And just like that, the stillness returned. But, while the peacefulness I loved had only been interrupted by a few moments, now, everything was different.
That stillness now came with a price.
I stood over her, staring down at this strange woman, and wondering what the hell I had stumbled upon. Who was she? A hooker? His lover?
I rifled through the El Camino, and found nothing but a bottle of lube in the glove compartment and a few condoms under the front seat. Two joints were in the ash tray, which I pocketed. No purse, though. I walked over to the dead guy, taking him in briefly before looking through his pockets. I wasn’t much on fashion, but even I could tell his suit was cheap by the thin, rough fabric and his shoes, while very shiny, weren’t even real leather. His stringy black hair was slicked back away from his ugly, pock-marked face.
I found his wallet, with an ID that said he was Franco Javier Corona and had an address in Gresham. Three hundred and fifty-seven dollars in small bills, and two hotel card keys, and not much else. I pocketed the cash, and tucked his wallet back inside his suit jacket.
I looked at the girl again, and shook my head. Something wasn’t right. She was too healthy, too pretty to be a hooker. Way too fucking pretty to be the dead guy’s girlfriend. Her skin, while bruised and scratched, was smooth and toned, with a perfect bronze sheen to it. Her curvy hips swelled away from a taut, strong core of perfect ab muscles that I could see a flash of because her black tank top was pushed up against the swell of her full breasts. Every hooker I had ever seen was emaciated and ravaged from drugs and other various abuses, and the girl laying in front of me looked as healthy as a prized horse.
A prized, knocked-out, completely unconscious horse.
I realized then I needed to work fast. She would just have to tell me who she was when she woke up. But for now, I needed to get her out of here, and clean up this mess.
I took a step towards her, and my eye caught a slight movement to my left. I looked over in the shadows, and couldn’t believe my eyes.
An owl. The owl. No, it couldn’t be, I thought. But he was a dead ringer for the damned owl that had appeared only twice in my past. And just like before, he sat there, staring at me, his huge eyes blinking, calm and noble, looking as if he owned the fucking forest. Could it really be the same one?
If it was, then I knew this was a terrible omen.
The first time he appeared was so long ago, it almost felt like a dream. Twenty years ago and it was the last and only time I had ever loved a woman. I was a naive twenty year old, and I couldn’t wait to marry Julie. Young or not, naive or not, I knew she was the one I needed to spend the rest of my life with. We got married on the Oregon coast, both of us wearing black leather and huge smiles. After a year of love-drenched bliss, she died in a senseless car crash coming home from work. The night I lost her, this damn owl showed up as I stampeded through the forest, screaming at the moon in a drunken rage and grief-filled bout of insanity. He sat perched on a rock, his huge golden eyes blinking at me, his eyes filled with what I perceived at the time to be understanding.
The second time was ten years later when my dad died, leaving behind an empty seat at the head of the table at the clubhouse. There was nobody else qualified to fill it, so there I sat, the middle of the night, all alone, listening to my old man’s favorite Waylon Jennings record. It was a hot summer night, and the windows were open, the blackness of the forest quiet and inky beyond the window. The owl appeared out of nowhere, landing on the windowsill in a soft, sweeping flap of his feathery wings, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me. We sat there for several long moments, staring each other down in the quiet stillness of the night. Again, he blinked over and over, and my blood went cold when it dawned on me the last time I had seen him was when Julie had died.
And now here he was again. Only this time, he was sitting in the grass, the moonlight falling over his body as he gazed up at me. Something about him was different, but that didn’t dawn on me right away. Later, I would realize he looked friendlier, curious almost. Not so serious, perhaps. But tonight, just like before, he filled me with terror just by appearing. So much so that it abruptly jarred me out of my daze and I quickly set into motion.
Gently, I lifted up the girl and placed her in the El Camino. She didn’t budge even slightly, worrying me even more. I threw the man’s body in the back of the El Camino, thanking him out loud when I saw the tarp already back there, just waiting for the perfect dead body to come along and wrap itself up in it.
“What a thoughtful piece of shit you are,” I said to him as I closed the tailgate.
After parking my bike on the side of the road, I hopped in the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. My eyes locked with the owl’s once again, who had been silently watching my every move.
“Shit,” I muttered to myself.
I started the car and headed down the road back to the clubhouse, watching the owl grow smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror behind me.
Misled
By: Kathryn Kelly
He deals in a world of violence, sex, drugs, and crudity. As president of the Death Dwellers’ Motorcycle Club, Christopher “Outlaw” Caldwell presides over a club in chaos after the death of their longtime president and his mentor, Joseph “Boss” Foy.
Megan Foy runs from her abusive stepfather, hoping for her daddy’s intervention to save her and get her terrified mother away before it’s too late. Only problem is, she soon discovers her beloved daddy is dead and the man who killed him is the man she’s falling in love with.
This is a full-length novel.
Warning: FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. CONTAINS PHYSICAL ABUSE, VIOLENCE, RAPE, AND EXCESSIVE PROFANITY.
Preface
In each of us lives good and evil. The conundrum we face as a society is recognizing those we pigeonhole as evil and those we applaud as good. That’s the grossest mislabeling in the world, the greatest injustice. Have we not heard of the fable of The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing? Do we yet misunderstand how deceptive appearances can be? The sun casting a golden gleam upon us doesn’t shield us from the rain. Good and evil are wrapped in illusions we’re determined to create.
The man society views as acceptable…you know the one…? He gives up his seat to little old ladies. Attends church. Sings carols with good cheer. Gives a hand out and a help up. That man, too, has evil lurking in the depths of his soul. Perhaps, he’s more evil. This man has the ability to charm and smile and manipulate the world to see his goodness. When, in fact, he’s the scariest of all.
He’s a wife beater and a child molester. He tears down under the pretense of building up.
I know him well.
He’s my stepfather.
Chapter 1
“No! Please. Stop!”
The crack of a hand connecting with flesh tore through the tension. Meggie jumped and wrapped her arms around her middle, her sob competing with her mother’s pleas. She sat on the edge of her bed, body trembling, praying her mother would survive this latest beating.
Another lick. Dinah wept and Meggie’s belly roiled at the tormented sounds.
“Please, Thomas,” Dinah cried. “You’ve got to stop!”
Meggie nodded vigorously. Yes, he had to stop. One of these days he’d kill her mom.
Glass shattered and furniture banged. Dry heaves wracked Meggie at the heavy thud. She knew that sound, knew it meant her mother was careening to the floor. Dinah screamed and Meggie doubled over, sweat popping off her skin, her mother’s pain her own.
Surrounded by her white bedroom furniture and pastel green décor, she wondered how her home life was such a nightmare. On the outside, everyone saw the perfect family—a woman, an assistant high school principal, finding happiness in her second marriage with the teddy bear of a middle school math teacher who’d stepped in as a father-figure to the woman’s daughter.
Dinah’s scream coupled with tearing clothes. Though not in the den, Meggie had seen the situation play out enough t
o pick out the sounds and their meanings.
“Please,” Dinah sobbed. “I don’t want to.”
She didn’t want to have sex, she meant. Meggie bowed her head into her hands, wishing for the strength and fortitude to take it upon herself to kill her stepfather.
“Let’s go in the bedroom.” Dinah’s breath caught around a moan.
Thomas grunted. “I’m fucking you right here. Right out in the open.”
Embarrassment competed with Meggie’s fear and anger.
Her mother’s next sob burned through Meggie and she covered her face.
“Don’t. Not in the den. I don’t want Meggie to hear.”
“Think she’s not fucking?”
No. Meggie bit into her wrist, barely feeling the injury but tasting metallic blood.
“No,” Dinah echoed through tears. “She’s a virgin.”
“No. She’s not,” Thomas sneered. “I should know.”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Meggie stared at her bite mark, oozing red, and shook her head in denial.
Silence met Thomas’s lie and he took advantage of the stunning insinuation by taunting, “she’s been coming on to me for months. I thought it best to keep it in the family.”
“Wh-what?”
Meggie wasn’t sure if she wanted her mother to believe Thomas or not. Dinah was too broken to attempt to defend her. She hadn’t even allowed the police to haul Thomas away, a week ago, when Meggie had called 911. Instead, she’d blamed her injuries on something asinine and stupid. For Meggie’s attempt to defend Dinah that night, she’d gotten her bedroom door removed.
“You lying bastard,” Dinah screamed.
Meggie drew in a sharp breath, her already aggravated pulse and heart rate throbbing in her ears. She spread her blood over her skin, attempting to refocus.
Thomas yelped and, for a few blessed moments, it sounded as if Dinah asserted herself and inflicted serious damage.
“You fucking bitch!” he snarled. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Big Joe is coming for her,” Dinah persisted in a wild, unrecognizable tone. “I called him! And I’m going to tell him. I’m going to tell him you’ve violated his baby. I’m going to tell him and he’s going to kill you. He’s going to chop your dick off and feed it to pigs.”
Meggie cheered at the thought. Her daddy was coming. She’d been trying to reach him for weeks. Left so many messages, it surprised her his voicemail wasn’t filled to capacity. She knew how busy he was, so the fact he hadn’t answered wasn’t real surprising. Sometimes, it took her months to get a response from him. Before, he’d just blaze into town on his bike, the noise of his Harley pipes rumbling in the quiet suburb blocks away. He took a lot of trips, something he called runs.
Ever since Dinah had barred him from visiting at Thomas’s insistence, two years ago, Meggie always imagined going on the road with him and his boys.
“You know how hard your fighting makes me, huh, baby?” Thomas crooned.
“Y-yes.”
“I’m not letting Megan live with him. When he comes, tell him she’s not interested in going with him.” He groaned and gasped. “Tell him she doesn’t want to see him. Ever again.”
Dinah moaned. “Right there, Thomas. Harder.”
Meggie’s cheeks burned and her stomach churned at Thomas’s filthy response. And so the cycle continued, she thought, humiliated. She stretched to her pillow and retrieved the little knife she kept hidden under it. Pressing the sharp blade against her forearm, she sliced down, sucking in a breath at the brief burn and pain. Blood rushed from the wound and her tension and fear seeped away with it. The respite lasted a moment. The satisfaction dwindled in the amount of time it took the pain to recede.
Sniffling, she tightened her mouth and slashed again. Meggie swiped her tears once more and slashed at the wrist she’d bitten.
“Ah, God!” She’d gone deeper than she intended and had to grab the sheet to staunch the flow of blood, the sounds from the den both sickening and infuriating. She wasn’t sure if her mother truly liked Thomas’s attention or if she just accepted it. In the end, no matter what Thomas said or did, Dinah gave him sex. Meggie didn’t want to see her mother as a weak, pathetic woman because it went deeper than that.
Dinah had tried to run in the early days of their marriage. Both times Thomas had found her and beaten her to a bloody pulp before using his fists on Meggie. Her mother had just given up and given in. She knew her mother refused to risk Meggie being hurt again because of her escape attempts.
“Meggie?”
She raised her gaze at the sound of her mother’s whimper. Dinah stood in the doorway, her face swollen and bloody, bruises covering her naked body. She clutched the wood molding, trembling.
The sight tore through Meggie and she shoved her knife under the bloody sheet. She stood and swallowed; her chin wobbled. Both she and her mother were wrecks but she couldn’t add any stress by allowing her injuries to show. She stepped forward, arms behind her back. “Momma.”
Dinah went sprawling and Meggie hurried to the door. Thomas stood inches away, naked, too, and smelling of sweat and alcohol. Unable to stop it, Meggie glared at him, her cheeks burning at the sight of his flaccid penis and hairy testicles. Not that she hadn’t seen him nude before but the sight always repulsed her.
The back of his hand shot out. Meggie didn’t jump out of reach fast enough. Stars danced in front of her eyes at the slap.
“Please. Not Meggie,” Dinah whined, prone on the squeaky clean linoleum.
Thomas kicked Dinah’s thigh and she whimpered again. Meggie growled and launched herself at Thomas, buoyed by the thought of her father coming for her, not caring if Thomas beat the crap of her. She’d learned to cover her pain and bruises but she wouldn’t have to. She could show each little hurt to her daddy and he’d find a way to make them go away. He’d make him go away.
Her fingernails dug into Thomas’s cheek and she drew them down, drawing blood just like he drew her mother’s blood and sometimes hers. He grabbed her upper arms and slammed her against the wall. Meggie bounced and stumbled onto Dinah, who lay silent and still, but warm, the rise of fall of her back assuring she lived. Thomas yanked Meggie to her feet by her hair. She kicked, connecting with his penis and he dropped to his knees.
Meggie blew out puffs of air, not having much time. Steeped in drunken insanity, Thomas’s meanness and strength rivaled a dozen men. She doubted he’d even feel a bullet.
Stupid bull of a man.
Ignoring her pain, she scrambled to her mother and latched onto her hands, pulling her forward. “Come on, Momma. Help me.”
She needed to get them to Dinah’s bedroom. Just until Thomas drank himself into a stupor and passed out. If she couldn’t convince Dinah the wisdom of leaving while Thomas slept off the vodka and bourbon, then, at least, the latest danger would pass. Thomas would be sick for a day and sober for a couple more. Sometimes, he even went a week without drinking. Sober, his hits lacked so much viciousness and murderous intent.
Meggie pulled Dinah another inch and her mother groaned. Thomas roared to his feet. She didn’t want to leave her mother but her sense of self-preservation took over. Dropping Dinah’s arms, Meggie stumbled toward the nearest door, the half bath right next to her bedroom. His arms encircled her waist. He lifted her off her feet. Meggie screamed, struggling in his arms.
He stepped over Dinah, keeping a firm grip on Meggie, and walked into her bedroom. Reaching her bed, he slammed her down. She sprung up and barreled into him, the maneuver useless. When his hand neared her, somehow she dodged it and, instead, sunk her teeth into the fleshy side.
“Bitch!” he yelled, crashing his fist on the side of her head and her world went black.
Meggie ached everywhere—her face, arms, hands, belly, thighs, knees, legs and feet. Even the top of her head and her breasts throbbed. Wincing, she lifted herself on her elbows, the moonlight reflecting on her bare body. Blood and bruises glimmered in a grotesque sheen and she shive
red, her skin burning, her insides cold. Whatever sick twist in the universe sent Thomas into their lives wrapped itself tighter and tighter.
Feeling the pain of Thomas’s rage sweeping through her body, she understood her mother’s decisions. It was the other times. The times when she only listened and witnessed, she resented Dinah’s inaction. She sniffled and fell back onto her pillows, tears slipping down her cheeks. The two of them gave bodies of evidence a literal meaning. On them lay a wealth of substantiation Thomas was a violent pig. Then, again, on them a mountain of proof validated Dinah had bad taste in men.
Meggie thought her mother had all types of demons to contend with. While she could always judge Dinah, tell her life happened, she knew so many other factors were in this twisted tale; therefore, her inaction could be overlooked and excusable. Meggie’s couldn’t.
Dinah didn’t fight back. Meggie’s sense of outrage overwhelmed her at times and she couldn’t help but fight back but there was absolutely no winning with Thomas. Unless they ended up on an outpost in Antarctica, he’d always find them and hurt them. One day, he’d kill them if Meggie didn’t do something.
That her mother had done one small thing and telephoned Big Joe was enough. Thomas wasn’t going to allow her to leave. No, he wanted to sever all ties between her and her father. But Meggie couldn’t allow that to happen. Her father would protect her and rescue Dinah. No matter what else had passed between him and Dinah, he loved Meggie enough that he’d want to see her mother safe.
She swiped the backs of her hands across her cheeks, pain shooting through her at the skim over her welts, bruises and self-inflicted injuries. “Ow!”
The overhead light flipped on and Meggie blinked, the sudden brightness hurting her eyes. She curled her knees into her chest, praying for the ability to disappear. By the time she came to, Dinah and Thomas had been locked in their bedroom. Meggie had dragged herself to her bed, just over an hour ago, taking comfort in her surroundings, which reminded her of happier times. All around her were items she and her mother had chosen when Meggie turned thirteen. A redecorated room had been her birthday present. No expense had been spared, courtesy of her father. Meggie loved Monet and had a replica of Renoir Painting In His Garden hanging on her wall. Another wall had a framed print of Minnie Mouse with the words Explore the Magic Inside. Pretty lame, she knew, but she really liked Minnie Mouse.
Claiming Crusher: Savage Brothers MC Page 30
