Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC)

by Bink Cummings

  “I don’t think so. She said she wants to meet her—,”

  Without warnin’, my body tightens in defense and a fearless growl rips through me, cuttin’ Sniper off.

  Why does this keep happenin’ tae me? Closin’ my eyes, I shake my head, angry with myself for doin’ it again. Sniper’s the last person I have tae act that way with.

  “Whoa, brother, chill. I told Whisky she had to talk to you first. She’s too busy with the bakery, anyhow. But, I’m warnin’ ya: if you don’t want her makin’ a surprise visit, call her and tell her what’s doin’. You know your sister; she’s gotta know everything.”

  That, she does. Stubborn lassie.

  He continues. “Oh, and before I forget, club cookout next Sunday. Bring Meredith and Pip,”

  Ha, bring Meredith. That’s—

  From my left, a woman yells my name, severin’ my thought. Tiltin’ my head tae the side, I watch Carrie, the firehouse dispatcher, walkin’ my way.

  “See ye Sunday,” I mutter tae Sniper, and end the call before he gets a chance tae reply.

  “Lachlan,” Carrie purrs, smilin’ up at me as she stops next tae my bike, her hefty purse slung over her wee shoulder.

  “Hey,” I greet.

  She’s standin’ too close for comfort. And there she goes with twistin’ that hair again. Every time I see her, she’s playin’ with it. “What’re ya doing here? I thought you were on vacation. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. The boys down at the firehouse said you were taking some time off,” she says.

  Why do I always get stuck in these awkward situations? Years ago, I tried havin’ a conversation with the lass. Didnae work. Like most Americans, she can barely understand a bloody thing I say unless I talk very slowly and try tae pronounce my words clear enough. It’s my deep voice and thick accent that throws ‘em off. I know that. So I’ve stopped tryin’ tae engage before they start lookin’ at me like I’m a foreigner, or talkin’ tae me like a wee lad. Or, worse, when the lassies ignore the ring on my finger and beg me tae talk more. Na matter what, I’m uncomfortable.

  I’ve got plenty of stories, but I suppose ignorin’ Carrie ain’t the polite thing tae do. Better keep this short.

  “A family friend got injured, and I’m carin’ for her.” Aye, nice and slow, Lachlan. I think that came out clear enough.

  “Aww,” Carries gushes, her eyes lightin’ up.

  Bloody fuckin’ hell. Maybe I shoulda lied. She’s wettin’ her lips now, steppin’ a wee bit closer. Why do women always act like this?

  My phone vibrates again, and I glance at it. Liftin’ the edge of the sunglasses, I read the screen. Pip.

  Tae give me a sec, I hold up my finger tae Carrie. She gets the point.

  She’s in her room now, getting settled in. Pirate’s taken with his new best friend. I took her to the barn to show her, her car. Don’t want you to worry, but she cried a lot. I couldn’t get her to tell me what was wrong, but she was really upset. Mom’s home now, too, and I’m staying in the basement with Pirate and Magdalene until you get home to take care of it. If you’re still at the pharmacy, could you bring home some popcorn, too? Maybe a girl’s night will cheer her up.

  I have the sweetest daughter in the world. I dunno how I got so lucky.

  I reply, Picking up scripts now. Be home soon with popcorn. I’ll deal with Mom when I get there. Daddy snuggles.

  Instantly she sends me one back. Thanks, Dad. I love you, too.

  Glancin’ back up, I catch Carrie checkin’ me out, and quickly dismiss the nasty feelin’ it gives me.

  “Got tae jet.” I swing my leg over my bike, dismountin’. And my manners elude me as I stroll past her into the pharmacy. I’m a man on a mission. Dinnae have any time tae waste. Gotta get my arse home.

  Why was I so anxious to leave the hospital? Why did I come here? I shouldn’t have come. First, I saw my car and its horrific condition and lost it right there. I tried to be strong and hold back the tears, but I couldn’t do it. My eyes were bawling before I could stop them. Poor Bridget watched my physical pain unfold, and didn’t know what to do. The only positive thing about seeing the mangled mess, covered in dents, scratches, with nearly every window broken, was my garlic bulbs. Somehow, they were saved by the grace of God, and remained on the passenger floorboard; a little jostled, but seemingly untouched. Like divine intervention had kept them safe. I cried like a baby because of that, too. Pathetic.

  Bridget retrieved my suitcase from the dented trunk while I tried desperately not to puke from all the crying. Once the floodgates opened, they wouldn’t stop.

  Today was almost as heart-wrenching as what I endured eons ago when I actually knew what real joy and happiness felt like. . .

  Many, many, years ago, I was forced from the only home I’d ever known. Physically, I was kicked out of my grams’s house with nothing but the clothes on my back, my garlic bulbs, a few pictures, and my car. Thankfully, it was in my name or my mother would have demanded that as her inheritance, too. God knows she took everything else of which her grubby paws could stake claim.

  I hadn’t even seen her since I was six, which was four years after she’d dumped me on my grams’s doorstep and drove away— never looking back. That’s how my grams always told the story, anyhow.

  At the age of six, the only time I remember meeting mother-dearest, she had come for money. My grams wanted custody of me, so they swapped. Five thousand dollars; that’s what I was sold for. Then, years later when my grams tragically died, I had assumed she had a will, leaving her household to me. Boy, oh, boy, was I sorely mistaken.

  Two months after my grams was laid to rest in the cemetery next to my grandpa, her dearly departed husband that I’d never met, my mother showed up, staking claim of the property and everything in it.

  Apparently, it had taken her two months to get the paperwork filed and the court system to grant her sole ownership of the estate. And just like that, a local sheriff’s deputy and my mother took away everything that I’d ever loved. Brian was dead. My grams, too. I was given fifteen minutes to vacate the premises with whatever belongings that were mine, and fifty dollars to my name.

  Now look where I am. I’m lying in a downy, full-sized bed that isn’t mine; cuddled up with a spotted, one-eyed mutt named Pirate, who also isn’t mine.

  The only things that belong to me are the two rings that were given back to me at the hospital today with my things, which were stuffed into a plastic hospital bag with my tattered clothes, and the tiny burgundy suitcase that I’ve had forever. Oh, and the garlic bulbs that I left sitting on the living room end table where the sun could hit them just right. And, let’s not forget the beat-to-hell car that’s no longer drivable and parked in an old pole barn. My life has turned from depressing and lonely, to downright pathetic. Ashamed, is putting my predicament mildly.

  Want to hear the worst thing? Are you listening? Right above us, on the main floor, there is a massive argument erupting between Lachlan and his wife, Meredith. She doesn’t seem pleased that I’m here. Want to know how I can tell? Listen to her words. In the past five minutes, I’ve been called a lazy bitch, a moocher, a selfish whore, a liar, and my personal favorite: a cock-sucking club-slut just looking to break off a piece of Lachlan’s ugly dick. Yes, you heard that right—Ugly dick. A wife just screamed that at her husband, all because he brought me home to live in their basement with their daughter.

  It’s not like I want to eavesdrop. And if I had a pair of earplugs right now, I’d probably be using them. Wouldn’t you?

  It’s not easy being here, but I have no place to go. If I broke down and called Johnathan, my last boyfriend, I’d be stuck with an obsessive man, who’s probably a little bitter about my sudden departure. And I can’t survive in my current condition alone. I’m seriously screwed.

  As hard as it is for me to admit, I have no other place to go, except maybe Thor’s. I’d be out in the world on my tuckus. I owe Bridget and Lachlan my life for going out of their way for me. I’ve nev
er had anyone do that before, not even grams or Brian. They never had to handle me this way.

  A soft knock sounds at the door and Pirate perks his head off my stomach. Both of us watch Bridget enter the room, face grim and colorless. I don’t even have to ask what’s wrong; she’s heard the whole argument, too. It’d be impossible not to.

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes glumly, and Pirate makes a tiny noise before laying his head back on my stomach. I pat him affectionately, and he snuggles deeper.

  Frowning, my bottom lip poking out, I wave off her apology. It’s not like the poor girl can help the fighting. Neither of us can fix what has already been done.

  “You stupid son-of-a-bitch! You tell me we don’t have enough money for me to buy a case of wine! Yet, you can have little Miss Moocher live down there with our daughter? How do you know she’s not a serial killer, Lachlan? Huh?!” Meredith screams, and more growled accented words follow. Lachlan doesn’t yell, so I can barely make out a thing he says. I’m almost relieved by that.

  “Oh! Big shot! Just because you bring in all the money, you get a fucking say in whether or not you bring home another stray?! I put up with that stupid mutt for two years now, shedding all over the goddamn place. Now you bring a slut home? Is she gonna shed all over my carpet, too? You selfish bastard!”

  I try not to let the hurtful words of a bitter woman cut deep, but they do. She’s never met me. She doesn’t know me. I know that. But it doesn’t change how profoundly her words sink. They seep into the gashes and settle, pooling into the recesses where my self-confidence should live, yet doesn’t. I wish I was stronger than this. I wish I could say it doesn’t affect me, but I’d be lying to you, and myself.

  Bridget wades further into the room and sits on the edge of the bed. Her hand comes to rest on the top of my leg. I’m not sure who is hurting more right now, her or me. It can’t be easy listening to her parents duke it out over a stranger and money. I only pray that Bridget doesn’t end up hating me because I appear to be driving a wedge between her parents.

  My stomach jerks at the thought.

  God, I’m doing that, aren’t I? I’m doing this to them. If I’d never come home with them, none of this would have happened. I should call Thor and take him up on his offer. It couldn’t hurt. And, maybe it would make that sullen face, on the most beautiful girl on earth, go away. I hate to see her sad. It’s like kicking a puppy; the worst thing in the world.

  Lachlan came home shortly after I’d stopped wallowing in self-pity. I heard his motorcycle pull up; the screen door open, and close. He and Bridget had exchanged a few pleasant words in the kitchen before he’d taken the stairs to the main floor. It wasn’t long after that Meredith’s screaming match had begun. The funny thing is, even in anger, I don’t think I’ve ever screamed at a single person. That’s not who I am. Why people believe that they can get their point across that way, I can’t comprehend.

  “My mother. . .” Bridget swallows hard and shakes her bouncy curls; her hand absentmindedly running up and down my sheet clad leg. “I’m so sorry, Magdalene. They’re not gonna stop anytime soon. Do you want to get out of your room and sit in the living room? Or maybe the back patio? You hungry? Need to use the restroom? Anything you need...”

  With each emotional word, I feel myself crumbling inside. What a broken girl. A broken girl that I did this to. My heart shatters at that thought. Yes, I need to call Thor.

  Bringing my hand up, I point to Bridget then bring my hand to my cheek like I’m talking on an imaginary phone.

  “You want my phone?” she asks.

  Regrettably, I nod, and she slips it out of her pocket then hands it to me.

  I know it’s rude, but I scan through her contacts until I come across some strange names. Whisky, Sniper, Casanova . . . I click Thor when I find it and tap send message.

  Thor, this is Magdalene. I know it might be too late, but I was hoping you could come pick me up at Lachlan’s. . .Smoke’s. . .house tonight. I don’t think I can stay here. If this is an inconvenience, I apologize. Please let me know.

  Grimly, I smile at Bridget and pull up another texting screen to explain what I just did.

  Once finished, I hand her back the phone and she reads the message. Her eyes then lift to meet mine. “You can’t leave. My mom and dad aren’t like you think. This isn’t because of you.”

  My brows quirk up in skepticism. It has everything to do with me. How could it not?

  She wages on. “My mom and dad aren’t like most couples. I thought they were for the longest time. Last year, my aunt Whisky filled me in on some things. So please don’t think that it’s about you. It’s not. It’s more about my dad and money. Trust me.”

  A woman’s high-pitched screech has my eyes tipping toward the ceiling again, as a set of heavy stomps move across the floor above us, rattling my bedroom’s light fixture.

  “Lachlan MacAlister, where in the fucking hell do you think you’re going?! Don’t you walk away from me, you selfish bastard!” Lighter stomps retreat in the same direction as Lachlan’s. A door is slammed, and the heavier stomps grow near, clunking down the stairs to the basement. Crap! They can’t fight down here, too. The other was bad enough.

  A thump resonates upstairs. “You fucking bastard! Locking me out of my own basement! I want to see my daughter!” Meredith shrieks, amending my assumption.

  Is it wrong that I want to smile because he locked her out of her own basement? An evil cackle mocks her in the depths of my mind. It’s a little payback for calling me all those cruel names. I know I won’t forget those anytime soon. Forgiveness is a trait I should probably work on.

  The sound of boots amble across tile near our door and stop right outside. A string of unintelligible curses roll off Lachlan’s tongue. My heart revs into overdrive and dampness slickens my palms. I think I’m starting to sweat. The knot in my throat expands, making it harder to breathe.

  Pirate and I jump when a hefty fist bangs on the door before it swings open. Quickly turning my head, I rest my cheek flat on the pillow. Standing in the doorway, shirtless, Lachlan heaves for breath, as his I-can’t-believe-they-really-exist abs ripple between laden inhales and rushed exhales. Sweat beads at his temples before sliding down the edges of his reddened face and dripping off the tip of his stalwart chin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’d just run five miles.

  Cuffing his hands on the sides of the doorframe, his massive biceps swell and his shoulders hunch in palpable tension.

  Bridget watches her dad, her hand still resting on my calf, serving as a lifeline. “Dad,” she mutters.

  Lifting his head to meet his daughter’s eyes, he grumbles and severely frowns, his eyes sinking into sadness. Even the teal seems to dull in color. “I’m sorry, Pip.”

  Pip? I’ve never heard that before.

  “Da—”

  Bridget’s words are severed when Lachlan’s eyes cut to me, instantaneously switching from sadness to anger. They narrow and his breathing accelerates. Mine does, too. A strange sensation flutters in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure if I should be terrified or something else entirely.

  His intense eyes tell a story that I can’t pinpoint. Are they saying he’s mad about the fight I caused between him and Meredith? Or that it’s time to go because I’ve overstayed my welcome? The flutter in my stomach turns acidic, and I bite my lip, feeling nausea rise.

  Lachlan’s fat tongue sweeps his bottom lip. I shiver at the sight, and goosebumps prick my skin.

  “Ye. . .are. . .not. . .goin’. . .tae. . .Thor’s,” he speaks slowly.

  The shiver intensifies at his potent words.

  I’m not deaf nor dumb, so I’m not sure why he thinks he has to talk to me so slowly. Like I’m a child, unable to comprehend. Maybe it’s to rein in his anger? And. . .how does he know about Thor, anyhow? I sent that text less than ten minutes ago, and never received one back.

  Lachlan’s eyes briefly sweep to Bridget, conveying something I can’t read before t
hey swing back to me.

  “Dad said you can’t go to Thor’s,” Bridget reiterates.

  I know that’s what he said, but what I don’t understand is why, or how he even knew. What the heck’s going on? Shouldn’t we be talking about Meredith, and the horrible things she said to him? Like calling him a bastard? Which he most certainly is not. Or saying his cock is ugly. Let’s not forget the million other ruthless jabs. I’d be willing to bet he didn’t call her a single bad name.

  Gah! The more I think about her mouth and the things she said, the angrier I become. How dare she?! What kind of woman speaks to her husband that way? Bitches, do. Oooo, crap, I can’t believe I said that about another person. She deserves it, though. If I had my voice back, I’d love to give her a piece of my mind. Maybe I’d even have the audacity to call her a bitch to her face. That would feel so good. I know I’d feel guilty about it later, but it would definitely be worth it. Don’t you agree?

  This must be what true anger feels like. . . Wow. I don’t think I’ve felt this since the day my mom stole grams’s house right out from under me. And, even then I was still more distraught than mad.

  “Magdalene, did you hear what I said?” Bridget grabs my attention.

  Yes, of course, I did. I nod my reply and gesture to her phone, as my other hand continues the rub Pirate’s lazy head.

  After she hands it to me, I sluggishly type. I heard what your dad said the first time. Though, I’m not sure why he thought he had to speak to me that way. I’m not deaf nor dumb. Just a mute for the time being. And he didn’t say I couldn’t go to Thor’s; he said I’m not going. What I want to know is why, and how he knew I’d texted Thor in the first place?

  Handing the phone back to Bridget, she reads it aloud.

  Lachlan doesn’t smile, but he does snort in amusement as he removes his hands from the door frame and crosses them over his chest, making his pecs and forearms pop even more than they generally do.

  Desperately, I try not to look at him, and stare at the white door instead. It’s easier and much less embarrassing. If my eyes are allowed to roam where they want, they won’t be able to control themselves once they gaze upon him in that position. I can’t help it. He’s way too much man not to take a gander at. Yes, he might look like he could dismember me with the snap of his fingers and bury my body in the backyard. Heck, his facial expressions have me thinking he’s plotting that exact same outcome—Dispose of the fat girl. But, that still doesn’t change the fact that he’s a massive, virile man with intricate tattoos that mysteriously travel to places I haven’t seen. And, he has this gruff voice that is not only scary, but also warm, and dare I say it? Sexy.