Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3) Page 3

  “Nothing.”

  Everything.

  I was barely into double digits when I got my first period. Scared the shit out of me, because nobody had explained how a woman’s body works. I came to the club a child, and never went to public school; Apex opted to homeschool me because of my obvious behavior problems after he picked me off the street, and growing up around a rough bunch like this? No surprise that nobody gave me “the talk.”

  So I asked the only people I thought would understand what was happening: the women who were always around—the whores. Little did I know that the official start to my womanhood would mean a change in attitude from them toward me. A couple of the girls—Ramona included—decided that if I’d hit that stage in puberty, then I better start behaving like the rest of the women around the club who weren’t promised to anyone. I needed to pay my rent with my legs wide and my opinions to myself.

  And when King put a stop to it by informing Apex what the girls were up to, well, that didn’t score me any brownie points at all.

  “You stop in to see your niece today?” I ask.

  Callum nods, swiveling on his stool to watch a few of the younger members carry trestle tables in for the buffet they’ll put out later. “Thought I might as well see how my sister’s doin’, considering none of us will probably get a break for the next while.”

  “It’s a big meeting tomorrow, right?”

  “Yep. Cali, Fort Worth, and us. King’s brought the whole club together.”

  “What about the satellite chapters?” Even though the Fallen Aces only has three clubhouses, there are at least a dozen smaller towns that operate informal get-togethers once a month between a handful of members.

  “On standby. It’s only officers at this stage.” He turns to face me, leaning both elbows on the counter. “Why the curiosity?”

  “I saw Sawyer upstairs when I was sorting out his room.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He looks pretty messed up.”

  Callum nods, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah. Hooch said he barely made it out of that shithole alive.”

  “Why did he come back to us?” I ask, setting the dishcloth in my hand down. “I mean, the Aces traded him back there, so why would he come back to the people who betrayed him?”

  “He betrayed himself,” Callum answers sternly. “We did what was best for the club as a whole, and he knows that.”

  “What now, then?”

  He shrugs. “I guess we find out tomorrow.”

  I nod, picking up the cloth and going back to wiping down the surfaces. It baffles me how a man who’s brought so much strife on this club can be accepted back inside our walls so easily. If it weren’t for him, the Aces probably wouldn’t be on Carlos’ radar. At least not to this extent.

  Why is it we can have the literal spawn of the devil walking our halls, and everybody loves him without question? He’s a legend among the young members, a trophy for the whores, and a problem the officers seem to tolerate.

  And yet, here I am, minding my own business and not hurting a soul, and I get mocked, ridiculed, and cast out by the majority of the club members.

  Why?

  What the fuck is it about him that lets him literally get away with murder, while I can’t even shed a tear without being questioned for it?

  I want nothing more than to pick Sawyer’s brain and find that piece that makes him acceptable to others so I can mirror it, have it too. He’s psychotic, unhinged, and a social outcast. And yet he appears happy. He’s comfortable in his ill-fitting skin, relaxed in his rocky ride. I want that.

  Knowing I’m broken isn’t enough. I want to love that I’m broken.

  I want him to tell me how he does it. Holding on to the hope he has the answer is the only thing that keeps me going some days; the thought there is an end to my self-loathing and misery.

  “You need anything?” our newest member to be patched in—Dog—asks as he slides to a stop beside Callum. “I’ve got to do a meat run for Ramona, so I’m heading out now.”

  Of course. I glance over at her as she laughs with an ol’ lady about something—always the apple of everyone’s eye.

  “Let it go,” Callum murmurs under his breath.

  I shoot him daggers, and smile at Dog. “Let me check.”

  King asked me all those years ago when he saw what was going on who had been pressuring me to sleep with the men. I should have called Ramona out, named her for the bully she was, but the naïve little girl I was wanted nothing more than to be loved and accepted by everyone, so I kept quiet, hoping it would make her like me.

  Did anything but. And let’s just say I’m not so kind anymore.

  “Can you get a few cases of Bud,” I ask Dog, “and probably another half dozen bottles of Jack?” If Sawyer’s in the mood to drink, he’ll clean up an extra two himself.

  “Sure thing.” He raps his knuckles on the bar and gives me a smile before heading off.

  I like the guy. He’s one of the few who doesn’t treat me as a freak. Yeah, he’s joined in taking the mickey out of me on more than one occasion, but he’s never asked me to do anything I didn’t want to. He’s a good sort—even if he does work his way through the property girls like they’re going to expire at the end of the month.

  “Cheers for the drink,” Callum says, setting the empty tumbler down on my side of the bar. He hesitates, looking me square in the eye.

  I don’t like it.

  “If you need help when it gets busy, round up Dog for a hand, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He places his palm to the bar and gives me a tight-lipped smile before turning away and heading out the back. Ramona watches the whole interaction from across the common room, sweeping over as soon as I’m alone.

  “Abbey,” she word-vomits. “Do you need help getting organized?”

  She’s not asking to be kind.

  “No, thank you,” I answer with a tight jaw. “I’ve got this under control.”

  “You better,” she says with narrowed eyes. “We don’t need you running off in tears because somebody spilled their drink, now, do we?”

  “As if that’d happen,” I murmur. Although now she mentions it, the irrational fear that I might snap right when it’s busiest takes hold and squeezes my lungs.

  “Just remember, the men won’t be so patient with you if they run out of alcohol. Bad things can happen fast when everyone’s distracted at a gathering like this. Especially to a girl who’s teased them for far too long being the only one who’s off-limits.” She makes a show of looking me up and down, her nose wrinkled.

  “Of course. You would know what happens to girls who tease, wouldn’t you?” I say with a raised eyebrow, hinting at her past being used and abused as a club whore.

  She stares me down, and sighs. “What happens when King runs out of things for you to do, Abbey? Then what? You haven’t got a proper education. You sure as hell don’t have any job skills.” Her smug smirk grows. “Maybe you should give in. Accept it. If you want to stay here, then your future is lying on your back, taking what you’re given. Not as though anyone would want you as an ol’ lady, now, is it?”

  I lean both elbows on the bar and get in close. “Believe it or not, I have skills that they need around here. If something happened to Fingers, who do you think would be able to fix and maintain their bikes? Huh? Not all of us have to rely on the fact we’re a woman to be of any use to the club.”

  “You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, don’t you,” she sneers. “You might have King wrapped around your crazy little finger, but the rest of us aren’t so blind. We see your pathetic act for what it is.” She steps away, hesitating and turning to say over her shoulder, “Don’t fuck things up tonight. It’s important to King that everything runs smoothly so the men are in the right frame of mind for their meeting tomorrow.”

  “Isn’t me you’ve got to worry about causing trouble tonight.”

  She storms off to point out where the trestle
tables need to be set up, ripping into some poor prospect when he starts to unfold one in the wrong spot.

  I look down at where my palms rest on the top of the bar, hands shaking. She’s got no fucking idea what goes on behind closed doors. An act. As though I’d put myself through this hell all in the name of keeping a spot in a fucking MC clubhouse.

  The sooner tonight is over and she fucks off back to the hole she crawled out of, the better.

  FIVE

  Sawyer

  “Why’s she still here?”

  King regards my question, swirling his whiskey in his tumbler. “Why not?”

  “She’s legal age now, right?” I say. “You’re not blind; you can see what trouble she’ll cause if she’s kept off-limits.”

  “What do you propose? I make it open season for those fuckers out there?”

  “That’s not what I’m sayin’,” I level. “But seriously, brother. Take a look at the woman. She’s got a fit little body she keeps nice and tight, a round butt that’s askin’ for a whippin’, and a fuckin’ face that could launch a thousand ships. She puts half them centerfolds Fingers has stuck up in the garage to shame.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” King grinds out, “because I don’t look at her like that.”

  “Any man with blood in his veins can see it, whether he wants a piece or not. She’s goin’ to cause problems if you keep her here.”

  “Then we’ll deal with it,” he states. “Just like we have with you. Abbey’s family. Would you kick your family out because you couldn’t trust the people who were guests in your home?”

  Fair point.

  “Still think you’re setting yourself up for trouble, is all.”

  Only if you’re around . . . .

  King places his tumbler down and swivels in the chair to lean his elbows on the desk. “What’s it to you anyway?”

  Yes . . . do tell . . . .

  “Just pointin’ out issues where I see ’em.”

  “Bullshit. You got a thing for her? You goin’ to be the trouble you’re talkin’ about?”

  “No.”

  Yes.

  “Then let it go.” He studies me a moment from the corner of his eye, taking a mouthful of drink. “What else is the problem?”

  My fingers walk a path up and down the side of my boot propped on the opposite knee. “I can’t trust a few of the guys not to take tonight as an opportunity for revenge.”

  He nods, seeming to think it over. “I’ll talk to them.”

  “You think that’ll be enough?”

  He shrugs. “I hope so, but I can see why you’re worried.”

  “You traded me back to the old man knowin’ it might have meant death for me.”

  “Yeah, we did. But we also traded you back knowing that whatever fate had in store for you would be fair punishment. And apparently, fate smiles down on you.”

  I chuckle, fingering the arm of my chair. “You believe that hocus-pocus shit?”

  “Had too many unexplained close calls to think otherwise.”

  Maybe he’s right? Maybe I do have a guardian angel? Only one person I could think of who’d care enough to see me saved.

  She proved that . . . .

  Yeah, she did. God, I miss her.

  “You all right?” King asks.

  “Peachy, brother.” I push out of his office chair, shoving memories of my mother back in the box they belong in. “We done here?”

  “For now.” He stands also. “I’ve got some business to sort out off-site, so if you want to use my office to talk to Ramona like we discussed, you’re welcome to.”

  “Thanks.”

  He halts me as I turn to leave. “Sawyer.”

  “Yeah?”

  King rounds the desk, and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back. But I won’t lie, you’ve got a fuckin’ uphill battle ahead of you if you want to prove redemption.”

  “I know that.”

  “But I also want you to realize that you’ve got a chance at it. There’s a good guy in here”—he prods my chest—“when you don’t let your head take over.”

  Well, he’s no fun . . . .

  “All I can do is try, right?”

  “Right.” He gives me a slap on the back of the shoulder. “Now go do whatever the fuck it is you do to work out your tension, because you’re strung tight as a wire at the moment and I don’t need you breakin’ tonight.”

  He takes his leave first, heading across the common room to the garage as I step out of his office and look around. Grates for the meat are being placed over the fire pits out the back, and a couple of prospects are unfolding tables from where they’re stacked against the wall. Ramona backs into the kitchen, an armful of bags that look like they contain disposable plates stealing her focus, which means she doesn’t spot me. I cross to the bar and take a seat on one of the vacant stools.

  “Give it to me straight.”

  Abbey falters, coming close to dropping the bottle in her hands before she carefully sets it on a shelf. “You’re an asshole who keeps startling the hell out of me.”

  I stare at her back as she refuses to face me, surprised the earlier stammer has gone.

  She slowly turns, catches me looking, and frowns. “What? You said to give it to you straight.”

  “Not so scared now, mouse?”

  Her gaze drops, flicks back to mine, and then drops again. “Still nervous,” she admits, “but I’m also fucking livid at the moment, and when I’m angry there’s not as much room for being worried.”

  “Worried about what?”

  “Everything.”

  The heartache in her whispered answer even has my devil setting his drink aside to lean a little closer.

  “Someone pickin’ on you?”

  Her bitter laugh catches me off guard as she slides my straight whiskey over.

  “Apart from me,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  She drops her chin, staring at the counter where her hands fidget with the droplets of moisture left behind.

  “Take that as a yes?”

  Her head lifts as she sighs. “It wouldn’t be a day in this place if I wasn’t being ridiculed or bullied one way or another.”

  Abbey’s gaze holds mine, and for the first time since I left Dana bleeding out on the old man’s lawn, I wilt under the truth in her words. I picked on her. I ridiculed her.

  You can’t help what you are . . . .

  Maybe not. But I can aim for what I want to be. And an asshole that exploits people’s weaknesses isn’t it.

  Not your fault she has so many . . . .

  Probably not hers either.

  “Yeah, just what I thought,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s below you to even consider apologizing to a weirdo like me.”

  She tries to leave, heading for the far end of the bar. I narrowly avoid spilling my drink as I launch across the counter and grab her wrist. “Wait.”

  Wrong move . . . .

  You don’t say.

  She squeals like a stuck pig and folds in on herself, slapping my hand away. “Stop fucking touching me!”

  Game on.

  I let go, and her eyes go wide as I step around the stool and join her on the far side of the bar. “Let’s get something straight,” I say, crowding her against the counter. “Ain’t no bitch around here who’s been able to tell me what to do, and that isn’t about to change now.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is,” I reply, reaching for her face.

  She just needs someone to show her that the right attention isn’t something to be feared.

  And that’s you . . .?

  Abbey slams my hand down with the kind of force I wouldn’t have thought her capable of. “Touch me again,” she dares. “Touch me and see what I do when I get really uncomfortable.”

  Oh, I’ve heard what she does. Seen the aftermath. “I already know, Abbey-girl, and you don’t scare me one bit.”

  “Back up. Please.”

  “Or?”

&nbs
p; She closes her eyes, swallowing hard. “I can’t breathe very well.”

  “I have that effect on some people,” I tease.

  “I’m serious,” she whispers. “I need—”

  Oh, my . . . .

  Her eyes roll back and she crumples at my feet like a damn accordion. Shit. She wasn’t kidding. I give her a nudge with my boot, but the girl’s out cold.

  Well, well . . . the things we could do . . . .

  Fuck off, asshole. Past me might have taken advantage of this, but the new me is trying to ignore the fact I could touch her, photograph the evidence, and use it to fuck with her when she wakes up.

  I look around the common room—equal parts for help and to see if anyone noticed—but the young guys from earlier have disappeared, and Ramona’s still in the kitchen, at a guess.

  Just a little bit . . . she won’t know . . . .

  Maybe not, but I will. I’ll know.

  She doesn’t stir as I pick her up and hold her to my chest. Do I put her over on one of the sofas? What if she stays out to it and some of the assholes from down south roll in? Maybe King’s lot has clear ethics, but I know Hooch’s boys can get a bit dubious about consent.

  Don’t do it . . . .

  What choice do I have? I head for the stairs, hoisting Abbey a little higher so she’s not weighing so heavily on one of the stitched gashes on my forearm. I reach the head of the stairs just as the damn bitch decides to come out of her sleep, limbs and all.

  “What the hell?” she cries, tumbling to the floor as I fail to keep a grip on her flailing arms and legs.

  “You passed out.”

  “So you thought you’d just pick me up and do what?” Angry tears crest her cheeks.

  “Put you in my bed, if you must know.”

  “Oh my God,” she moans. “You fucking pig!”

  “Not like that.” I run a palm over my face, exasperated. “I meant to keep you out of the way.”

  “Because I was an embarrassment?” She nods bitterly. “I get it. Silly Abbey can’t keep her shit together.” The tears fall harder.

  Dear Lord, make it stop . . . .

  “Don’t cry,” I say. “I can’t handle bitches when they cry.”

  Her face is a pure storm as she stands and straightens her skintight clothes. “So sorry to inconvenience you.”