by Vivian Cove
Annie-mal.
Somehow I just knew, without a doubt, that I was looking at the man who’d started that cursed nickname. Who else would have the balls to throw that kind of shit around when I wasn’t looking? Only one man was so fearless around the president’s daughter. Only one man needed, so desperately, to be put in his place.
Damien.
“Finish what you were about to say,” I demand.
“It’s nothin’.” He grins like he’s thinking of an inside joke. I grin back at him because I know what inside joke his mind is referencing, and I know that he isn’t going to find it funny for much longer.
I stab his chest with my finger. “Annie-mal.”
His eyes go wide.
I smile, and it’s all teeth. “That’s what you were about to say, right?” I stab his chest two more times. “Annie. Mal.”
He grabs my offending finger. “Where’d you hear that?”
I wrestle my finger back from him. “That’s none of your business.”
“Shit.” He shuts his eyes. “I was young, alright? And you wouldn’t stop fuckin’ eatin’ all my Oreos.”
“Those were communal Oreos. All food in the shop was communal.”
He shakes his head. “Those weren’t the rules until you imposed them ‘cause you couldn’t keep your mitts to yourself.”
“My mitts, huh? Well, maybe I was hungry because I’d been working all day.”
“And so had I, everyone in the club works all day, and I wanted my fuckin’ Oreos that I bought with my money that I’d worked for, so I hid them in a tool box or somethin’ so you wouldn’t find ‘em ‘cause I knew they wouldn’t last five minutes if you did.”
I remember exactly where he’d hid them—it had been in a shoebox near a toolbox. And they’d lasted fifteen minutes…or at least ten…you know, something like that.
“And less than twenty minutes later I come back,” he continues, “and find out you fuckin’ sniffed them out like an Annie-mal. Well, complained about it to a few of the other guys and we all had a story like that and the name just stuck.”
I can’t believe this! “Ugh!”
“Come on, you really gonna stay mad at me Princess?” He tilts his head to the side, making his eyes all wide and cute. “My lil Annie-mal.”
“Oh I’ll show you an Annie-mal!” I yell, reaching past him and grabbing the handle. I needed to get his ass out of here. Now.
“Fuck. Let’s talk about it, Princess.”
He wanted to talk? “Annie-mals don’t talk!”
He grits his jaw. “I swear to fuckin’ god, it’s like you’re still twelve or somethin’.”
“Well maybe I’m still twelve because you’re still calling me Annie-mal behind my back like you did when you were twelve!”
Damien looks like he wants to smash his head into the wall. “Okay, let’s start over.”
“Excellent idea!” I scream, wrestling the door open. I grab his shoulder and throw him out. “And let’s start by you getting the fuck out!!!!”
As Damien stumbles into the hallway, I hear something. A lot of something’s. The slow, steady march of boots spelling my doom.
Oh no. My dad had said no arguing just this morning. And what had I done? Fucked Damien and then fucked everything else up!
“Shit!” I whisper.
Damien doesn’t look too happy about this development either.
I grab Damien’s wrist, ready to yank him back into my bedroom, when my dad appears at the end of the hallway.
Fuck! I’ve got to make this gesture look natural! “Hey daddy!” I smile shakily and start waving Damien’s arm back and forth like we’re skipping down the sidewalk. “Damien and I were just…Damien and I were just…”
My dad scowls.
“I heard Damien in the hallway and wanted to say hi but he was walking super fast and I didn’t what him to leave before greeting him so I grabbed his arm and…”
My dad’s scowl darkens.
I glance at Damien. He’s staring at my father, and I can’t read the expression on his face. Oh fuck, this isn’t good.
My dad starts walking down the hall. Bikers file in behind him. I recognize some of the big names from our crew—Gracie, Ryder and the rest of Damien’s posse as well as the old guard. There are some I can’t recognize either—men from Vice’s MC.
Oh shit. This wasn’t good.
“Uh, dad…” I whisper when he gets close.
My dad holds up his hand, cutting me off. “It’s alright, Princess.”
Wait, it was alright? How was this alright?
“I’m not going to expect you to just stand by when he disrespects you like that,” dad continues.
He doesn’t? And how did he know Damien was disrespecting me?
My dad frowns. “When he disrespects the entire club like that.”
I gulp. Just how much does my dad know about me and Damien?
“Look, I know a man has needs,” my father says. “All the men in the club have needs.”
I die a little bit inside. Oh no. He knows. Please God, just open up the earth and let me jump into the fiery pits of hell because I don’t think I can take this shit.
“But,” my dad continues, “you need to respect my daughter’s space.”
Damien swallows. I’m breathing so hard I wonder how I’m still standing.
“Yeah,” Ganja ads. “Put a muzzle on that thing next time.”
My face flares up. Muzzle? What the hell is this about a muzzle? Who needs a muzzle????
Gracie steps forward, his short bleached blond hair standing out under lights even more than the chain from his pierced nose to his pierced ear. “Yeah. We know you like it wild, but you’ve gotta get the beast—or beastess—under control. It’s not cool when it disrupts everyone in the club.”
Beastess?
“Pillows, gags,” Gracie continues. “They all gotta reason for existing.”
The beastess. They wanted to gag it, and then put a muzzle on it, and then stick its face into a pillow because it was so loud it had disrupted the entire club.
My eyes go wide.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
I wet my lips. “Are you all talking about the…lady…he was with?”
“Yeah, lady,” Ganja snorts.
“She sounded like an animal, man,” a guy from the rival club says.
“Probably a fuckin’ freak in the sack,” the guy next to him replies.
An animal? A freak in the sack? That was it! “Look, people sound all sorts of ways when they’re…” I glance around. “Making love.” Alright, what Damien and I were doing in my room could not, under any circumstances, be described as “making love,” but I can’t bring myself to say fucking. “But that doesn’t mean that we should make fun of them while they’re at their most vulnerable and intimate!”
Gracie looks at me like I just left a dead mouse on his pillow and asked him to be my bestest friend in the whole wide world. “Did you hear what was goin’ on next door?”
“She wasn’t that bad!” I yell. “Everyone makes sounds, and everyone’s sounds are beautiful in their own way!”
My dad shakes his head. “It’s alright, Princess. You don’t have to defend the likes of him.”
“I’m not defending him! If you want to hate on someone for their…um, noises…hate on the man who forced her to make such freaky sounds!”
“A guy can tell before it starts,” Gracie continues, puffing his chest, frowning. “Him being with someone like that is just disrespectful to everyone.”
WHAT???
I look over at my nodding father. Yes, my father. Who’d heard me. And was agreeing with all this awful!
Kill. Me. Please.
“Come on, guys. We don’t need to rehash this,” Ryder steps in.
Yay Ryder!
“What do you mean?” Gracie continues. “You were the one who grabbed your piece and made a joke about puttin’ her down.”
WHAT?!?!? Ryder said that? About me? I loo
k over at him but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
Ryder winces. “I don’t think I put it like that exactly.”
“That’s right, you said—”
“That’s enough!” Ryder cuts in. “We shouldn’t be talkin’ like this in front of Princess.”
Gracie nods solemnly. “You’re right. She’s already heard enough this evening. I only hope her nightmares aren’t filled with the sounds of…well, I said I’d stop, and I will.”
My eyes are bugging out so hard it feels like they’re about to explode. No, I will not have those sounds my nightmares, but I sure as shit will have Gracie hearing them in my nightmares! Gracie and…
I shudder. No. I will not think about who else heard them—about the fact that everyone else heard them. I look pleadingly at the ceiling. Dearest God, why am I not dead already? Or am I already in hell? Was stealing everyone’s cookies really such a bad crime that you sent me to this eternal torture chamber??? And then I hear bed springs moving from the room above, and I realize that I’m staring up at the floor of Vice’s room.
I go cold. He was there, not at the club. Which means that he knows which room those awful sounds came from.
He knows it was me.
He knows those beastess bellows of pleasure came from me.
This observation bothers me far more than it should. It bothers me so much, in fact, that I don’t notice the commotion at Damien’s door until it’s too late.
“Let him through,” my father yells.
Damien’s in front of his door. Damien, who was oddly silent throughout this ordeal. “No one’s goin’ in there.”
My father scowls. “Ryder is going to escort the woman from the premises.”
Damien gives me a pleading look. “Fine. But just Ryder. No one else goes in.”
My father sighs and holds up his hands. “Just Ryder.”
Reluctantly, Damien steps aside. He reaches for my hand as Ryder reaches for the door.
“I’m sorry, Princess. It will be alright,” Damien whispers.
I glare at him and just barely resist the urge to stomp on his toes. How the fuck would this ever be alright? He was silent the entire time they were making fun of me! He didn’t even try to protect me! Freaking Ryder, who wanted to “put me down,” had to step in and man up! I want to chew Demon Spawn out but can’t without raising too many questions.
Just be patient, Annie. Your time will come.
Well, then my time came—a little sooner than I’d expected.
A scream echoes through the hallway.
My dad’s eyes blaze with worry. “Ryder!” he yells, barreling forward with other club members in tow. What the hell had made Ryder scream like that?
And then I remember something.
Something that could make an unsuspecting man scream.
Something I’d put in there.
Oh shit! “No!” I grab my father’s arm. “Dad, don’t go in there!”
My dad brushes me aside as he barrels through the dark doorway. “Stay back, Princess. Damien, protect her!”
No, I don’t need protection, dad. I’m trying to protect you. DO NOT GO IN THERE!!!!
I try to rush forward, but Damien’s grip on me tightens. Then, it’s too late. Bikers are swarming the doorway and filing into the room.
Silence.
I squeeze Damien’s hand back as Ryder stumbles into the hall. “Oh God,” he whispers. “Oh man, I am sorry, uh…Damien…I didn’t know.”
Damien and I don’t ask him what he saw. We know.
Now he knows too, and like us, he can’t unsee it.
Ryder closes his eyes. “Fuck.” And I’m happy that’s all he says, because I’m pretty sure what he actually wants to say is: Goddamn you two are crazy bitches.
Damien pats his back. “Walk it off, man. It’s what I had to do.”
My eyes narrow. Oh, Demon Spawn had not walked it off. He’d fucked it off. And that was why were in this horrible mess right now!
“Damien,” my father calls from inside the room. “I think you need to come in here and explain yourself.”
Oh man, Damien is so fucked. I almost feel bad for him. Until I realize, as he steps forward, that he’s still holding onto my hand.
Does he think I’m going in there? Oh hell no!
“Come on, Princess,” Damien hisses between his clenched teeth. “It’s time for us to go explain ourselves.”
“Us? He just wants you!” I hiss back.
“But we’re partners now.”
I grab the side of the doorframe. No way in hell was I going in there! “What the hell? When was this decided? I was just trying to do my part to help you with your Restless D Syndrome!”
He bends over and whispers near my ear. “And your methods were quite unorthodox.” Then, he un-pries my fingers from the doorframe one by one. “Trust me, Princess.”
I shiver. For a brief second, I foolishly allow his words to sway me. And what does he do? He pulls me into the lion’s den.
***
So, while Candy was lecturing me on our way to the car, Star came over to talk with us. Since I was such a good customer, she offered me the bucket of decapitated Barbie heads (she said she knew someone who’d want the bodies, and I didn’t ask for more information). I knew just want to do with them.
When we got home, Candy had gotten out the rainbow sharpies Cheyenne gave me for Christmas ages ago and drew things on the severed doll head’s faces. Some were pirate themed. Others zombie. There were a few wonky kitty cats in the mix. But since Candy was about as good at drawing as I was at making teapots, all of them were ugly.
Then, I’d tied string to their hair and hung them from the ceiling. It looked like a ten year old had played a prank on Damien…until you saw the bed. Then, it just looked like he’d let someone with a seriously psychotic and sick mind into the club.
The sex doll’s deflated boobs spread out across the mattress like two gigantic, grass-stained gym socks. Thongs are everywhere—on the bed, the floor, the window sill. I did not put them here, but it does look like the doll’s tits were a piñata that were beaten until they finally erupted with thongs.
Also, I didn’t just put the blow up doll in his bed. Oh no, that would be too easy. I tied its hands and feet to the bedposts. And then, because I thought we should do this exorcist themed, I squirted ketchup all over it.
The blood drips down her legs and all over his sheets. As we enter, all the guys are giving Damien’s bed the biggest “what the fuck?” look I’ve ever seen in my life.
Ganja slaps Damien on the back, a big smile on his face. “Looks like you earned your red wings, man.”
Everyone looks like they’re about to puke.
A few guys glance at the door. “Maybe we should, uh…”
No one can look Damien in the eyes. That’s alright. Damien isn’t looking at any of them. Instead, he’s glaring at me, and he looks super pissed.
Damien’s looking at me, pissed.
This can’t be good!
“Is that thing from Star Power’s?” One of the guys asks.
Damien’s scowl grows darker. Oh fuck. It just got worse!
Another guy cringes. “Oh God, it is. I’ve seen it before.”
“No way, man. He wouldn’t touch that. I mean, no one knows where it came from. It could be anybody…”
Goddamnit! Stop talking!
“Shit, man. How could you?” Gracie whispers. “I always knew you were freaky but…fuck.”
Ganja bends over in tears, almost choking he’s laughing so hard. “Haha. Freaky butt fuck.”
Gracie turns around, fuming. “Alright, who let him in here?”
My dad raises his hand. “Everyone. Out.” My dad’s eyes narrow. “Except you, Damien.”
Damien glares at me.
Fuck!
My dad watches the men leave before turning his attention back to Damien. Then, he turns, straightening his spine. “Princess?” My dad asks.
Damien nods. “Thought you not
iced her in here.”
His gaze burns into Damien. “What the hell is she doing in here?”
Damien’s grip tightens on my hand. He opens his mouth, about to say something, but my dad cuts him off.
“You brought my daughter in here? You exposed her to this?”
Damien sighs. “I have a feeling she finds this scene is slightly less traumatizing than you’re thinking.”
Speak for yourself, Damien! I’m pretty sure this was the worst night of my life—which, considering last night, says a lot.
“Oh really?” My dad says, gesturing around the room. “’Cause whoever you had in here must have been sick as fuck!”
“Yeah,” Damien drawls. “She definitely is.”
What? I was not sick as fuck!
“Normally I wouldn’t do this,” my dad starts. “I mean, people need their privacy, but I think you need to tell me who it was. We need to make sure she doesn’t come back to the club.”
Damien straightens his shoulders. “Actually, there’s something she and I need to tell you.”
There was? I glance at him, but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at my dad. And he looks more serious than I’ve ever seen him before in my life.
My stomach drops. What is he doing? He can’t possibly be thinking of telling my dad it was me!
My eyes begin to burn. My hands shake. “Let go, Damien,” I whisper.
Damien clenches his jaw. “We have to tell him. I have to tell him.”
No you don’t! I start pulling on my arm but Damien just won’t let go.
My father frowns. “Tell me what?”
“Damien…” I whisper.
He smiles down at me. “It’s alright. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
OMFG he’s about to say something about what we did! Growling, I rip my arm away, flying back.
My father steps in between us. “What the hell is going on?”
“President—” Damien begins.
No. No. He can’t do this to me. My life is over if my dad knows I did…all…this!!!! I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. “I’M LEAVING!” I scream.
Damien and my father both turn to me.
“What?” Damien whispers.
I can’t look at him. I don’t know what the fuck he’s thinking, but I can’t be a part of it.
“Princess…” Damien begs. “Trust me. Please”
