I’m pretty sure he thinks he knows what I’m talking about. I’ll bet anything images of me cutting myself are flashing through his head right now. When I called him last night, he was clueless about the truth. He assumes I was carjacked, and attacked. He knows nothing of my family. And that small secret is one I’m happy to hold onto—it’s a burden no one but me should bear.
“Anyway.” I thump my cigarette out the window and roll it up—shoving my cold hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. “Even though I can think for myself, I really don’t have to at the clubhouse. My job is simple. Luke did that for me. I owe him my life.”
I turn my eyes to Bryce as I say the last words. I want him to feel the full impact of what I’m trying to say. His club was a godsend. Luke Carmical was a godsend. Without them I’d be dead…or worse.
He meets my gaze, his expression blank. He doesn’t speak until his eyes are back on the road. “How do you deal with the need for pain?” I flinch at his question. I wasn’t expecting this to be a Q&A. I was expecting an I-talk-he-listens kind of approach. This also tells me he believed me when I told him I usually didn’t cut myself when he found me all those days ago. Now he wants the source of what I really use to cope.
“I just do.”
Without enough time to process my evasive answer, he fires another question. “Who do you let hurt you?” I try to ignore him, but he presses further. “I’ve seen the bruises, babe. I’ve seen the ones on your stomach, along your ribs, your face … Is that what happened yesterday? Do you know the man that hurt you and stole your car?” He sounds patient, but I can feel the tension thickening in the truck.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
His hand curves around my knee. I jerk at the touch. “Look at me.” Abandoning the road, his eyes are hard and narrowed on mine. “It’s not okay for someone to hurt you out of anger. I don’t care how much you think you deserve it.” Speaking of anger, it’s emanating off him. But even as the rage clearly shows on his face and flashes in his eyes, his grip on my knee never tightens. He might be mad, but he’s not taking it out on me.
“This conversation is over.” Slapping his hand away from my leg, I turn to lean against the window—ignoring the irritating burn in my ass. I close my eyes in search of something to occupy my mind—anything to distract me from the past twenty-four fucked-up hours.
He must understand—read my mind in that weird way of his. Instead of continuing the conversation, he turns on the radio. The same blend of classical music he’d played in the clubhouse fills the cab. And thankfully, it’s enough to tame my thoughts and lull me to sleep.
****
I don’t remember being carried to my bed that night. But I will never forget the eerie silence that came the next morning. Everyone was gone—except for me. Luke’s house that stands within a stone’s throw of the clubhouse was vacant as well. There was no Dallas, no sign of Red, or the recently returned Maddie.
Something was wrong. I could feel it. The fear of the unknown hung heavy in the air. When I could stand it no more, I contacted Linda first. There was no answer, which wasn’t unusual. I tried several of the other girls, but it was the same.
I knew better than to call the men. Linda made that mistake once before, and she’d been put in her place quickly—Luke told her club business wasn’t her business. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anyone who I should feel responsible for. I didn’t belong to any of the men. I was an employee—nothing more.
After nearly twelve hours of not hearing a word from anyone, I felt my anxiety start to peak. Then finally, the phone rang. I hurried to it, scared of missing the call and desperate for some hint about what in the hell was going on.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Love.” My entire body sags with relief at the two words. Sliding to the floor behind the bar, I reach for my cigarettes and shakily light one. “Delilah?”
“I’m here,” I breathe, my reprieve nearly too much. I wasn’t sure if it was from knowing he was okay, or the sound of another human voice.
“The club has a problem that needs handling. We’ll be gone the rest of the week. I need you to stay at the clubhouse. Don’t leave until one of our own shows up. Do you understand?”
“No, Bryce. I don’t understand. What is going on?” There’s silence for a moment, as if he’s contemplating telling me the truth.
“Nothing that concerns you.” I close my eyes, feeling hurt by his words, even though I shouldn’t.
“Please tell me something. Is everyone okay?” I need to know. I have to know.
“Everyone is fine, Love. Just some shit that requires all of us to be where we are.”
“Where is Dallas? And Red? Are they with y’all? What about Linda and the other girls? I haven’t seen any of them. They—”
“Calm down, babe. Dallas and Red are fine. I’ll have Luke find out about Linda and the other girls, but I’m sure they’re at home. When I got to the clubhouse, Linda was there. She knew the club was going on a run.” Everyone knew. Everyone but me. The hurt I shouldn’t feel intensifies.
“I don’t like to be alone,” I admit, feeling stupid for doing so. It’s not his fault, and there’s nothing he can do from where he is.
His silence is deafening. I can almost feel his uneasiness through the phone. I hate myself for making him worry. “I’ll be fine,” I blurt. “I’ll binge watch Netflix.” My smile is forced, but I hope it reflects in my tone.
“If you start feeling it, you call me.” I know he’s referring to my need for pain—but it’s the darkness that scares me most.
“Really. I’m good.” What could he do anyway? He wouldn’t abandon his club for a whore…would he? I shake the stupid thought from my head.
“Don’t leave that clubhouse. I mean it. If you do, I’ll find out. And I’ll make sure you don’t sit for a week. Understood?” My breath hitches at his promise, and I nod, forgetting he can’t see it. “An answer, Love.”
“I understand. I won’t leave.”
“Good girl. I’ll see you when I see you.” He hangs up, not even giving me a chance to say good-bye.
I stand and look around the empty room. A void slowly fills my chest as I take it in—feeling the full impact of my harsh reality.
For the first time in two years, I’m alone.
CHAPTER 17
Four days.
It’s been four days and I haven’t seen a single soul. Bryce has called me at least twice a day to check in. Each time, I manage to fake my mood. I lie to him—lies so convincing even I’m starting to believe them. But if he calls today, I won’t be able to lie. I’m too close to clawing my eyes out.
In four days, I’ve had a total of ten hours of sleep. I’ve been living on caffeine, French fries and cigarettes—all of which are running low.
I don’t even wait for the coffee to finish before I replace the pot with my own cup—making it even more deliciously strong. I’ve settled on the bar, coffee in hand, one drag into my cigarette when the phone rings. I’m quick to grab it, sure that it’s Bryce.
It isn’t. It’s a recording reminding me of the rapidly approaching Valentine’s Day. Out of pure boredom, I listen to the entire message as the robotic woman urges me to go out in the cold, fight the onslaught of crazed lovers and purchase meaningless gifts for people I really don’t give two shits about. I politely decline, then hit zero to participate in their survey.
By the time I hang up, cup one of coffee is down and I’m lighting cigarette number three. I think this whole smoking thing isn’t working out for me like I’d planned.
I check the clock again, and only two hours have passed since I last looked. I’ve kept myself busy since I’ve been awake—playing pool, alphabetizing the liquor, practicing my trampoline gymnastics…minus the trampoline. But the inevitable is happening. I’m beginning to break down.
I haven’t had sex in six days. It may not sound like a long time, but when you’re addicted to it, six days might as well be six years. I crave it. Not just the company of another person, but the feeling of release.
As long as I’m having sex, my body and mind focuses on the moment—what it needs to do and think to continue the constant build until I finally peak and reach that euphoric, orgasmic state. But to me, sex has a dual purpose. Not only does it satisfy my hungry urges, but it helps keep my mind off the other thing that breaks me down—the need to feel pain.
My mind is always in constant turmoil. Every minute of every day, I feel it. When I’m distracted by work, or other people, it’s not as intense, but it’s still there. I can control it—monitor it and treat it when necessary. But when I’m alone, it’s only me against my mind. I have to fight the losing battle with my demons solo. And it’s nearly impossible.
I hate going to the darkness. It’s a place that you have to feel to understand. But I’ll do my best to explain it. If you close your eyes, you see nothing. The problem with nothing is that it doesn’t exist. So soon, you begin to wonder what it is you’re actually seeing. You get so caught up in the war with your mind that you simply forget you’re even in existence.