Bloody Screams | Hellion MC #1 ✔️ [GALATEA]

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B A N S H E E

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Everyone was already off their sanity right when I got back. Some were playing pool, shouting at their bets, people who were at the bar were now dancing to the loud music that somebody played, women were getting dragged towards upstairs to different rooms to get their privacy, and some that were dancing were grinding their dicks towards the assess of the women.

I just rolled my eyes and took a seat, never bothering to look for Death because I knew all too well that he was one of the fuckers that went into a room to get their dick sucked. Women and men here are whores, it was obvious. Only a handful of those weren't and that included me and Catatonic who was just dancing on top of the bar, the beer in her hands swinging all over, almost spilling at me at one point.

"Hey, babe!" She yelled, jumping down to sit beside me. "How did it go with the Pres?"

I just shrugged. I didn't even want to think about that fucking prick. Granted, he was the most handsome one in my eyes but damn, his asshole personality was just like his father. If he hadn't brought me up to his room, I wouldn't have noticed King's cut hanging by the coat rack right beside his cabinet. Cuts that belonged to the dead, stay with the dead. Unless they're family.

There was no doubt in my mind that he got the position because his father wanted him to. The thought just made me roll my eyes. Of course, he didn't want a woman to rule over the club. Granted, there was only two women who had the cut but I knew damn well that I, at least, deserved a shot fighting for that position.

Well, you weren't here. You ran away, remember? I just sighed. Yes, I did run away and missed the shot of actually being the first female to run this club. I was already the first one to get the cut, why not get the position that I deserved, right?

Wrong. Men with their alpha male thinking always gets in the way.

Why can't I even just hate the man, though? He was acting like an asshole just like his father. Maybe it's because of his good looks. I couldn't even think properly when he crossed his arms. Those biceps of his were just bulging out of the cut and his tight shirt. I almost—almost—made the mistake of stepping closer and undressing him to find out if he had more tattoos and... among other things.

Fuck. I can't go thinking like that. One week. That's all I got before I'm needed to go back on the road. Only this time, I'll be going as Catalina, no longer as Banshee.

Banshee, I liked. Catalina? Not really so much. They were me but I had always projected to be Banshee. The one that this club knew; not the one that they didn't know about. Only Poison did know me as Catalina and I can already say for the both of us, me being Catalina absolutely sucks ass.

My eyes closed for a second, fatigue sweeping me off of my feet for a second. When I open them, Catatonic's no longer at my side and is back at the bar, shouting "to Armstrong!" with her beer raised. I didn't bother to stick around; I went upstairs and back to the room that I had grown to love for the past three years I've been here before walking out of the club.

The smell of my old books displayed on a small shelf was the first thing that hit me. It was just like I never left. All my things were arranged according to where I had left them—even the streaks of black paint that I created on the white walls on top of my headboard were there (I was having a tantrum at the time). The three pictures that I had pinned on my dresser looked dusty. I guess Armstrong really took it to heart when I said to never let anyone in.

The first picture was of Catatonic and I on the couch with whisky on our hands and smiling our asses off. It was the time where she had gotten her cut. I couldn't help but smile, remembering how wasted she got that she actually passed out the bar. I had to drag her ass in the morning and I was met with profanities coming from her.

The second one was of Poison and I. I made sure to get the picture edited so the background would be nothing but black before printing it out. I was sitting on his lap, my long dark brown hair tied into a ponytail, and my face leaning against his head. I was smiling while he was just staring at me longingly with those hazel eyes of his. It was my eighteenth birthday at this picture and it had been the best.

Lastly, it was just Armstrong and I. He was a few inches taller than me so he was able to slung his arm around my shoulder. We were both wearing out cut, the two of us grinning widely at the camera. This was the time that I had gotten my own cut. All those years of torture, it finally came down to actually getting one. The man didn't even want to smile but I forced him to and he just gave up easily.

Sighing, I removed my boots and jumped onto the bed, the exhaustion from riding the bike hours, stopping nothing but for gas and to piss had gotten to me. Eventually, I fell asleep.

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Around four in the morning, I woke up sweaty with tears in my eyes.

I never did like sleeping. All those nightmares would come back to haunt me—it's why I would put it off for as long as I can. I don't even remember when was the last time I got sleep. Maybe a week ago? I allowed myself to get ten-minute naps throughout the day. Anything other than that was out of the question.

Ten-minute naps provided all the sleep I could have. It was a power nap of some sorts. I'd gotten used to it since I was sixteen. It didn't give me dreams or nightmares, only darkness which I happily consumed. If I would go beyond ten minutes, something like this would happen to me. I would wake up drenched in my sweat and tears because of the nightmares.

I walked to the bathroom, swinging the door open carelessly that the knob hit the wall. I just decided to take a shower, let the cool water hit me to wake me up more. From the looks of my hands still shaking, my body was still processing the shock.

The chair was tossed on the ground, the bottle of alcohol crashed into a million pieces. Then, the next thing I saw were his feet, dangling a few feet in the air. Panic seized my throat when I saw his face—his eyes were open and bloodshot, mouth agape with the saliva drooling down, creating a small puddle right in front of me, and his skin... it was already turning pale and purple.

I took a sharp inhale of breath, trying to steady my heart and my voices. I blinked, and I'm back in the room again.

Numbness took over my body. I was unable to process what just happened, only what was in front of me. My feet were already moving, grabbing the chair and a sharp piece of glass, and I started to cut the rope. It took a while but I managed to drop him down on the ground, his heavy body creating a loud thud as it crashed down.

Just a nightmare, I have to remind myself that often. There wasn't anything I could have done when it happened.

After mom had died behind the wheel, I made it a mission to get acquainted with chest compressions and mouth to mouth. And I did just that, almost yelling the "one, two, three, four" over and over again as I pressed hard on his chest. He didn't move voluntarily. His head would move slightly from the compressions but nothing more. As I pressed my lips down at his, breathing down at his mouth, I gagged slightly from the stench of alcohol.

I closed the shower and grabbed the towel, wrapping it around myself. When I stared into the mirror, my bright blue eyes turned a shade darker and the bags under my eyes are getting heavier.

"Dad?" I whispered. "Dad, please." But no matter how much I pleaded, he could no longer move. I sat down, defeated from it all as exhaustion took over my body. The noose around his neck was still tied but loose enough to see exactly the damage on his neck.

Reaching towards him, I used my palm and dragged it over his eyes, closing them shut. "Okay, dad. Okay." was all I said before calling 911.

Fuck.

Rushing to get dressed, I walked out of my room and practically ran towards the gym, wanting to get rid any essence of the nightmare by punching the living shit of a sand bag. It was empty and I couldn't help but sigh in relief.

The guys never really woke up early in the morning. Only when Church is called. I was thankful about it because no one would be able to see me lose my shit in attacking the inanimate object.

I took a deep breath again and then, started punching the bag hanging from the ceiling.