I thought he would take me straight home when we got into his car, but when we turned toward the interstate, I knew that was never his intention to begin with. My panic rose, curling like a serpent in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know why that was my immediate reaction to his change of plans, but I had a feeling something wasn’t right. About him. About tonight. About everything. Gone was his polished exterior and good breeding, and in its place was a man vibrating with rage, capable of extreme violence.
What happened next can only be described as the worst night of my life.
Oliver pulled the car off the interstate and onto a service road. The tires spun on the gravel shoulder, throwing up dust and rocks in their wake. I had no idea what he had planned, but I knew I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Never. Oliver got out of the car, coming around to my door and dragging me out behind him.
It’s funny, but in stressful situations, you tend to focus on the most ridiculous things. Like in this case; Oliver remembering to lock the car. I didn’t know where we were, but I hadn’t seen another car for over fifteen minutes so I highly doubted anyone was going to steal his prized possession.
I struggled to free myself from the punishing grip he had on my wrist, twisting, turning, squirming to get away from him, but all that served to do was make him clamp his hand down harder. We had walked for at least five minutes before he stopped at a corpse of trees that sheltered us from view if anyone was to pass down the road we were parked on. Pushing my back against one, Oliver tore the front of my dress, groped, pinched, and abused my tender flesh. I fought, pushed, kicked, tried to bite him, none of it had an effect on him, though. He was too far gone. Unreachable.
Screaming and begging wouldn’t work, I tried. Crying, pleading for him to stop only made him angrier. Every whimper made him harder, his erection pushing into my hip as he ripped at my remaining bra and panties. By the time he had me completely naked, my skin red and bruising from the rough possession of his hands, I had screamed my throat raw. Pitiful, hoarse no’s fell from my lips when he thrust inside me for the first time, tearing through my innocence.
There was nothing gentle about the way Oliver treated me that night. He didn’t try to kiss me, something I was glad of. I didn’t want my first kiss to be with a man who was brutalizing me. The sad thought that at least I could have that first with someone was the only thing keeping me sane as the blood trickled down the inside of my thighs. Not even his hands showed any sign of gentling as he took something that wasn’t his to have. Squeezing, pawing, hard, unforgiving hands came down on my body; striking, slapping, reddening the skin as the blood rushed to the surface. Capillaries were broken, welts were left, and hand-sized bruises were evident before he pulled himself free of me.
The burning agony every plunge of his erection made inside of me brought tears to my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. Not one. The pain in my heart was worse. My soul cried out for everything I had lost, was losing, but there was no one to answer its call. I wouldn’t let him think he had broken me. Damaged me beyond repair, though. I wouldn’t give him that power. All I could think of as he tore through my tender flesh was; I hope he finishes fast. I prayed it would all be over as quickly as his temper had surged. But I wasn’t that lucky.
I closed my mind down, shut it off so that I wouldn’t have to accept the memories remembering would bring later. I couldn’t hear his grunts and groans anymore. The smell of his sweat mixed with my blood and tears had disappeared. My eyes were sightless to his body plundering mine violently, seeing only the beauty of the stars overhead. Feeling him moving over me, inside me wasn’t an option anymore, I reached my hands out to caress the moss covering the tree roots instead.
I don’t know if it was minutes or hours, but by the time I was barely coherent anymore, Oliver drove into me one last time groaning his release as he came inside of me. I didn’t think about it then, I couldn’t, but I knew I would have to get myself tested for diseases and pregnancy. I only hoped that this act of cruelty didn’t create a life because if it had, I knew I couldn’t keep it. I wasn’t that strong. A reminder of the terror I’d lived through wasn’t something I would be able to bear. This was bad enough. But how I would survive having to abort a baby, my baby, a piece of me regardless of how it was conceived eluded me.
Like I said, that night something happened to me. Something horrific. Something humiliating. But also something powerful. Something that changed my life forever. When Oliver was done, he pulled out of me, tucked his pathetic excuse for a penis back into his pants, and turned to leave me there; alone, naked, and debased.
Before he walked away, Oliver looked over his shoulder and said,
“You’re so fucking weak I can’t stand to look at you.” Sneering he spat, “Strong women don’t snivel and beg like you did, bitch. You deserved what you got. Girls like you aren’t useful for anything other than a fast, hard fuck anyway.”
It might not be healthy, but Oliver’s words struck a chord with me. Not because I believed him, or that any other woman in my position wouldn’t have pleaded for their rapist to stop, but because I knew then that I had to prove him wrong. I needed to show that I could be strong. That I was resilient. That I would survive this and come out the other side a changed woman. A better woman. I would never attribute that to him, but I could go as far as to say; if it weren't for that night, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t be who I am now.
Left without a way to get home, no money, and no way to call for help, I bundled myself up in my ruined dress as best I could and walked the however far it was to the interstate before a long-haul truck driver stopped to help me.
Kevin, I later learned his name was, took one look at my appearance and asked me if I wanted to be taken to the closest hospital, I didn’t. I didn’t want to go home either, but I knew I didn’t have a choice. I needed to pack my things, get the cash I had hidden in my room along with the credit card my parents gave me for emergencies and get out before anyone knew something was wrong. I had no idea how, Oliver would spin this, but I knew it wouldn’t work out in my favor.
I told Kevin to drop me a few blocks from my parents help, thanking him when he pulled his truck to a stop.
“Thank you. Thank you so much for stopping.”
Staring at my face, scrutinizing me, he offered,
“Don’t have to drop my delivery till late tomorrow night, Sweetheart. I’ve got time between now and then to take a break, and I think I’m gonna take that right here. I’m headed to L.A., long way from Tennessee. A lot of distance between here and there if you catch my meaning.”
“Um, okay,” I agreed, my voice wavering as shivers racked my body.
“Not sure you’re understanding me, darlin’,” his pack-a-day smokers voice rasps. “Long trip with no company. It’s nice to have someone to ride along sometimes. My daughter used to before she went off to college, but she’s too busy with all those classes and her job at some coffee shop on campus. Rebecca’s a good girl, but she can’t get away to ride along with her old man much.”
I didn’t know why he was telling me this, it didn’t matter either. I liked hearing him talk, I could have listened to the calm, reassuring cadence of his voice for hours.
“That’s good she’s doing well for herself,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
“What I’m trying to say is; you got a short walk home, shouldn’t take you more than a few minutes, maybe half an hour to get a bag together with whatever things it is you girls need, and another few minutes to make it back. I’ve got an hour break coming to me, and this is as good a spot as any to rest my eyes for a bit. I think I’m just gonna wait here, see if a lovely, sad young lady I found wandering around beside the highways wants a lift anywhere. If she does, excellent, god company for me,” he says with a shrug. “If she doesn’t, I fucking pray she makes the bastard who hurt her pay and I wish her all the luck in the world wherever she ends up.”
Kevin winks at me, leaving the decisi
on in my hands as I jump down out of the truck, shutting the door behind me. I hadn’t made up my mind what I was going to do by the time I made it through the servant’s entrance at the back of our house. I hadn’t decided as I shoved all of the things that meant the most to me in a duffle and took a shower to wash, Oliver’s filth off me either. Nor did I have a clear idea of what I was going to do as I slipped my boots on, wrapped myself in a knitted, over-sized sweatshirt and stole away into the night. It wasn’t until I was standing at the passenger’s side of Kevin’s truck, my duffle in hand, and tears streaming down my face that I knew what I had to do.
Kevin didn’t say anything, not then, not until hours had passed. He just smiled warmly, patted my shoulder, and stored my bag in the sleeping cabin of his truck. I was glad for the time to think, I needed to work out what I was going to do, where I was going to go. I knew I would have to make a stop soon to withdraw money, my parents would realize I was gone given enough time, and I didn’t want to be caught without enough money to survive until I could find a job.
As fate would have it, I hadn’t needed to worry about any of that. Kevin’s daughter, Rebecca lived off campus in a cozy two-bed apartment, and she just happened to be looking for a roommate. The fact the coffee shop she worked in was hiring was another in a long line of things I found out later that, Kevin had arranged while I dozed fitfully during our drive. He had sorted a place for me to live, a job, organized for Rebecca to order a bed and have it delivered before I arrived, and got the number for a doctor and counselor for me so that I would have someone to talk to if I ever needed it. He was my savior.
I didn’t use the phone number for the therapist for months after arriving in L.A. It wasn’t until Rebecca confronted me one morning before work, and said that if I didn’t make the call today, she’d be telling Kevin about my nightmare the next time he called.
I’d been living with her for almost a year at this point, and she was the best and probably only real friend I had ever had. Her Dad, Kevin, the closest thing to a father to me. It was time, I knew that. It was time to talk to someone and exercise the demons waiting for me when I closed my eyes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t scared shitless. I was petrified.
What if when I started talking about it, everything got worse? What if the barriers I’d created in my mind to stave off the images broke, and I couldn’t survive the deluge? I couldn’t afford for the night terrors to get worse, they were bad enough already. Most nights I got less than four hours sleep as it was. What if recounting my waking nightmare fractured the small amount of control I had left over myself? All these questions and more swirled through my brain, causing an overwhelming feeling of impending doom to settle deep and take root.
I still have those days occasionally. The days where I desperately want to crawl back under my covers and hide until the world makes sense again. Days where I don’t think I’ll ever be able to go to sleep at night without my dreams being filled with fear and pain. But I didn’t let any of that stop me from making the first step to healing. Rebecca came with me, holding my hand through the whole sick, sordid tale, crying for me when it was done. She dried my tears, hugged me tightly, and promised to be with me every step of the way. And she had been. Every single one.
Speaking of,
“Hey, Bec. What’s up?” I ask answering her call.
“Nothing much, hooker,” she sings happily. “I was just sitting here watching re-runs of, Sons of Anarchy and wondering if you’ve died and gone to biker heaven yet?”
I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculous question, because honestly, I’ve never met another woman more obsessed with the biker way of life than, Bec. Her dream man is clad in leather, chains, piercings, tattoos, and rides a motorcycle. Since Bec hasn’t found said man yet, apparently, she’s going to vicariously live through me.
“I’m not there yet, honey. An hour or two tops, and I should be able to tell you if your ideal man is walking around downtown shirtless and glistening.”
“I want pictures. Fuck telling me about it, woman, I want visual proof,” she says sighing dramatically. “I need new material for my fantasy bank, and you’re tasked with providing them.”
“Why me?” Because just, no. I really don’t want to think any photos I send her are going to be used so that she can get herself off. There are some things you never need to know about your best friend, and how she flicks the bean is one of them.
Snapping her fingers close to the mouthpiece, Bec responds with,
“Because you’re the one who decided to move to the middle of nowhere to live with the sexy hunks of man meat, that’s why. You’re going to have honest to God, eye-gasm inducing specimens of deliciousness close enough to touch. It’s only fair you take plenty photos for me to drool over.”
I flick my blinker on to change lanes, pulling into the last gas station before reaching, Furnace.
“Ah, no,” I hedge. “But why can’t you just wait until you get here? It’s only a month, Bec. Surely you can wait to refill your rub bank until then.”
“Nope, sorry. Not gonna happen. One stinking photo, Beth. That’s all I’m asking for. Not a kidney. Not part of your liver. Just a damn photo,” Bec demands.
When I told Bec I was moving to Furnace to help Jonas with the shop, she ran a gamut of emotions before settling on defiance. My best friend is opinionated, strong, fiery, and determined when she wants to be, and this was one of those times. Bec refused to let me go without her, but she couldn’t leave her job on short notice like I have.
There’s one way to distract Bec, and while I hate doing it, it’s everyone for themselves sometimes.
“How about when I see Jonas in an hour or so I take a picture of him and send it to you. He’s tall, he’s sexy and he rides a bike, does that work for you?”
“You’re a shitty friend sometimes. You know that right?” She hisses.
“And you love me anyway. Now, I’ve got to get back on the road but I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”
“You better,” she replies disconnecting.
I don’t know what went on with her and Jonas the last time he came to visit, but whatever it was all I can say is; it’s going to be a hell of a lot of fun to watch the sparks fly when she gets here.
CHAPTER SIX
~ Boss ~
Women; the most dangerous creatures on the planet
- A fact of life
There aren’t many things I haven’t done in my lifetime. Fighting, fucking, drinking, lines of blow, and the occasional joint was par for the course. I’d go as far as to say, until five or so years ago, they were part of my usual daily routine.
The way I chose to waste my life, getting high and fucking everything that moved were the only similarities between my Dad and me. Up until the day he died, Hog spent his days pickling his liver, banging whores, and smoking crack. I’d watched him do lines of blow off club whores naked bodies before I could label the body parts I was seeing. Watching him fall down drunk off his ass was a daily ritual by the time I was four. Sex wasn’t a myth to me, seeing as by the age of ten I’d seen Daddy dearest fuck women in every conceivable way and hole.
There were times, when I was still working out what kind of man I’d be when I grew up that I’d ask myself; what chance did I have of turning into a half decent man if that was who I had to look up to? At the same time, Emily reminded me over and over again that my excuses would only hold up for so long. I couldn’t blame the man I refused to acknowledge raised me for the choices I made. She was right too. That excuse wore thin quickly, and instead of falling into the same rabbit hole as, Hog, I wanted to be a different man. A better one.
After sixteen years – I began when I was eighteen and was just starting out as a prospect – of snorting coke and drowning myself in alcohol and pussy, I decided to cut all of that shit out of my life. I made myself a promise that I wouldn’t end up a degenerate like my father. If I’m honest, making the change hadn’t been as hard as I thought it would be. Actual
ly, in hindsight, it was kind of fucking sad I hadn’t done it years earlier if it was that easy to be done with everything that was slowly killing me.
In the beginning, I thought I’d miss the parties, the drugs, the nameless, faceless women, but I hadn’t. In fact, I found that I finally saw it all for what it really was; pathetic.
Bluntly put, I’ve had more pussy than I have months in my life. I’d worn that number as a badge of honor. But now, not so much. If I’m honest, it makes me feel sick now when I think about the number of women I’ve fucked. Most of whose names I can’t remember or didn’t know to begin with. I fucked them in my bed, their beds, the alley behind the bar in town, at the clubhouse, anywhere and everywhere, it hadn’t mattered. As long as I was getting off, it didn’t matter to me where we were.
That’s the thing about club whores, they are exactly that; whores. They are there to service the brothers, see to their needs. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not assholes, we don’t hurt women, and we don’t degrade them either. These women are here because they want to be, not because they’re forced to be. When they choose to play this role they are given the clubs protection, we take care of their expenses, and they’re given rooms at the clubhouse in return for those services. They’ve chosen to give their bodies to any of the brothers who ask for it, sometimes fucking two or three of them at once.
Vengeance MC Box Set - Volume 1: Call Me...Vengeance ~ Fury ~ Jonas Page 6
