mother Theresa or something. My pulse raced, my hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“You know what? I’ll get you back right now.” I reached into my wallet, pulling out one of the twenty dollar bills from the previous night’s tip money. “Thanks so much for thinking of me. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, no problem.”
I rolled the window up before Wendy could continue speaking and make me feel like even less of a human being than I already did. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of watching me crumble, though. She wasn’t worth it.
Did they all think I was such a mess? Did they talk about me behind my back? Did they talk about my daughter, too? How her mother could barely make ends meet? I’d thought I hid my situation pretty well, all things considered. I still drove the Lexus, only because Eric had put it in my name when he bought it—one of the only generous things he’d ever done throughout the course of our relationship. I tried to keep myself up as best I could. Emma’s clothes were always clean, always in good shape. She had plenty of food, always went on field trips even if I had to scrimp and save well in advance to cover the fees. What was I missing?
I didn’t have time to think about it, since Emma walked toward the car only moments later. I climbed out, all smiles, bending down to gather her up in my arms. It was a challenge, since the pain had returned, but I needed to hold my baby. I only hoped she didn’t ask me to lift her into her car seat.
“Mmm, you smell so good.” I took a deep breath, catching the smell of her hair. “Like cookies. I wanna eat you up!”
“No, Mama!” Emma giggled, making the little problems and worries in my head all but disappear. She had a way of doing that for me.
“Come on, big girl. We need to get you home so I can cuddle you forever and ever.”
“You don’t have to work tonight?”
“No way! This is my day off! We’re gonna hang out all night and have your favorite dinner and watch a movie on the couch.” Emma practically jumped for joy. It was so easy to make her happy. I hoped she managed to keep that sense of joy no matter what life threw at her.
The whole way home, Emma prattled on and on in the back seat. “And then, Mrs. DeSilva did this…and Priscilla and Madison aren’t talking to each other…and then Mrs. DeSilva did that…and then…” I was perfectly happy to let her talk until she was blue in the face. As long as she was happy.
“Hey, Mama?”
“Yes, baby.”
“You were asleep when I woke up this morning.”
“I know, baby, but I kissed you while you were asleep. Mama was so tired when she got home that she just had to sleep.”
“Because you worked all night long.”
“That’s right. It was a very, very long night.” You have no idea, my love, and I hope you never do.
“Mama, are we poor?”
“What?” I nearly
slammed on the brakes, I was so stunned by the suddenness of her question. “What do you mean? Why are you asking me that?”
Emma looked down at her shoes. Shoes that needed to be replaced. “Priscilla said her mommy said we were poor.”
Damn that Wendy. I wanted to have a word or two with her majesty the next time we ran into each other. “What else did Priscilla say?”
“Nothing. Just that we were poor. Are we, Mama?” Emma’s chin quivered. I glanced in the mirror to find my baby on the verge of tears, and there was nothing I could do about it. No, bullies never went away.
“No, baby, we’re not poor. We’re just having a tough time right now.”
“What does poor mean?”
I could have laughed. The kid didn’t even know what the word meant. She probably knew enough about it from the way that little brat Priscilla said it, though. If ever a little girl was destined to grow up like her mommy, it was Priscilla. “Poor means we don’t have a lot of money. Like, we have to save up for things. And we can’t take vacations like we used to, or go out to eat all the time.”
