“I can’t breathe.” She gasps out.
Her eyes are round and filled with fear as she claws at my hands, but I don’t fuckin’ care. I send my fist flying into the wall next to her head, splintering the sheetrock. “Do you understand?”
She does her best to nod, but my hand is so tight that she can barely move her head. I squeeze once more, before I toss her onto the floor. I look down at her, as she gasps for air. “I’m done with your shit, bitch. Don’t come near me again, and if I even see you breathing the same air as Shay, you’re done.”
With that, I walk over to the closet and grab my bag that’s still packed from my last road trip. Not bothering to look back, I step out of the room. Then, I walk out of the clubhouse not caring that a shit storm will be waiting for me when I walk back in. That bitch deserved everything she got.
Scared Shitless
Shay
I snuggle into Bowie’s back as we drive down the interstate. The feel of his leather against my cheek and the subtle scent of tobacco and cologne lulls my worries away. Something about the roar of the bike and vibration of the motor makes the world and all its problems fade away.
As midnight grows near, the bike veers off of I-85 leading us straight into the heart of Charlotte, North Carolina. All the worry the long ride washed away is back with a vengeance. As we drive past a restaurant that Marcus and I had often visited, a shudder makes its way through my body. Instantly, Bowie’s hand reaches down and squeezes my knee. A second later, he pulls off into an abandoned parking lot across from the hospital.
As soon as the roar of the engine quiets, he pats my thigh. “Jump off, babe.”
I do as he says, wondering why we stopped. “Are we meeting Jeremy?”
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead he climbs off and scowls at me. “What’s wrong?”
“What’re you talking about?” I ask the question, even though I know what he means. Somehow, Bowie has honed in on my senses. He can feel every change in my mood, good or bad, and he wants every nuance explained.
He’s about to respond, when Tin-Man pulls his bike next to Bowie’s and cuts the engine. He motions across the road and says, “I thought we were supposed to go straight to the hospital?”
He ignores his brother and continues to stare down at me. “You have no reason to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’m okay.” I lie, hoping he will let it go. “I know everything will be alright.”
The words sound hollow. I’m anything but okay. I’m scared out of my mind. My mother is dying; my crazy husband is playing a game that no one has seen fit to tell me about, and the man standing in front of me has decided to claim me as his own. Nope, nothing is alright.
“Don’t lie to me.” He orders, his voice firm. “You being scared, when you’re by my side is a fuckin’ insult.”
“Uhm, I…” I stumble on my words, afraid that what I will say may only make him angrier.
“I can tell you are scared and that pisses me off. You should trust me to take care of you. There’s no damn reason for you to be shaking like a leaf on the back of my bike.”
Of course I’m afraid, my mom is dying, Marcus could find out I’m here. There is so much to be scared about, but I don’t tell him that though. Instead, I lie again. “I’m okay, really.”
“No you’re fuckin’ not, and lying to me is a bad idea, baby. Now, tell me what in the hell is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”
“She’s scared shitless, man.” Tin-Man says as he steps off the bike and stretches his legs. “You would be too if it was Mamá laid up in the hospital.”
During his frequent visits to Nina’s, I’ve learned that Tin-Man is blunt. We’ve become friends, but sometimes he still shocks me. Everything he says is to the point, and he holds nothing back. He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but still, his words cut into me.
I look at him, letting him see the pain in my eyes. “She’s dying; my mom is dying, and I have to hide out and visit her in the middle of the night. Yes, I’m scared shitless.”
I jerk my eyes back to Bowie. “If that’s not enough, something is going on with my husband and you won’t tell me what is happening.”
I didn’t hear all of what was going on, but I heard enough to know that Marcus is playing some sort of game. For some reason, Bowie won’t answer any of my questions. I know something bad is going on, and the not knowing exactly how bad is killing me.
He lowers his face to mine and he growls out. “That bastard is not your husband.”