Dangerous Lies

Chapter 20

It's been a long time and I'm sorry about that. this is a story that takes a lot of emotion and i haven't had enough time to put it all down.

A dear teacher, friend of mine passed away recently. He was 38 years old and it was sudden. He was such a major part of our school, things have been difficult to stomach. Most of us still haven't let it sink in yet. but my thoughts go out to his family!

This is dedication to someone who saved my life when i needed a friend more than a teacher, Mr. Ethan Misner. I will miss you greatly. Thank you for all you've done for me!

_THE VERY END HAS BEEN CHANGED VERY SLIGHTLY__

Silently, I run a finger across my tattoo.

“I want it to say Free Bird.”

His eyes meet mine, shining with curiosity and uneasiness. “Why?”

I smile is faint and filled with emotion, “because I'll never be free of the guilt or free of the memories.”

The memory floats back to me and I want to crawl into a hole where there is no pain, no anger, no memories. I just want to be this thing that no one knows, no one wants to harm, hasn’t been hurt. But I know that will never happen. I do know that I'll die fighting until my body can't take another breath and I'm seconds away from certain death.

I feel trapped. All my worst memories are fresh again. I can't sleep. I sit in the corner and hug myself, just waiting for things to get worse, for something to fall away, leaving me helpless once again. My body hurts all over. I just want to disappear into the void of nothing.

I'm being released but with conditions. I am to go to counselling for abused women. I won't go, but they don’t need to know that. I signed the papers and its time I go.

Stumbling with my crutches, I make it out the door and just freeze, terror coursing through my veins like electricity. Rows of motorcycles and big SUVs sit idling in the parking lot. Each and every one of them wearing Romero Red. My hands are shaking again. What are they going to do? Take me and keep me locked up? Are they going to tell me it is for my protection?

If I could run, I would have. Ryder walked over and picked me up and Monica, who slid off the back of a bike, jogs up to grab my crutches and holds my hand. “Everything is going to work out, sweetie. I promise.” I don’t believe her but I don’t say anything. I'm too weak to go anywhere. I'm going to die when they find me. I just know it.

“let’s get her in the car.” Jace is there, sitting in the passenger seat, looking grim and worn down. Ricky is in the driver’s seat looking tight lipped and sad. In the back seat, Jenny, Shawn and Rina sit as still and quiet as I’ve ever seen them. Ryder sets me in the middle seats and sits down beside me. As soon as Ryder had my belt clipped into place—and he actually did that for me, like I'm some helpless baby—Ricky stepped on the gas and the convoys of Romero members peeled out of the parking lot. They drove for about an hour before we stopped at a huge compound—there were no other words for this place. There were multiple garages and a few huge warehouse buildings that seemed in decent shape.

The inside was slightly dirty but all in all, it wasn’t bad as far as biker compounds go. No whores hung around desperately and the serious girlfriends seemed to be enjoying a little time together on the couches watching television. They spared us only a glance. The warehouse had walls up and stares leading up to what seemed like bedrooms, the way some of the bikers came in and pulled them in that direction, it seems like an okay deduction. But I wasn’t led to the couches or the rooms. They pulled me to a large room that had a boardroom feel to it. Ryder’s father was there with a few other men I didn’t know. The girls with us left immediately and the men took a seat after Ryder forced me into one.

The vibe in the room had my hair on end, my heart pounding, my palms sweating and I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I just wanted the floor to swallow me up and let me disappear. I just wanted to die. I wanted to hate these people.

It felt like hours before anyone spoke, like all their eyes bore down on me, emotionless faces making my panic rise even more. Richard’s eyes raked over my injuries but zeroed in on the bandages still on my wrists from my most recent attempt. His mask slips just enough for the briefest of seconds but I still see it; his horror, his sadness.

Self consciously, I tug my sleeves down farther. But that only drew more attention. I think it’s worse having them see my self-inflicted wounds than having them stare at what the accident had caused. Seeing the grim, purse of the men’s eyes and the way my brother just looks…broken, beaten down…maybe even a bit lost.

I hate to admit it, but it gave me a bit of pleasure seeing him hurting for this but the rest of me wanted to escape into oblivion. Ryder sits beside me and his father, at the head of the table, beside him, Ricky and Jace across from me. Jake sits beside me and a few others seated along the table and at the other head, an older man who looked like Richard but way older. All the men had that rough, tough strength that just clung to them, even the old man.

I hugged my arms around myself, feeling so alone in a room so full, feeling so cold and hollow. I just wanted to cry…to break, to scream or shout! Anything, to get out these emotions that seem to suffocate me. My voice cracks when I speak, “I don’t want to be here.” My voice is weak, scared, haunted.

Jace’s eyes meet mine, “you’re not going anywhere, Lily. We’re going to take care of everything.” His voice was gentle, as if to try to soothe me. As if he had a right to look me in the eyes.

Anger fills my stomach and I meet his eyes. “this all started with you!” I spat, “it was your fault!”

Richard’s fist clenches and slams down on the table. “We need you to tell us as much as you can.” His voice is gruff and firm.

“Who did you kill, lily?” Jace asks again, his voice pained and his eyes down cast.

I laugh so brokenly some of them cringe. “You know who, Jace. You know.” His eyes flare and his body tenses. “It’s your fault. I remember feeling like I deserved it.” He flinches and the rest of them look alarmed and shocked. “I remember the nurses telling me you were gone! They told me you were dead! Shawn was gone and it was my fault you were gone! I remember beating myself up, torturing myself thinking it was my fault you were dead but here you are.”

His voice is hoarse, “here I am.” He won't look at me.

“Here you are. I had nowhere to go! They knew where to find me. I had nowhere to hide. Nothing to stop them because I didn’t know anything! They did things to me—”my yelling chocked off as my throat closed on me. I couldn’t breathe. The pain was too much. I just wanted to self-destruct. I wanted to take the inner torture and release it somehow. A chocked scream left my throat. I sounded like a dying animal. Weakly, I tell them, “I needed your help. God, I needed it so bad. They tore me up but they didn’t stop.” My body was shaking so bad and my nails were digging furiously into my skin and I felt the blood well up. “They took everything from me!” I slam my blood covered fingers on the table with a screech of rage. “I’d wished they’d killed me! This is never going to end! Never!”