Highest Sins: Mountain Misfits MC Book 2

by Deja Voss

  “No,” I say. I’ve been a part of this club for long enough to know that he’s telling the truth. I know these guys always have a flock of dirty birdies flapping around, and if he wanted to be with a girl like that, he would’ve done so a long time ago.

  “I swear, I will. I’d rather be sleeping on top of you than on the ground in a tent.”

  “Well that’s… flattering?” I laugh a little bit. “You stay there and get your work done. It’s fine; everything is fine. I’m sorry I missed your calls earlier.”

  “It’s alright, Esther. But you know what might make me feel better?”

  “What?”

  “How about a little video chat, for old time’s sake?”

  “Well, considering the only thing standing between you and half the people I know is a plastic tarp, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Oh come on. I’ll be quiet,” he pleads.

  “Are you ever quiet?”

  “Not with you, girl,” he laughs. “Alright. Well, if you decide that you want to send me some nudes, I won’t be mad. I promise I won’t show anyone.”

  “Yeah, because I know how well you keep track of your stuff,” I tease him. “I love you. Gimme a call tomorrow.”

  He sighs. “Hopefully we’ll be back tomorrow. I love you too. Goodnight.”

  I feel a lot better after talking to him. It’s really easy for my dad to get me riled up, but the second I hear his voice, I’m good again. It’s not about my dad, or Morgan, or anyone else in the club. What Brooks and I have is our inside secret. It’s only the two of us in the world when it comes to matters of him and I. He’s not hiding any dark secrets. He wears his heart on his sleeve. At least with me. I get out of bed and turn out all the lights in the trailer. It’s time for me to go home. To my real home.

  I love the way his house smells. Our house. It doesn’t smell like anything in particular but it sure does smell like him. Familiar, nostalgic, comforting. Sure my candle collection has girlied the place up a little, but walking through the front door feels like being pulled into his big strong arms. Walking through the front door, I know it’s the place I belong.

  I wish he was here, but I’m lucky that he isn’t. I’m so lucky to have a man who understands the club and who will go out and work hard and do whatever it takes to keep us thriving. A man who will take care of me as well as his brothers. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else in the world. Nobody gets this fucked up life like he does. Nobody would ever see me for anything but damaged goods. I feel so dumb letting my dad get in my head even for a second. Hell, Salazar probably got sick of Morgan and gave her back. She’s probably not coming around me because she’s embarrassed.

  Our big king-sized bed is lonely without him. I slide under the covers and breathe into his pillowcase, the smell of his body wash, his sweat, him, all the things that turn me on about him. I hug his pillow to my body, pretending it’s him I’m spooned up next to, and I feel myself getting aroused, wishing he was here to fuck all my sorrows away.

  I eye the box of lingerie Olive and I packed up and brought here in the corner of the room. Maybe I will send him some selfies, I think. I dig through the box and pull out a forest green corset with a matching thong. It has a big bow in the front like a Christmas present. I slide into it and admire the way it makes my pale skin look, the way my red freckles pop against the satin fabric. Brooks is so obsessed with my freckles, it’s adorable. We have spent many days in bed, his finger tracing every single one of them. I joke that if I ever need to go to a dermatologist I’m taking him with me because he knows each of them better than I do.

  My big burly mountain man biker and his fixation with freckles.

  I stand in front of the mirror and get out my phone, trying to find the most flattering angle. I know he loves my body, but I want these pictures to be perfect. I want him to spend the night in the woods thinking about no one but me.

  I pop my chest out, taking a few different shots from different angles, giggling as I swipe through and pick out my favorite. Definitely the one where I’m tugging on the bow. Come unwrap me! I text him along with it.

  I imagine him walking through the front door and tackling me to the bed, pinning me down like he’s done so many times before, taking me like he owns me, fucking me like it’s the last night we’ll spend together ever again. But it never is. I’m not going anywhere.

  I slide back under the covers and set my phone on the nightstand. I turn out the lights and hug his pillow, thinking that tomorrow can’t get here soon enough, hoping my dreams are filled with visions of our future together.

  Fifteen Years Ago

  “Please,” I plead to the man with the gold teeth. “I need to see a doctor. I’m bleeding to death.”

  “Shut up,” he barks, “You’re not bleeding to death. You’re having your fucking period. Which is why you’re locked in the basement. You’re no use to us like this. Now shut up and eat, or don’t. Starve to death for all I care.”

  I know I’m not having my period, even though I’ve prayed every day that it would come. Every day since my father dropped me off here at the Tiger’s clubhouse. Begging doesn’t make them stop. Acting like I enjoy it doesn’t make it stop. And acting like I hate it… well, these guys are sick. They get off on it. It’s better that I just lay here and take it, take whatever they have to dish out and just pray that my dad gets here soon. That the guys in the club swoop in and save me. But if I’m down in the basement, they’re never going to find me.

  I’m not having my period. I’m bleeding to death. Of this I am sure. I don’t want to eat this food, but I’m scared. I’m scared that if I don’t cooperate, this man, “Tiny”, won’t leave and I won’t be alone to plan my escape ever again.

  Or my suicide. That would be the ultimate escape. My father promised me they just needed a few days to infiltrate the club, but even though I haven’t seen sunlight since I’ve gotten here, I know enough to know that it’s been longer than a few days. At first, I tried to count.

  But counting things just makes me sad. Counting how many men have told me I was beautiful before raping me, how many men have told me I’m nothing but an ugly cunt before raping me, how many times I’ve been slapped around or locked in a dark room, or fed drugs that make me feel weird and keep me from being able to even put my hands up in front of my face to protect myself.

  The only glimmer of hope I have is that my father is going to come busting through that door and save me at any minute. I hope it’s just him. I can’t imagine what any of the other guys would say if they saw me like this. I definitely don’t want Brooks to ever see me like this. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at him again. There’s no way he could love a girl like me. I’m messed up for good, I’m afraid.

  “Can I at least have a cigarette?” I ask Tiny.

  “I guess so,” he says, pulling a pack out of his pocket and handing me a few. “Have as many as you want.”

  “Will you come sit with me?” I ask him. “I’m lonely.”

  It’s only a half lie. I am lonely, but that’s not why I want him to come sit with me. I want him to come sit with me because I want him to see what he’s done to me. I want him to have to see every inch of my beaten and bruised body, I want him to have to look me in my blackened eyes. He eyes me up skeptically before sitting down on the cot, sagging beneath its weight. I hold a cigarette to my lips and he fishes a Zippo lighter out of the pocket of his cut, lighting it as my hands tremble.

  Everything hurts, but right now I need to be tough. I breathe in the sweet tobacco and pretend like this is just a casual, normal conversation. My bleeding naked teenage self and this man, pure evil, who bought me and plans on using me until I’m dead.

  “I don’t know anything about you, Tiny. Just that you’re big and strong and you run a pretty dangerous crew. You guys are much tougher than us Misfits,” I say. “Much meaner. I admire that.”

  His voice is loud and gravelly, and he lights up a cigarette, blowin
g the smoke right in my face.

  “Compliments ain’t gonna get you far, girl. You should know that. You’re one of us now. It’s not my fault your daddy is a weak man who will sell out his family for a little bit of money.” I’m glad he still thinks that. I know that any day now, hell any minute now, he’ll find out why my father actually sold me out. So will I. I just have to be strong.

  “Do you have any kids?” I ask him, tapping the cigarette ash onto the concrete floor.

  “That’s none of your business,” he says.

  “So you do.” I try to smile, but the muscles in my face are so sore, that all I can do is bare my teeth. “Do you have a daughter, like me?”

  He stands up, towering over me. I’m certain in this condition, one blow to my head will probably kill me on the spot. My first instinct is to flinch, but I have nothing to lose. If he wants to end it all now for me, at least he will always see my face, brave and beaten in his mind, every time he looks at his daughter.

  “I bet you’d never let this happen to her. You’d probably do whatever you can to keep her safe from men like you. I bet she’s really pretty. You’re a handsome man. Does she have your eyes?” I’m rambling, pulling things out of my ass, puffing down this cigarette between words like it’s going to be my last one ever. It might be. “Does she play with dolls? I have a really big collection. I’m sure if you call my dad he can bring them here for her. They don’t really serve any purpose for me now; it’d be a shame to see them go to waste.”

  He has that “are you serious?” glare on his face, and I can tell he’s angry. I don’t know if he’s angry at me, or angry at himself, but for the first time since I’ve been locked up here, I feel like I’m in charge. He takes his cigarette and presses the lit end to the flesh of my thigh. I scream for a second, tears running down my face.

  “What the heck did you do that for?” I wail. “I’m just being nice. I thought motorcycle clubs were families.”

  “You will never be a part of our family, girl. You’re a whore. Bought and paid for. I could make you disappear right now and nobody would speak your name ever again.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” I say, wincing as I try to stand up, every muscle in my body sore, blood running down my thighs. “You might need me someday.”

  He’s eyeing me in fascination, arms crossed over his chest. Damn, this man is huge, but my adrenaline is high.

  “You guys might be tough and mean, but my crew is fucking twisted. If I know about your daughter, I’m sure they know all about her. I’m sure they know where she goes to school. They probably watch her when she sleeps at night. Maybe they are even watching her right now; I don’t know. But if you think my father is stupid enough to sell me off for a pocket full of cash, then I feel bad for your club, and I definitely feel bad for your daughter. What’s her name again?”

  His arm reaches out for my throat, but I expected that. I can’t blame him. I’m pushing buttons. I don’t even really mind that he’s choking me out, because I know I’m so deep under his skin right now that even if this is it, he’ll never forget my words.

  He lets go and I fall to the ground, gasping for air, my bloodied smile growing bigger by the minute.

  “My men don’t have to pay for virgins. They just take them. They take whatever they want. I will never be your property, no matter what you paid for me. I’m just here to distract you while my guys are doing everything in their power to take everything you have away from you. Everything you worked for. Everything you care for.”

  He swings his boot back like he’s about to kick me and I curl into the fetal position in anticipation, but the strike never hits.

  “Are you distracted?” I yell. “What’s going on upstairs inside your club while you’re down here wasting your time beating me? I know you’re doing your best to pretend like I don’t even kind of remind you of your little girl every time you look me in the eye. I see you cracking.”

  “I should fucking end your life right now, you mouthy bitch,” he barks.

  “Do it,” I plead. “But just know this; I die a Mountain Misfit. And soon enough, your sweet little daughter will live as one. All of you. You will all spend the rest of your lives in fear of my father and our men.”

  He pulls out his pistol and holds it to my head as I lay there on the floor, quivering. I picture Brooks’s face in my mind, go to a happier time in my life, hoping he knows I did this for him.

  All of a sudden, I hear the sound of clapping from the corner of the basement. Like a slow round of applause. As Tiny turns to look, I kick him as hard as I can in the junk. He falls to the floor, his gun flying across the room. A figure emerges from the darkness, but all I can focus on is that pistol. My burned and battered body has to have at least one more jolt of adrenaline left in it.

  It doesn’t matter. I hear the gunfire over my head. I watch as Tiny’s body twitches, and I just lay there on the concrete, not sure if I should feel relieved or if I’m next.

  “Nice work, Esther,” my dad says. “Now get up off that floor. We have to get out of here.”

  33

  I don’t know how long I’ve fallen asleep for, cradling my phone in my hand. I’m alone when I wake and it’s still dark, moonlight shining through the window, casting a glow over my bedroom. Mr. Gingerbread is curled up next to me, a little orange ball of fluff. He’s probably in his glory right now. These days, he usually gets the foot of the bed. I run my fingers through his fur, his body much bonier than it used to be. He’s getting so old and frail.

  I’m not sad that Brooks didn’t text me back, he probably is just sleeping.

  As I begin to drift back off, something doesn’t feel right. I swear I’m hearing footsteps in the living room, heavy boots trying to sound soft. This house is old, and things creak and crack all the time, but as soon as I think I’m hearing it again, it stops. I look over on the nightstand, making sure my pistol is handy and loaded. I’m probably just being paranoid. Mr. Gingerbread would know, at the very least, if someone was trying to get in. He’d alert me.

  The shadow of the moonlight is suddenly cut with a figure looming in my bedroom doorway. I try to stay as still as possible, try to plot my next move. If I make myself really tiny, maybe they will think I’m not here. At least long enough to grab my gun and blink the sleep out of my eyes.

  The bedroom light flicks on and I try and adjust my eyes to what I’m seeing in front of me. He looks taller than he has lately. Meaner. But he’s not moving, just standing there staring at me.

  “What are you doing here?” I try to ask without showing my undeniable fright, pulling the sheets up to my chin, covering my body, as if it will somehow keep me safe from him. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Esther,” he says, calmly, sternly. “Don’t move. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  I want to scream, but I know no one will hear me. I have my phone in my hand, but I know it won’t do any good. Nobody is going to answer my call at this hour, and it’s not like 911 is really effective up here on this mountain. Maybe he’s just drunk. He’s definitely just drunk. He probably is just upset about the conversation we had earlier and he can’t let it rest. I should grab my gun, but I can’t shoot him. He won’t hurt me. He’s my father. It’s just a misunderstanding.

  “Dad, what do you want? I’m trying to sleep,” I say. “Go lay on the couch; we can talk in the morning. I’m not mad at you. Leave me alone.”

  He comes closer to the bed, inching his way across the room carefully, his eyes darting back and forth from my pistol to me.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, Dad,” I say. “But you need to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m here because you’re not well, Esther,” he says, sitting on the bed next to me. “You aren’t acting like yourself.”

  “Dad, come on,” I say. “You’re drunk. Let’s talk about this later.”

  “Your choices are hurting the club, Esther. Your choices are hurting everyone, especially me.”

&n
bsp; I sigh, and pull the blankets tighter, Mr. Gingerbread barely picking up his head to see what’s going on. “Dad, go in the other room so I can get decent and I’ll fix us some coffee.”

  “You’re brainwashed, Esther. You don’t see what’s going on right under your nose. You know why men love you. It’s because they’re trying to get to me, they’re trying to hurt me. Don’t you see that that’s what’s going on here? Don’t you see that Brooks is using you to get to me?”

  “He’s different, and you know that,” I say. “Now get out of my room. Nobody is trying to hurt you, Dad.”

  “You’re not safe, Esther,” he says, and my hands instinctively go to my face when I see what he’s fishing out of his pocket. I don’t know what’s in that syringe, but I know I don’t want it in me. “I have to get you somewhere safe.”

  I kick at him from under the covers, just hoping to startle him long enough to get the upper hand in this situation, but his body overpowers mine. The needle burns in my arm as he stabs it into my muscle carelessly, hard, and soon, I feel nothing.

  “I’m going to take you somewhere safe, Esther,” he says. All I can do is blink, my eyes feeling watery, glazed over. I can see and hear everything going on around me, but my arms and legs won’t move. I don’t know if my heart is even beating. I remind myself to breathe, but it doesn’t do any good. I’m paralyzed.

  He keeps me wrapped in my blankets as he throws me over his shoulder. I try to swing my leg, try to make a fist, but nothing is working. He’s my dad and he won’t hurt me. This is all a misunderstanding, I think, as I succumb to the drugs coursing through my veins and drift off into a state of somewhere where my mind is empty and I am totally numb.

  34

  Brooks:

  Somebody didn’t zip the tent up all the way last night. I wake up in a sweaty pool of condensation. The sun hasn’t quite come up yet, but the birds are chirping away. I look at my phone and smile. This girl. I don’t deserve her. She’s too good for me. I’m sure she’s sleeping still, but I message her back.