Bikers, Chains and Bad Boys: Chapter 23
I'd spent most of the morning avoiding as many club members as I could, hiding behind the bar with Red or in my room, arguing over the phone with Andy about coming into work. No matter how hard I tried, the stubborn brute wouldn't budge. I'd stooped as low as begging even, but the man had a heart of stone or something, telling me I needed to "sit the hell down and heal up before I got myself killed."
The knife clanked loudly against the wall and I huffed, making my way over to pick them back up, before resuming my place and chucking it again. Since I wasn't allowed to work, I'd resorted to letting my anger out by throwing knives at the side of the clubhouse.
I hadn't achieved much.
I imagined each time I sent them flying at the wall, it was actually Snake and Tommy. I imagined the the knife was piercing them, stuck deep in their chests as their blood ran like rivers and painted their bodies red. The more I imagined it though, the more it turned my stomach – made me sick.
A lump grew in my throat as I became angrier; throwing them harder and expelling my rage and hopelessness. I couldn't stop imagining it, though. No matter how much it made my skin crawl to think about lodging them deep in their chests; watching their blood run free and their eyes grow wide, blood dripping out the side of their mouths as they grew pale and lifeless–
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone walking by as I threw the next knife and it slammed into the wall before falling to the gravel with a sharp ting.
"You suck."
"You blow." My eyes rolled at my knee-jerk reaction and I bent to grab the knives. When I turned to make my way back to my spot, my eyes roamed over Paul's smirking face and down to his cut-covered chest.
First Corey and now Paul? Were the others planning to join the club, too? Tyson honestly didn't seem the type and I couldn't see Dustin joining a motorcycle club. Then again, he was a wild card and he'd be the type to do it for no reason at all.
Scratch that. He'd do it for the ladies. Cue eye roll.
Paul's cut had a member patch, though. He'd been a member this whole time and I hadn't noticed? I looked back up at Paul and raised a brow, turning once I'd reached my spot and chucked another knife at the wall. Thud.
"Fuck, we gotta teach you everything, don't we?" He slid quickly to the side, chuckling as I aimed the next knife at him.
"Fuck off."
He retrieved it from the ground, along with the other one, and made his way over to me. "First off, don't flick your wrist."
"I don't need your help." I sneered. It wasn't his fault I was angry, and he didn't deserve me acting like an asshole. I took a deep breath, attempting to expel the rage eating away at me. I was sad and hurt and it was making me angry and pissed off. I wanted to hit something, but this was as close as I was going to get with that. I don't have to admit it, but I could use some help. I wasn't getting anywhere like this and if I wanted this to be effective, I needed to accept his help.
"Obviously, you do." He waved a hand at the general direction of the wall. He smirked, a gleam in his eye. "My turn to show you up."
He turned to face the side of the building and threw it with a fluidity and grace I didn't think he was capable of, like it was natural. The blade embedded deeply into the worn wood with a hollow thud. He turned, smirking and ready to gloat. "Shut up."
He gave a teasing half-smile and raised his brows at me. "You wanna learn or what?"
My shoulders dropped in defeat as I glared at him, taking the knife from his outstretched hand with a grumble. He stepped behind me, placing his hands on my hips. With a surprising gentleness, he turned me a bit, mindful of the soreness in my ribs.
"Now, relax and plant your feet." He placed his hands on my tense shoulders and pressed lightly to coax them into relaxing. "Don't use your wrist when you throw it."
I slowly released the breath in my chest, attempting to relax, but it was difficult with all the pent up pain and sorrow that bled through my chest. I did as he said, without complaint, and sent the knife sailing.
Nothing. Of course. I raised my brow at him.
"Try holding it by the blade instead of the handle." I sighed in annoyance, though I was secretly grateful that he was taking this time to help me out. He didn't need to know that, though.
He flipped the knife around and placed it in my hand, blade first. "Grip it gently, like you're shaking someone's hand."
It took several attempts to get the hang of what Paul was trying to teach me and I knew he was beyond frustrated, but I was honestly trying my best. My head was muddled and my concentration was clouded by pent up anger and sadness and held little room for actual effort.
I felt rage flush through my veins as his annoyance seemed to roll off him in waves, cascading over me and plunging me further into my darkness. I gritted my teeth, aimed and sent the knife sailing. It struck the wood, barely embedded, then fell to the ground. "At least it hit it by the tip this time." I rolled my eyes as he began to shuffle away. "Everything else is up to you now. I've done all that I can." He turned to take his leave.
I blew a breath through my lips, frustration fueling me as I aimed and fired. Thud. I smiled.
"You're welcome."
"This doesn't make us friends!"
He turned his head, eyes narrowed as he smirked menacingly over his shoulder at me and winked. "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart." I rolled my eyes as he slipped around the side of the clubhouse and continued my version of anger management.
It was an hour or two later that Travis found me, chuckling as I cursed when the knife struck the wood and fell to the ground. I sighed. My anger was just about gone. I was more defeated than anything and my shoulders sunk as the knife hit the wood, butt first and fell.
I had gotten them to stick a few times, about half the time actually, but that wasn't good enough for me. I was going to do this until I did it well.
Until I was as good as Paul was.
I wasn't going to tell him that, either.
"How about you take a break and grab a bite to eat. When you come back, you can use this piece of plywood instead so Dad doesn't kill you for fucking up the side of the clubhouse." He stood off to the side, hand holding a large chunk of plywood with a bullseye drawn in the center.
My eyes widened when I registered what he said. Oh shit. I never thought of that. I narrowed my eyes at him. "You couldn't have brought that over a couple hours ago?"
He smiled a deceptively innocent smile and shrugged his shoulder. "I was busy."
He laughed when I grimaced, grumbling as I shoved the knives back into my boots and made my way past him. "I'll blame you if he actually tries to kill me." He laughed harder. "Then, I'll come back as a ghost and haunt you."
I huffed, pursing my lips at him and slamming the door on his laugh.
"Hey, Whiskey." Red smiled warmly at me as I made my way past her. I nodded, sending her a smile as I made my way into the tiny kitchen behind the bar. I scanned the cabinets and through both of the fridges, looking for anything remotely appetizing.
I found a pack of tortillas in the back of one of the cabinets that surprisingly wasn't out of date and set about making lunch wraps. Four to be exact, because as soon as I'd finished the first two, Travis strolled through and took them, slipping out of the room as he smiled mischievously back at me.
Thunder tore through the sky as I ate at a bar stool. "Big storm 'bout to hit." Red sauntered out of one of the rooms, closing the door gently behind her. Her arms were full of towels and cleaning supplies and I raised a brow as she juggled them in her arms. "Someone's gotta do it," She chuckled. "or this place would be a cess pool of nasty."
I shrugged and nodded, agreeing with her. If what I'd seen at the first party I came to was any indication, nobody really cared about cleaning up and these rooms were used for convenience. Thank god my room was on the second floor. I stopped mid-chew, then swallowed harshly.
"Do you clean all the rooms here?"
She turned her head to peer at me over her shoulder as she messed with things behind the bar. "Unless one asks me not to." I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She smiled. "Your room's clean, hun." I smiled sheepishly and continued eating my lunch.
By the time I'd made it back outside, it was pouring. I eyed the target board Travis had made me, leaning against the wall of the clubhouse. The overhang only went so far and the board hadn't been covered at all. I didn't care though. I was going to master this, no matter what. So, I headed into the rain.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been out there this time, but I was getting decent, despite the rain. I smiled as the knife sailed through the air, then sunk into the wood. My clothes clung to my soaked body and my hair plastered to my head, surely looking a sight. My feet splashed through the small puddles in the muddy gravel as I walked to get the knives.
"Are you crazy?" A voice shouted. Corey stood, watching me, protected by the overhang. "The hell are you standing around in the rain for?" He called, smiling.
"The hell's it look like I'm doing?" I made my way under shelter from the rain, chuckling at him.
"Are you trying to get sick?" I rolled my eyes as I replaced the knives in my boots.
"I'm perfectly healthy. It's highly unlikely that I get sick from bacteria the rain picked up from the dirt." He gave me a funny look. "What? I paid attention in school." I wasn't about to admit that the wind was beginning to freeze me as I stood here, soaking wet.
I turned to head inside. I don't know how I missed all the people arriving, but the lot was full of bikes. It physically pained me to see them get rained on without a cover or shelter of some sort.
Music drifted from speakers at a significantly lower volume than usual and people were everywhere, drinking and hanging out. Someone was throwing darts and I couldn't help but think that wasn't the brightest idea with how drunk these guys got sometimes. I looked questioningly at Corey.
"It's for Jared." A sharp pain travelled through my chest at the sound of his name. I gestured to Corey that I was going to head upstairs to get cleaned up.
My room didn't have a bathroom, so I grabbed fresh clothes and headed to the one down the hall. I would've been too grossed out to use a community bathroom to shower in if Red hadn't just cleaned it a couple hours ago. I stripped from my sopping wet clothes, set them in a pile on the sink and stepped into the shower.
The water burned my icy skin at first, like a spray of fire rushing over me, but thawed soon enough. I relaxed under the warm downpour, washing quickly and then standing there as I let the heat sink into my chilled bones.
I imagined it rushing down my body, washing away my hurt and fear, but it was beginning to lose its effect. They were latched onto my heart with iron talons and no rushing river could loosen their grip.
I forgot where I was after a while. I wasn't in the shower anymore. I was back in the alley, blood soaking my clothes as tears streamed down my face. Jared's eyes pierced mine and his chest heaved with painful panting breaths. I pressed my hand against his wound, the blood rushing – pouring – through my fingers with no end in sight. Jared grasping my wrist tightly, painfully, telling me to run. His screams as they threw him into the van, his sickly pale face disappearing behind the door as it slammed shut.
I sighed lowly, rubbing my bloodshot eyes. The water effectively blended with my tears to hide them, but the weight of responsibility had my shoulders tense and painfully knotted. I pushed the wet hair out of my face as I turned the water off and slipped my hand out of the curtain to grab my towel.
The small part the curtain made when my hand slipped out let a shocking amount of cold air rushing into the shower stall, sending goosebumps over my skin. I was quick to wrap the towel around me, gritting my teeth against the frigid air that slapped straight into me. I bit the bullet and shoved the curtain aside. It registered simultaneously that the cold air was probably coming through the open bathroom door and that there was a man leaning against the sink.
I gasped and stumbled back into the shower wall, staring straight at him. He was no older than twenty-two or three, casually leaning against the counter of the sink. Arms were crossed over his cut-covered chest and his eyes were glossy and bloodshot. He was a prospect according to his cut.
I stood, shocked for a moment, drawing my brows and securing my towel with an arm. "What the fuck?" I griped, reaching over and grabbing my clothes.
I stepped out of the shower and backed away from him. I'd put him between me and the door, though. That was dumb. If his intention was sexual, at least the door was open so someone could hear me scream easier.
He stared at me, a look of contempt on his face as he scrutinized me. Irritation rushed through me as he stood motionless, looking like he had no plan to go anywhere.
"Can I fucking help you?" The chill from the air coming through the doorway was sending goosebumps all over my skin.
"I guess I can add stupidity to the list of reasons you got Jay killed." He stood there, just watching me with a look so cold and calculating I almost shivered.
"Excuse me?"
He didn't say anything, just watched me as he leaned against the counter. He didn't make a move to do anything, but I was only in a towel and he needed to get the fuck out.
"Can I get a little privacy here?" He scoffed at me.
"The last thing I'm going to give the girl who got my best friend killed is privacy." He eyed me as if I were shit on the bottom of his shoe. The sharp scent of beer washed over me as he spoke as his glossy, bloodshot eyes suddenly made sense. He's drunk.
"Get. Out." I gritted my teeth and glared at him, but when he didn't move, I growled. I'd feel much more comfortable if I at least got my clothes on.
As efficiently as I could, I pulled my shirt on over the towel and my panties and jeans underneath, tossed the towel to the floor and slid my bra on under my shirt. When I was done, I pushed my hair back from my face and glared into his eyes. "Jared was my friend, too-"
"Oh, don't give me that bullshit." He spit and stepped toward me, sneering at me. "You knew what was happening and you didn't do a damn thing to stop it. You could've prevented what happened to Jay. It's your fault and you fucking know it." He turned, stomped through the door and slammed it against the wall as he exited the bathroom.
I stood there for a while, letting his words sink in. He was right. If I'd just said something when this all started, I could've kept Jared from getting hurt. He would be alive right now. Instead, I was here, hiding and Jared was gone. Dead because of me.
I felt my heart drop further into depression and self hatred as I trudged my way downstairs and to the bar to join the guys. I took a seat on the stool between Corey and Tyson. Dustin was on the other side of Tyson and Jeb was on the other side of Corey with Rachel on his lap. Next to them was Kenny on a stool, Sybil stood behind her and the guy from the bathroom on the stool next to him.
I nudged Corey, grabbing his attention. "Who's that?" I nodded my head toward the guy. He looked over and back at me.
"That's Ben, Jared's best friend."
Paul stepped up behind Corey and I as I called to Brody and he made his way over to us. Shot glasses were placed down, enough for us all, and passed around. I nudged Tyson's over to him, but he shook his head.
"I'm good with beer." I shrugged my shoulders and slid it back over in front of me as everyone grabbed theirs and lifted them up.
"To Jared." The sentiment chorused through the group as everyone took their shots. My eyes connected with Ben's and the raw sadness in his eyes clenched my heart and I tore my eyes away, quickly sucking down my second shot and grabbed the bottle Brody was about to take.
"You might just want to leave it." I said. He nodded and turned away. Foregoing a glass, I took it straight from the bottle.
The easiest way to ease heartache was to get so drunk you couldn't remember it.
And that's exactly what I intended to do.
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