“Why are you saying this to me?” I ask, knowing better, but I do it anyway. He loosens his stance, and brings his hand up to my face. Gently cupping my chin in his palm, he raises my eyes to meet his. I fight back the urge to turn away, knowing he’ll just get his way in the end anyway.
“Because you talked,” he says and lets go of my chin. Rounding the corner, toward the other side of the house, he disappears down the hallway that leads to his and Ruby’s bedroom. Everything slowly comes into focus. The conversation outside of the motel cabin and Ryan’s sudden change in mood that night suddenly makes sense. Before that, he freely looped my pinky in his, joked with me, and smiled at me. He drew me in with every touch, with every word, and with every unspoken hope that I let build in my heart. I thought we could work through all of his mean, and his angry. But this, I don’t know if this is something I can fight my way through. Or if I should. For all the club’s talk of freedom, these men are no freer than my father’s men are. They’re all just soldiers in another man’s army.
I rush out of the house and down the drive just in time to see Nic backing up her old sedan. I wave her down, and she stops the car, as I close the distance between us. Now that I’m close enough, I can see the firm line of her brow and the pout of her lips. She is really displeased with me, and I can’t have that.
Getting in the car and plopping in the seat, I throw my hands up in the air and grovel my ass off. “I am so sorry.”
She purses her lips, narrows her eyes, and swings the Corolla out of the drive and onto our desolate dirt road, before gaining speed and flying around the corner onto Sherwood. Neither road is very wide, and she’s going a little faster than I’d like, but I remain silent. I had to beg her to come pick me up tonight then kept her waiting. She’s obviously not happy with me.
“I hate that house,” she grumbles, but doesn’t offer up anything else. I try, unsuccessfully, not to take her comment personally. But that’s my home—for now. The things Jim said to me were positively unnerving, but there wasn’t really anything I could argue with. He didn’t threaten me or hurt me. He just laid it out for me. I’ve no doubt that he’ll do what he thinks he has to in order to keep things the way he likes, but for now, as long as I avoid Ryan, I think I can stay on Jim’s good side. I do have, after all, a lifetime of practice at toeing the line for a powerful man. I know this part all too well. It may make me sick to my stomach to think of going back to being that person, but it looks like I don’t have a choice. Ryan is off-limits. And not in that ”he’s no good for you” kind of way, either. Jim said I would end up costing Ryan his patch or his life. I can’t let either happen.
Chapter 17
Men seldom, or rather never for a length of time and deliberately, rebel against anything that does not deserve rebelling against.
Thomas Carlyle
“DO YOU REALLY want to head back to the house and watch a movie?” she asks. She’s calming down some, which is good. I rest my head on the headrest and close my eyes.
“Not really,” I say. I try to keep Jim’s harsh words from infiltrating my mind, but it’s tough. I want to be shocked, and maybe even appalled, at the way he approached the situation. But I’m not. My father may have said everything with thinly-veiled code words and under the guise of concern, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t ever mean. Because he was. And Jim’s mean, too. Ryan isn’t any better. And I guess all women like me, stuck in their world, can do about it is to learn how to play along.
“Do you ever get sick of it?” I ask, allowing myself to vent for the first time in months. The last time I really let it out was with Adriana right before Sal’s wake.
“Sick of what?” Nic asks, turning her head just slightly. She drives into town and turns before she hits Main Street. I’ve no idea where we’re going, nor do I care.
“Everything,” I say a little louder than I intend to. “People bossing you around, people being mean, people being selfish. Just all of it. I kind of just want to forget.”
“I’m pretty much always sick of people,” she says flatly. She swings the car around the corner and parks on the side of the road. Everything is mostly quiet, with the exception of a well-lit, two-story house up ahead that has a large, loud crowd assembled in front of it. Turning off the car, she twists in her seat to look me in the eye.
“Listen, I don’t want to piss you off, but I think you need to hear this whether you want to or not. The club seems cool and all, but it’s not. The guys may be okay on their own, but the patch owns them. I know you’re kind of here by default, but just don’t forget this, okay? The club destroys people.”