One and a Half Years Ago …
After that night, the one where I partied and fucked, the one that I couldn’t forget if I tried, I learned some valuable lessons about myself.
The club life … is not my life.
In fact, I don’t want anything to do with it.
Gidget Kesselring is getting the hell out of Dodge, first opportunity she gets.
Leaning against the side of the house, I keep the grocery bag clutched in my right hand. With the other, I smoke a cigarette. Had to steal a pack from the front seat of some guy’s old Mercury Cougar while he was inside the convenience store paying for gas. I’m too young to buy them for myself, and lately, there’s been nobody around to bum them off of.
I frown with purple-painted lips, the bruise-like color staining my cig as I study the gray smoke billowing from the end of it. I’ve decided that the harder stuff—the cocaine, the LSD, the meth that flows like water on the compound—is not for me. But while I’ve recently sworn off most vices, I need a little something here or there to get me through the day. Life is just too stressful otherwise. So, a cigarette every now and again, some light drinking, and that’s it.
Inside the grocery bag is a pregnancy test. I need it because I let Beast screw me without a condom. More aptly, I encouraged him to. I squeezed my thighs around him and held him in place, and I loved every second of it.
I once read a quote from some long-dead dude named Robert G. Ingersoll. It said, “In nature, there are neither rewards nor punishments—there are consequences.”
This is a consequence of my actions.
With a groan, I tap my knuckles against my forehead, sending ash scattering into the wind.
I knew better than to take four devils into my bed, my body, my heart. This is where it’s gotten me, on the edge of ruin and teetering. It isn’t that I regret what we did, that I didn’t enjoy it, that I didn’t revel in the feel of being worshipped by skilled but nefarious hands.
It’s the aftermath that I regret.
It’s been an endless cycle of prospects at the house instead of those four asshole officers. When I dared mention it to Cat, his response was cutting. “You think they don’t got more important things to do?”
More important than me? Apparently, since I only see them in passing, coming and going from the house only when they have business with Cat.
I chew on my lip, smearing purple across my teeth.
The sound of a motorcycle engine makes my heart thunder, just as it always has. When I was young, it was in excitement to see Daddy. When I got older, it was out of dread. Then … then there was passion and want and longing. Now I don’t know what to think, so I just stand there and wait.
It’s one of them. I fight back the urge to hiss, maintaining a cool, detached sort of demeanor that is quite literally the embodiment of a lie. There is nothing cool about me at all, just a raging fire tearing through my soul and turning what’s left of the old Gidge into ash.
“Hello, Gidget,” Sin says after pulling into the driveway on his bike and removing his helmet. It’s a strange bit of déjà vu, like we’re flashing back to that night. A night that was only three weeks ago but feels like forever.
I’ve changed a lot since then.
And the guys?
Well, you know what they say? Can’t teach old dogs new tricks. That’s what they are to me: mutts.
Crown’s words ring in my head each and every time I see him: “Go to your room, Gidget, and keep your mouth shut.” He said that after making love to me, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. At this point, his mere presence is like a knife to my heart, each word he doesn’t say to me a twist of the blade.
And Cade Grainger? Well. Fuck Grainger. He’s been a walking, talking dickhead, hissing things under his breath at me that make me grit my teeth in rage. Even then, I can’t see him and not think about the way he looked at me that night, with possession burning in his gaze.
Beast … Beast has been watching me from a distance, like he’s waiting for something. What that is, I’m not entirely certain. Part of me wonders if the solution to my problem with him wouldn’t be to just ask. I’m too proud, maybe. Or too afraid of what he might say in response.
“Hello, Sin,” I reply, just as coolly, looking at the fourth member of my demon brigade, and very likely the one who’s pissed me off the most. Don’t we have a connection of some sort? Didn’t he used to care for me in a way that nobody else bothered to?
So why act like nothing at all happened between us?
Nothing.
As Gaz likes to say, “Once I get the pussy, I’m outta there.” He thinks it’s funny for men to seduce women and run. Is that what they all think? Am I a conquest? A notch on their belts?
The dark parts of me surged that night, clawed their way to the forefront of my mind and demanded release. I thought I might be able to let them out, too, to revel in the shadows rather than run from them. I’m not sure, what, exactly, I wanted from these men, but apathy was not it.
I continue to smoke my cigarette as I stare at Sin, wondering if I should just blurt the truth about my plans for the day and see if I can get a reaction. He’d be pissed, I’m sure. Does Sin know that I slept with Beast? Crown? He knows about Grainger, obviously, but what else?
“I’m going to take a pregnancy test today,” I tell him with a cruel smile, and the tight one attached to his handsome face slides away like water off a duck’s back.
“A pregnancy test?” he asks, and I’m sure he’s wracking his brain trying to remember if he wore a condom that night. He was, after all, very, very drunk. “Grainger and I both …” And here he grits his teeth and scowls. Any reminder of Cade Grainger is likely to do that to a person. “We both wore condoms. Did one of them break?”
“This is not because of you or Grainger,” I assure him, flicking my cigarette aside and picking up my lemon slushy from the ground. I suck on the end of the straw, the slurping sound taking up the awkward silence between us.
Sin’s brows draw together as a frown blooms on that wicked sharp mouth of his.
“I’m never going to kiss you again, Gidge. It’s too risky.” More whispered words from that night, worth little more than purple prose in a book that has no happy ending.
Risky. Because of Cat? Because of my age? Because when we touch each other, desire burns and the promise of something more flares in the distance like a bloodred sun dipping into the sea?
He reaches up to tousle his short, purple hair with his tattooed right hand. There’s a fresh design there, an American flag wrapped around a knife. All of Sin’s tats are like that, Americana and Sailor Jerry designs. He’s like a classic car, something pretty and red with a leather interior and an engine that’s just a little too loud.
Even though taking that car out for another drive would almost certainly end in a fiery crash, I still want it. That’s how toxic these men are to me. I know not to expect anything from them, from this life, from the club. Yet I do. I did.
I guess I thought they … well, I assumed I was more than just a fuck. I woke up that next morning with hope , this foreign, sticky thing that causes more harm than good. Hope does not get you anywhere but to the ass-end of disappointment.
With a snort, I shove away from the wall and head toward the front door.
Because the universe hates me, because having my sisters murdered just wasn’t enough, my bad luck continues, and I run right into Gaz. As soon as he sees me, a scowl darkens his face, and his hands clench into fists. I’m convinced that if given the choice, he’d have given me to the mafia in exchange for Posey or Queenie. Maybe he’d have given me to them for free? Who knows?
“Got anything in there for me?” Gaz asks as he nods in the direction of the grocery bag, ever the consummate prick.
“Unless you like tampons, no,” I say with a smarmy smile of my own. “Maybe you need one? To put up your ass? You seem to be in a bad mood, so I figured you were on your cycle or something.”
My brother knocks the bag from my hand and then snatches my wrist in hard, strong fingers. He yanks me close to him, leaning over me in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. Thing is, I fucked Beast who, by anyone’s estimation, is about a thousand times scarier than stupid, thickheaded Gaz.
“One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you into serious trouble, little sister.” He shoves me back before releasing me and leaving through the front door, passing Sin as he storms out. The latter follows him with eyes made up of storm clouds, gray and wary and near to bursting. There’s anger there, but it hides like lightning in a tempest.
Sin turns back to me.
“Who was it?” he asks belatedly, in a voice that’s too detached to take seriously. I ignore him as I bend down to retrieve the bag. “A guy from school?”
“Jesus,” I snort, shaking my head and shoving up to my feet. “That’s what you think of me? That I’d sleep with you and Grainger, then run off and start banging guys at school? Maybe that’s how you operate, but I’m not like that.”
The problem here is: the guys at school do nothing for me. How could they? I’m surrounded by big, beautiful men dressed in ink and leather and crowned with glorious pain. Undeveloped teenage puberty monsters don’t have the power to make me ache inside my bones, to turn my blood molten, to make me hurt so good that I start to like the feel of it.
Besides that, we have nothing in common.
Really, I have nothing in common with anyone my age. Other sixteen-year-olds spend their days fantasizing about crushes, about drivers’ licenses, about future college plans. They’ve never seen their mother ride a man’s dick in front of them, never seen their dad shoot one of his dealers in the knee, never seen their pregnant sister shot and killed.
I choke on the feelings and storm up the stairs with Sin still following along behind me.
I turn on him at the top of the stairs, my eyes threatening to burn with tears that I would rather die than shed. That night was … well, it held dark magic for me. I let myself fall into the shadows of the world, so I didn’t have to pretend there was any light left. When I did that, when I tumbled and twisted through the void, they caught me. The four of them.
It’s hard to deny that I felt something then, something akin to belonging in a way I’ve never felt before. I was a queen with four knights who were mine and mine alone. They served me. They rode their chrome stallions into battle for me.
Of course, it was all a fantasy. I know that. I knew it even then but seeing the guys’ reactions after that night is hard for me to deal with.
“Does it matter who it was?” I ask him, nearly breathless. I shouldn’t allow myself to keep hoping, but it happens anyway. Maybe I just enjoy the taste of discontentment? Say something to me, I beg in my mind. Say something stupid like ‘I wish it were me’ or ‘You’re mine, Gidge’. Instead, Sin looks away toward the wall, his left hand tight around the banister.
“It does. Because he deserves to get his ass kicked. You don’t need a baby, Gidge; you need to go to college—”
“Don’t tell me what I need,” I snap back at him, wishing I could just Sparta kick his ass down the stairs. “Leave me alone, Sin. Fuck off.” I turn away and storm toward my bedroom.
When I fling the door open, I’m surprised to find that it isn’t as empty as I thought it would be.
Beast is here.
I swallow hard and shift uncomfortably as his blue eyes lift up to find my rust-colored ones.
“What are you doing in here?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even. Beast looks at me in a way that I don’t quite understand, and then rises to his feet. He moves over to stand in front of me, reaching past my trembling form to push the door closed. Then, he locks it.
“We should talk,” he drawls, and I feel sweat glistening on my forehead. Hastily, I scrub my arm across my face.
Shit.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is pretty much the last thing I expected today.
“You want to talk now ?” I query, choking on the words. It’s so hard to concentrate with his huge form taking up so much space, the smell of him—that stupid tea and books scent—wafting around the room. He adjusts his gaze back to me, and I panic, ducking past him and heading for the bathroom like I’m on a mission.
And I am.
A pissing mission.
I throw the grocery bag into the sink and dig around inside for the box.
Beast moves up to the doorway, and I decide that I don’t care. This is his fault, too. He’s a part of this, too. When I take the pregnancy test out, I turn around and lift the box up for his inspection. He looks at it, then at me, and my heart stutters.
No, Gidget, it’s all shit. They are all full of shit, and you know that.
“This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he suggests, inclining his chin slightly. He leans his big shoulder against the doorjamb. “I figured you might come to me; I wanted to give you space. Thing is, these sorts of things are time sensitive.”
“You wanted me to come to you?” I say, and I don’t mean to laugh, but his honeyed Southern drawl is making me feel crazy, making me relive that night, making me remember the feel of his tongue between my thighs. It’s an impossible feeling, this craving for people you can’t have. At best, I could pick one of them and ask Cat for permission to be their old lady. He’d never allow it. It would just tick him off and cause drama inside the club. Even then, I’m not sure any of them would want me. Lastly, and most importantly, I’m not sure that I want any of them.
Because marrying into the club means sealing yourself to it—permanently.
After that, the only way out is death. The only way out now might still be death, but at least there’s some distant flicker of chance, some possibility of escape.
I’m tired of being treated like an object, tired of being ordered around, mostly tired of being left out of every important aspect that affects my life. My sisters died because of club bullshit; I almost died because of club bullshit. Yet, I’m not included in any of the decision making, the risk assessment, the revenge.
“Before you take that test,” Beast begins, and I shudder at the sound of his voice. It reminds me of how he felt when he was inside of me, and I hate that. I don’t want to remember it because then I’ll want to repeat it. “Know that I’m on your side. Period.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, sending a stricken look his way. “You can never be on my side because you’ll always be on the club’s side. Always.” Without bothering to ask him to leave, I shove my panties down and sit on the toilet, peeing on the stupid stick and then setting it on the counter with a shaking hand.
Beast does not look away for any of it. Bastard.
I stand up and fix my panties, washing my hands before putting my palms on the countertop and staring at myself in the mirror. I look into my own eyes, and I don’t see a teenager, I see a woman trapped in a world she doesn’t want any part of. It doesn’t want her, so why should she?
When I look over at Beast, I see that he’s still watching me.
I ignore him, setting a timer on my phone for three minutes, and pretending to be interested in a text from Reba. She knows all about that night. I told her the very next day because there are no secrets between us. Because she’s the only person in the world that loves me without ulterior motives, who doesn’t judge me, but also isn’t afraid to give real, hard advice.
“Gidget, honey, you run from those men, and you don’t look back; they’re like a slow poison.”
I know she’s right. I do. And yet somehow, someway, I crave more.
The timer goes off, and I snatch the test in my hands.
Not Pregnant.
A sigh of relief escapes me before I turn and offer the pee-soaked stick to the man in charge of murdering people for the club. He takes it from me, our fingers brushing in a way that sends hot thrills spiraling through me.
The expression on his face is … well, it’s weird. I don’t understand it. Like, at all.
“Gidge,” he purrs, but whatever it is that he’s going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be hurt anymore.
“There you go. No kid to deal with. No need to tell Cat anything.” I point in the direction of the bedroom door around the corner. “Now go. Get out of here and leave me alone.” He just keeps staring at me, still holding the pregnancy test, and I feel this unbearable fury just rise up within me. “Please,” I beg, because I can’t stand here and look at him and feel nothing.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried to look each and every one of these men in the face and tell myself they mean nothing, that they were just dark fun, an experiment in rebellion, a test.
But it’s a lie. A lie. A huge motherfucking lie.
“Please!” I scream at him, stepping back and digging my fingernails into the fabric of my too-short skirt. “Get out and leave me alone, Catcher. Go find some desperate groupie at the clubhouse to have babies with.”
He taps the test against his palm for a moment, and then slips it into the pocket of his leather vest before turning and leaving my bedroom. He closes the door so softly behind him that I can barely hear the shushing sound of it falling into place.
For a while, I just stand there in the bathroom by myself. Eventually, I get it together enough to take the second and third tests that I bought. All with the same result. My relief is immense, even as I struggle with a deluge of other emotions.
I end up sitting on the edge of my bed, my elbows on my knees, my hands steepled and pressed to my lips. The pregnancy thing is dealt with. Awesome. What about an STD check? Should I get one? Do I need one?
The door opens again, and I look up, expecting Beast or Sin.
Instead, it’s …
“Crown,” I say, my skin tightening with goose bumps. He smiles at me, but the expression is tinged with something else. Something inexplicable. I hate that I can smell him, sense him, feel his presence in a way that’s metaphysical. “What do you want?”
Of them all, he’s the worst, I think. Because when he heard Cat’s bike, he treated me like a dirty secret, banished me to my bedroom. Made me cry. Only he doesn’t know that. None of them do. I’d rather tear my own fingernails off than tell them.
“Your father wants to see you,” Crown says, his voice soft, but also tinged with a hint of warning.
Fantastic.
His moss green eyes take me in before drifting over to my nightstand and … fuck. I’d forgotten I’d brought the other pregnancy tests in here. Blood drains from my face, and I feel suddenly faint. Somehow, having Crown see those is worse than having Beast in here. Worse than Sin chasing me up the stairs with stupid questions.
“Gidge,” he starts in that way of his, the one that always precedes a lecture.
“They’re negative, if that’s what you’re worried about,” I blurt, standing up and snatching the tests in my hands. I throw them into the very same trash can where both Grainger and Sin chucked their used condoms that night, and then I go to slip past Crown.
He doesn’t let me, keeping his arm in place like a blockade.
Our eyes meet, but we’re standing too close together to have any reasonable sort of discussion. Guess that doesn’t matter since at least one of us is completely un reasonable.
“Leave me alone, Crown.” I’m proud of myself for keeping my tone even, almost bored. More lies. I could climb a mountain of them and place a flag at the very top. “If I were pregnant, it wouldn’t be your problem.”
“That’s where you’re wrong about that,” he tells me with a low, patronizing sort of laugh. Harsh, biting, frustrated, that’s what he is. “It would be the entire club’s problem. You’re Cat’s daughter, Gidget.”
“So you keep reminding me,” I grind out, but still, he doesn’t let me go. Crown keeps his arm in place, keeps standing so close to me that his breath ruffles my hair and the heat of his body stings my skin.
“Grow up and maybe I won’t have to?” Crown finally lets me go, dropping his arm and then turning to follow me. I ignore him. Rightfully, I should kill him. That disdainful tone, the way he lifts his chin in that imperious way of his. I’d hate him more than anyone if, at the bottom of the stairs, my worst nightmare wasn’t waiting.
A nightmare that I allowed to be my first, to occupy a space in my mind for the rest of eternity. Now, whenever the topic of first times and virginity is brought up—which at my school is basically nonstop—I have to think about Cade Grainger. More often than not, I think about the way he snarled at Sin, as if I were his, and he were mine.
“If you touch her, I will end you.”
Why did he say that? Why did he care? Was it some brief, male moment of possession?
“Up there enjoying the vice president?” he growls at me as I come down the stairs. Cade moves as if he might touch me, but I launch a verbal attack at him before he lays those poisonous fingers on my arm. If his skin makes contact with mine, I’m afraid I’ll combust. I’m afraid he’ll see me combust. That won’t be good for either of us.
“Actually, I was taking a pregnancy test to see if I might be having Beast’s baby.” I dart past him before he can react, finding my way out back to where Cat’s waiting, sitting on a lounge chair with my mother on his lap. She’s stroking his face like he means something to her while I cross my arms over my chest and wait. “What?”
“What?” Cat repeats, turning to look at me with eyes the same color as my own. “Is that how you talk to me now, girl? Learn some respect.” Fortunately, the presence of my mother in his lap keeps him from doing anything but snapping at me. “Come sit down and be quiet for a minute.”
With a long, suffering sigh, I do, moving over to sit on the chair opposite him. While I’m waiting, he places his hands on my mother’s hips, stroking his fingers over her with reverence. I’ve seen worse from the pair of them. Together. With other people. But I’ve never seen this … this whatever-it-is that they’re doing?
Showing each other love? Affection? How are you shocked by this, Gidget? How broken are you?
I shift uncomfortably in the chair and clear my throat. Leaning back on my palms, I cross my legs, my plaid miniskirt moving halfway up my thighs.
“That’s the shit right there that pisses me off,” Cat says, curling his lip at me and then tossing over a beach towel while Nellie watches. “Cover yourself, kid.”
“Kid?” I query back at him, sitting up and resting my elbows on my knees. Who is this guy telling me what to do? He never taught me to tie my shoes or how to cross the street, never sat down with me and scribbled crayon drawings on big sheets of paper, never combed or braided my hair. Queenie did all of those things. All of them. If she told me to change my clothes, I’d listen to her, assume she had some wisdom to impart. But Cat? Cat, of all people. Freaking Cat. “What was it you said to me at the party a few weeks ago? If the little twit wants to be a whore when she grows up, let her. ”
Not to slut-shame or anything, but my sister, Posey, she took on the mantle of groupie from age eighteen and never looked back. She was always at the clubhouse, hanging on men, flirting with them, drinking and partying and fucking. My parents didn’t give a shit then, so why now?
“Yeah, well,” Cat begins, moving my mother to sit beside him. He flicks a look her direction.
“Things are going to change around here, baby girl,” she tells me, reaching out for my hands. I pull away from her, maintaining my nonchalance as best as I can, acting as if I don’t see the flare of hurt in her blue gaze. The gaze she shared with my sisters, with Queenie and Posey, the gaze that I somehow missed out on. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’ve been making an effort—”
“You want things to change now ?” I quip, knowing that I’m pushing my limits, but not caring. Because I stopped caring. Because caring hurt too damn much. “Gaz is already a loser, and my sisters are dead. Who gives a shit what happens now?”
Cat backhands me then, just hard enough for stars to flicker in my gaze, and my teeth to cut the inside of my lip. Blood. It’s hot and coppery; it makes me dizzy. It transports me to a memory that I struggle every day to forget.
Queenie, the marble tiles, her wide eyes. The blood, the blood, all of that blood …
“Girl, you pop that mouth off again, and you’ll see what real hurt is.”
I can hear Cat talking, but I’m shaking so hard, and I’m tasting blood, and I wish with all my heart that I had someone around to hold me. Someone to protect me. Someone that’s on my side.
It never truly occurred to me until that moment how completely and utterly alone that I am.
My head turns slowly, as if of its own accord, until I find myself staring at Nellie and Cat again. The former is upset, wringing her hands in her lap, as powerless and helpless as always. Ever the brute’s bride. I will not allow myself to become my mother. I swear it. I swear it on my soul.
“You are done with the makeup, done with the clothes, done with the clubhouse.” The words sound garbled at first, and I realize it’s because my ears are ringing. He hit me so hard that my ears are ringing. The look I throw him is pure venom, and he knows it. He can sense it, leaning forward and mimicking my pose, his elbows on his knees. “You’re going to stop with this rebellious shit. You will go where I tell you, when I tell you. You will ask permission to do things. Mostly, you’ll stay away from boys.” He points a hand at me. “Highschool creeps in particular, but don’t think I don’t see that wild streak in you. Take a note from your dead sister and keep your hands off the Daybreakers.”
Does he know? I wonder, still holding my hand to my cheek, still tasting blood. Does he know I fucked four of his officers in one night? And that I loved it? That I’d do it all over again if I had the chance.
But no.
The image of Nellie, submissive and weak beside my father, makes my stomach churn.
“The club can burn in hell for all that I give a shit. So can you, if you think you’re going to control me like that.”
I shouldn’t have said that.
Cat pops me in the mouth and then grabs a handful of my hair, yanking me toward him as I gasp, tasting that awful copper on my tongue all over again. That’s when I learn a very powerful lesson: to survive, you can pretend, you can lie, and you can swallow back the blood until you find an opportunity for attack.
So that’s what I do.
I swipe the blood off my lips with my tongue.
“Fall into line, Gidget. Or you’ll be damn sorry you didn’t.” He releases me, and I shove up to my feet, scrambling back inside and slamming the door closed behind me. It takes me a minute to collect myself, swiping my arm across my lips and staring down at the crimson smear on my pale skin.
When I move into the living room, I run right into Grainger.
His eyes widen slightly when he sees me, and he reaches out, snatching my chin in his hands. His fingers are as rough as my father’s, but they feel different somehow. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter that I like the way he’s touching me, that I’m not normal.
I cannot control my thoughts, but I sure as hell can control my actions.
“Did he hit you?” Grainge asks, and it somehow soothes me to see that he’s surprised by something that’s so damn normal to me. “Fucking Christ, Gidge.” This part he growls out, like it’s my fault, like his precious president isn’t the one backhanding his teenage daughter.
I jerk away from Grainger only to realize that Crown and Sin are standing there, too. The former is tight-lipped but impossible to read, and the latter looks at me with a pleading expression.
“Just let him get what he wants for now, Gidge. You can always—”
“It’s Gidget, ” I scream at Sin, shaking and hating and hurting.
You should have my back, I think at them, even though I know it’s an impossibility. That isn’t how the club works. Cat is their president, and I’m … I’m nothing at all.
Without another word, I storm past them and up the stairs, throwing myself into my room and locking the door behind me.
And so it begins. Two years of dealing with Cat, of avoiding his men, of hating my life and myself and everyone in it.
Then I wake up and realize that I’m not just reliving a memory; I’m having a nightmare inside a nightmare. No matter where I retreat to—inside my head, my heart, or out into the world—the result is the same.
I’m in big fucking trouble.