The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)

“I knew he was cheating, I knew it, and he didn’t have one ounce of guilt!” I yell, my voice echoing through the truck. It started several months ago; he started staying at the club overnight. As the weeks carried on, he began to stay at the club for days on end. He tried to blame Bull, but I knew better, especially when I came across a pink lacey thong, which wouldn’t even fit my left tit, in Locks’ jean pocket. When he didn’t come home last night, equaling a week total he hasn’t been home, I came to the club pissed, and find out exactly what I had expected the whole time. He’s been sleeping around on me.

Another sob escapes my mouth. He hit me. He actually fucking hit me, and I did nothing in return. Why? How could I not stand up for myself?

Locks and I met several years ago at the Dirty Barrels. My dad split when I was twelve, and when my mother died of cancer a few years ago, I came to California to be with my sister. I’m starting to think it was a big mistake. I should have stayed in Texas.

“You are way too gorgeous to be working at a place like this.” I looked over from making a rum and coke and saw a guy my mother would have killed if I had brought him home. He had his long blond hair pulled back, tattoos up and down his arms, a leather vest that had patches on it, and the most ruthless grin I’d ever seen.

“Flattery don’t pay my bills, babe,” I sassed, making him laugh.

He stayed until closing time. Every time I glanced up, he was staring at me with smiling eyes. I literally felt my skin burning from his intrusive stare.

“Last call,” I warned him, wiping up the bar where he sat alone.

“What’s your name?” he asked, sipping what’s left of his jack and coke. I bit my lip, debating if I wanted to tell him what I told all the drunk men hitting on me, or really tell him my name. I looked back at him, thinking. He tilted his head to the side and smiled, making me melt on the spot. Why not? I wasn’t getting any younger and I could use some excitement.

“My name is Delilah,” I finally answered, my skin tingling from the excitement sweeping through me.

“Delilah,” he said, my name playing on his lips. “Well, Delilah, I’m Locks,” he said, putting his hand over the bar for me to shake.

“Locks?” I asked, confused. What kind of name was that?

“Yeah, it’s my road name,” he said, tugging on his cut, which hugged his shoulders perfectly.

“What is a road name?” I questioned, laughing. “Why do they call you that?” I continued to interrogate.

He smirked, his finger playing with the rim of his glass.

“What?” I inquired, curious what was so funny.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” He smiled, his brown eyes meeting mine again.

I shrugged. I’d been told I talked a lot; when in reality, I just asked and said what was on my mind. A lot of people didn’t do that, too afraid of pissing someone off. I couldn’t care less; take me as I am.

“I’m a part of a motorcycle club called the Devil’s Dust,” he informed. I had seen the group of bikes flying back and forth through town. They were rugged, tattooed, and sexy.

“So how did you get your road name?” I questioned. He smirked and eyed his glass.

“I’ll tell you what, you go for a ride with me, I’ll tell you why they call me Locks,” he suggested, his hand slapping the bar’s counter.

I grinned. “On a motorcycle?” I asked, my face feeling like it was going to split from smiling so wide.

He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, on a motorcycle.”

The light turns green, snapping me from my daydream. Locks and I were inseparable from that night on. I fell so fast and hard; it was all a blur. Even though I know he has been cheating on me for the last several months, seeing it, finalizing the death of our marriage, shreds me.

A sudden laugh escapes my mouth, breaking through the sobs. But Bull, he just hired me to clean the club and keep an eye on Locks. Not that it will keep him from messing around on me, but if it’s one thing Locks preaches about, it’s women aren’t allowed at the club. Like it’s a fucking man cave or some shit, so at least this will really piss him off. I mean, I’ve been to the club and stayed my fair share of hours, but it’s mostly before or after get-togethers. Locks never seemed happy I was at any of them, not here lately anyway. My phone rings from inside my purse on the passenger seat. I lean over and grab it, swerving into oncoming traffic as I fish it out.

Just as I lean up, a black car swerves to miss my truck, honking its horn at me.

“Fuck! What?” I answer the phone, frantically.

“It’s me, Ruby. What the fuck is your problem?” my sister snaps. I sigh. I only talk to her every couple months, usually when she needs something.

“I just caught Locks messing around on me,” I say softly. I should be more broken-hearted than I am, but I’m angry more than anything.

She gasps. “Shit,” she whispers. “Anyway, we have a problem. Meet me out front of the hospital,” Ruby demands.

“The hospital? What for?” I ask.

“It’s Scarlett; she’s overdosed, again,” Ruby says, ending the call, not even saying bye before hanging up.

“Shit,” I whisper as I do a U-turn right in the middle of the freeway, cars honking their horns, swerving to pass me, and slamming on their brakes not to crash into me.

“Yeah, screw you too, buddy!” I yell out my window to an old man flipping me the bird.