by Sam Crescent
“Amy, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you,” Gregory said, crossed a leg over the other, and stared at her. His blond hair was perfectly styled to the side, and his thin glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. He was sophisticated and professional and had helped her through a lot.
“My mother died.”
“I know,” he said without sarcasm, only interested in what she had to say and encouraging her to share more. “How have you been dealing with that? I know it’s been a few months, but you have to be struggling with your emotions.”
She stared at her hands again, looking at the redness of her skin from the constant rubbing of her fingers over her flesh, and nodded. “It’s hard, I won’t lie, but I am working with that more than I am with the fact I will always be damaged.”
“Amy, I thought that we were going to work on the fact you are not damaged, that you need to start seeing yourself as a strong, independent woman.”
She nodded, knowing he spoke the truth, but having such a hard time coming to that realization. “I want that, I do, but when I close my eyes, I can still see him, still smell his rancid cologne and cigarette breath as he comes into my room and climbs onto my bed.” She wanted to move on, to be a woman that didn’t let the past hurt her, cripple her life, and take things away from her.
“There is no time frame to make things better, Amy. That’s why we are here, to try to help you get through it one day at a time.” He smiled at her. “But you have to start with yourself first. You have to realize that you are better than everything that happened to you.”
It was hard though, but she was working toward that, and hoped that one day she could look behind and see that all of this hadn’t destroyed her, but had made her even stronger.
Joker sat in his SUV, the piece of shit man he stared at was just asking to be sliced right across the throat. He watched as Amy’s father, Bruce, a fucker that needed to die a slow and agonizing death, took another hit off his cigarette and snubbed it out on his boot. He had gotten the information on this motherfucker from Zeke several months ago, had tracked Bruce, and now he knew exactly where the piece of shit was staying.
He also knew his routine, where he hung out, and the fact he was a fucking low life that was an infection on the world. Joker inhaled from his joint, let the smoke slowly billow out of his mouth, and watched as Bruce headed back inside. He could have killed the asshole last week when he had locked down his routine, but the truth was that Joker wanted to prolong this; he wanted to make the fucker suffer before he begged for death. So he wouldn’t be killing this piece of shit tonight. No, he was going to torment him first, make him beg and scream for mercy.
Joker started the engine and headed toward a bar out of town that was known for back alley and bloody, raw fighting. Right now, he needed to let his aggression go, needed to fucking hit someone over and over again so that he would have a semblance of control when he finally took down the piece of shit that had hurt his Amy.
He drove for an hour before the small bar that specialized in illegal fighting came into view. Joker had gone there on more than one occasion to try and ease some of the destruction housed inside of him. Getting into a fucking crazy fight helped erase the darkness inside and helped him cope with the fact that he would probably never have the woman he wanted: Amy. If she knew the shit he liked to do in the bedroom, stuff she hadn’t seen all those months ago when she’d come into his bedroom, she’d probably run in the other direction and never want to see him again. He wasn’t into the conventional way of sex. Domination, submission, and bondage, along with the mixing of pain and pleasure is what he liked to indulge in.
He parked his vehicle, took off his cut and left it in the SUV, and headed toward the front of the bar. Once inside, the place reeked of cigarettes, nasty fucking alcohol, and vomit. The women walking around were glorified, trashy whores. He walked right past them and moved toward the rear of the building. Joker pushed open the back door, walked into the large building reserved for the fighting, and stopped to watch the fight currently underway that was just about to end. There was blood and sweat everywhere and the scent of the anger and testosterone in the air was suffocating.
The fight was over quickly, and Joker was putting his name in to be next. He needed this fight, needed to feel bone breaking, blood spraying, and pain filling his body. He stepped into the center of the room, took off his shirt, and stared at the man he’d be fighting. He was a big motherfucker, tatted up like Joker, rippling with muscle and rage: the perfect contender. The guy bared his grilled-out teeth at Joker and didn’t waste any time in attacking.
The hit that came from his right cracked his head to the side. Ears ringing and head fuzzy, Joker let the pain further fuel his rage. This asshole was about to feel some fucking pain of his own. He knew how to fight dirty, and in fact, loved it, reveled in it. Joker was really fucking looking forward to this. He let them have the first hit, but that was all he was getting.
The guy came after him again, started swinging like he was on fucking speed, and Joker smelled the alcohol coming from his pores. He was drunk, probably fucking high, too, so he moved slower. His punches were sloppy, and his hits were off the mark. Joker slammed his fist into his nose, grew even more excited when he heard the sound of bone crunching from the hit, and immediately went after him again. He tossed him against the side of one of the wall, and the assholes watching cheered for more. The guy went down like a rag doll when his head cracked against the wall.
“You motherfucker. You broke my nose.” The bastard slowly stood and spit out a mouthful of blood. Blood poured from his nose, flowed over his lips and chin, and covered his white shirt like a grotesque painting. “I’m going to kick your ass and piss on your body.” He charged forward, but Joker was ready. A man that wanted to win never lost control and never took his eyes off his opponent.
The asshole came swinging like a damn freight train, but his anger was a cloud of amateur movements that Joker had seen a hundred times before. He swung out again, but Joker caught his fist midair and used his opponent’s momentum against him. Slamming his fist into first his right side, and then his left, he kept his composure when the guy doubled over and grunted in pain. He’d be pissing blood for a week after those punches. Joker stood there and waited for him to come back for more or turn the other way and end the fight.
“You’re not going to win. You can either get your fucking ass out of here or you can come back for more and get your ass handed to you again.”
He lifted his glossed over eyes and snarled.
“I can make you really hurt.” It wasn’t a threat, but a promise. And then the guy spit once more, straightened as much as he could, given the fact he was clearly in pain, and turned away. Yeah, that was fucking right. He wasn’t about to throw down the white flag and lifted his hands for the next motherfucker to get their ass kicked.
Amy walked into the home where her step-father, David lived. This was the place they had all shared growing up, she and Reese. No, he wasn’t Reese anymore. He belonged to a biker club, Soldiers of Wrath and he was called Joker. Nothing she knew about Reese made her think he was a Joker, anything but someone to be laughed at. He was always serious, never pretending about anything.
Pushing thoughts of Reese to the back of her mind, she walked into the kitchen. Staring at the cupboards, an image of her mother, Brenda appeared before her.
“It’s going to be okay, honey; you just forget about him.” Her mother would tell her constantly to forget about her real father. She had forced the memory of him out of her mind so long ago that she couldn’t even think of what he looked like, refused to remember what he looked like. Before her mother met David, she would sit with Amy, crying and holding her, telling her how sorry she was. Her mother had always been so sorry for not being able to protect her.
Brenda was dead now. Closing her eyes, Amy counted to five and when she opened them again, the image of her mother was gone. Tears filled her eyes, but she forced them ba
ck. Nothing good ever came from crying.
Putting the bag of groceries down, she made her way toward the fridge. David was her real father. He’d treated her like one of his own. Reese should have been her brother, yet after all the years together, Amy felt anything but sisterly toward him. For the longest time, she’d felt like a freak for not cutting off thoughts of him that were anything other than brotherly.
Then their friendship had changed; he’d changed. There was something in his eyes when he looked at her, something akin to yearning. After witnessing him with that woman on his bed, she’d tried to find whatever she could on the Internet to understand what it all meant. She hadn’t found anything that had given her any clue as to what it meant to be controlled by someone like that sexually, at least not where she had been looking. Amy couldn’t bring herself to look deeper into website or books. Everything about that scared her. Until one day, she decided to take the next step to understand exactly what Reese was.
In a bookstore in the city, she finally understood what Reese was: a Dom. There were so many books out now about Doms. She’d been so embarrassed that she hadn’t even purchased the book from the store. Instead, she went online, ordering it for a speedy delivery. Ever since then, she’d been trying to find everything about what it meant to be a Dom. When she first started out, she’d not had the courage to look, whereas now, she wanted to know it all. Her intrigue about the subject grew and sent her searching for more details until she’d found everything she needed.
She’d wanted to ask Reese questions about his lifestyle. However, since her mother’s unexpected death, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him about something so personal.
“Hey, honey, I didn’t know you were coming over tonight,” David said, breaking into her thoughts.
Turning around, Amy blushed. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she had been standing in front of the open fridge for the past couple of minutes.
“I thought I could cook for you. I bet you hadn’t gone grocery shopping and looking at this cheese, I was right.” She pulled out a block of mold disguised as cheese. Amy chuckled, hoping he wouldn’t ask her why she was blushing.
“That would be great. No, your mother, I mean, she always took care of me like that.” David stopped talking, looking down at the floor. The emotion in his voice broke a part of Amy. She hated seeing him in any kind of pain.
“I miss her, too.”
“I’ll never stop waiting for her to appear. I love her so much.” He gripped the counter until his fingers were bright white from the strain. “I can’t handle it at times, Amy. She was only going to the fucking store.”
Amy rarely heard him curse but accepted it now.
“I hate this. She shouldn’t be dead. Brenda should be standing at that fridge, smiling at me. She should be by my side.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amy.”
“If you want me to leave, I understand. I hate to impose.”
“No, I want you to stay. With you around, it is almost like it was before.”
Leaving her spot near the fridge, she reached out to touch his arm. “I understand.”
The love Brenda and David had shared was the stuff generally reserved for books and movies. Seeing him like this broke her heart.
“I’m going to make you a lovely meal. Go and relax, David. I’ll deal with the food.” She watched him walk away before going back to the fridge. The only love she’d ever felt similar to what David had with her mother was the love she felt for Reese.
Pulling her cell phone out of her bag, she scrolled through her contacts until she saw his name.
Hovering over his number, she threw caution to the wind and sent him a text.
Amy: Hey, it’s me. I miss you. I hope everything is fine with you.
She sent the message before giving herself time to change her mind. Putting her cell phone down, she started to put the groceries in the fridge, humming softly.
Her mother had been an amazing cook, teaching Amy everything she knew. Amy loved cooking and once wished she’d have a family of her own to cook for. She doubted that would ever happen. Who would want her? Her cell phone vibrated on the counter. Putting the vegetables down, she picked up her phone.
Reese: How’s my best girl?
Her heart turned over. Was she his best girl? Amy wanted to be more but her stupid reaction to the heated kiss five years ago had stopped that. She doubted Reese would have gone any further. He was rough and hard, but too much of a gentleman to take her at such a young age.
Amy: I’m good. Missing you.
Without second guessing her response, she sent the message. She really did miss him.
Joker’s fingers were blooded from the weeks of fighting. Tonight he was going after the bastard who called himself a father. The anticipation had built inside him to a fever pitch. He couldn’t let it go on any longer. Soldiers of Wrath needed him back to deal with whatever Zeke threw at them. His cell phone went off, and when he looked at the screen, he saw it was Demon’s number.
Letting out a breath of disappointment, he put the cell to his ear.
“Hello,” Joker said.
“What’s happening? You’ve been gone for a while over this.”
“I’m going to end it this weekend.” Starting tonight, Bruce wouldn’t be getting an easy death. Joker intended to prolong it, making it agonizing for him. The fights he’d entered had only set to fuel his wrath, not ease it. He wanted Bruce’s bones breaking; he wanted to tear the flesh from his body. Before Bruce died, Joker was going to sever the bastard’s cock and feed it to him. The list of his torture plans was endless and Joker couldn’t wait to get started.
He didn’t know the whole truth of what happened, but Zeke had filled him in on a few gaps in his knowledge. Amy’s sealed hospital records had filled in the rest of the blanks of what that monster did to her. No wonder Brenda had been so damned protective and secretive. She’d done everything in her power to make Amy’s life as easy as possible.
Blowing out a breath, he looked across the parking lot. Bruce was drinking in his local bar, loving the attention. He wondered what the residents of the town he lived in would think of the man they drank with if they knew he’d abused and raped his little girl.
“Are you handling this okay? You’re not sounding… right?”
Joker laughed. “Nothing about this situation is right, Demon. This fucking bastard hurt my woman. He made her scared of men, of me.” He stopped. No one but Demon could get him to spill the truth. Amy was his woman, and he’d always considered her his. The love he had for her was never going to go away. It wasn’t just love, it was outright obsession. She was a submissive at heart, a broken submissive. With the right care, he could bring her out of her shell, but she was so damned scared because of what that fucking evil bastard had done to her.
Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes.
“I’ve got to go, Demon.”
“Do you need support there? This is not something you need to do alone.”
“This is what I need to do alone. I’ve spent a great deal of time imagining this moment. I’m prepared, and I’m ready. The evil fucking bastard is going to die.”
Demon sighed. “Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Joker closed the call to see a text from Amy.
She missed him. His woman missed him.
Joker: How’s everything going with Dad?
Amy: It’s not good. He’s sad. Will you come by at some point? I’d really like to talk to you. I miss talking to you.
He hesitated. Amy’s texts always made him smile. She hated the small text talk and when they were growing up he’d sit in his room texting her in short talk. She’d get so angry that she would storm into his room, shouting at him.
Joker: I’ll be there Sunday.
Once he sent the message, he sent a text to his father letting him know he was going to be stopping by on Sunday for dinner. He missed spending time with Amy. The sluts he slept with now were his way of trying to f
orget her. Amy couldn’t be what he wanted. Not yet.
Doubts filled his mind. Given the right amount of care and love, Amy could be exactly what he wanted and needed. It was almost too good to be true for him. His anger raged inside him as he watched Bruce leave the bar, laughing.
Joker couldn’t hear what was being said, and he didn’t care about it. Putting his car into drive, he followed the fucker down a quiet road. In a couple of minutes, Bruce would cut down a darkened alley that would give Joker the perfect opportunity to grab him.
He bided his time as Bruce stopped against a wall to take a piss. It wouldn’t be long until he didn’t have a cock to piss with. Pulling the car against the curb, Joker climbed out. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Joker followed close enough behind the bastard who was going to experience some pain. No, not some pain, a lot of agony. A shit load of pain.
Rounding the alley, Joker grabbed Bruce from behind, slamming against the cement wall.
“What the fuck?” Bruce said, turning around to face him.
“Go on, Bruce, hit me. Let me see how you fare with hitting a real fucking man instead of terrorizing little girls.” Joker got right up in his face, almost begging for the bastard to take a shot, any shot that would give Joker a chance to hurt him.
“Who the hell are you? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bruce had paled though.
“You don’t know me, but I know a lot about you. We’ve got a mutual acquaintance: Brenda, your ex-wife.” What little color Bruce had disappeared at the mention of his ex-wife.
“I’ve stayed away. I told her I would.”
“You see, Bruce, I’ve got a problem. Amy’s my woman, and you hurt her. You took something away from her that she’ll never get back, and now it’s time for you to pay the price.” Wrapping his fingers around Bruce’s neck, Joker fought the temptation to end him now. “And I’m going to make sure you beg for death long before I deliver it.”
