Ugh. I couldn't wait to get home and change into something clean and dry. For the first time in months, I thought about the reunion with my parents, wondered how many tears would add their wetness to my sopping wet clothes before the day was through.
The other guys didn't say much. They cast friendly, but distant glances my way, and climbed on their bikes with some sodas while Skin started his engine.
We shared a water the rest of the way, the only thing I could force down my throat. The last twenty-four hours' jitters sent an entire swarm of butterflies flapping through my belly. I wondered if I'd even be able to choke down my mom's home cooked food, assuming she hadn't given up on cooking at all since I disappeared.
Six months. Just kill me.
I couldn't believe half a year of my life had been spent in pure hell.
If I was lucky, I'd lose a few more to intensive therapy. I didn't want to think about all the traumas blackening my brain, all the pieces of my young, innocent self the pimp and his asshole clients had stolen away forever.
You're safe. Think about that instead, I told myself, latching onto it for support.
About halfway through the trip, I leaned close to Skin, relishing his body underneath my hands. “Hey, let me know when you want my home address...I can give it to you anytime. It's not too far off the highway.”
He grunted, but didn't reply. Strange.
He had to have looked me up, I told myself, so maybe he already had it. That made sense. Just another half hour or so, and I'd be home.
If only it were so easy.
The knots in my belly deepened when we turned down a different exit, away from Knoxville proper, nowhere near the fancy estate where my parents lived. Another couple miles, and his bike rumbled down a short, unpaved service road, flanked by an overgrown forest crawling with kudzu vines.
“Um, Skin? I thought you were going to let me off at home? Where are we going?”
Again, silence. My fingers tightened on his stomach until I was clawing him.
No, no, no.
Please. Fuck. Please don't do this.
I trusted you.
I held my eyes shut as long as I could, praying I was wrong about my hero. I couldn't believe he'd lead me into yet another cavern of the hell I thought I'd left behind. But when the bike slowed down and I finally looked up, I couldn't ignore the stone cold truth.
If I had any tears left, they would've come spilling down my face when I saw the beat up looking clubhouse with a massive DEADLY PISTOLS MC logo painted across the wall. Two smoking pistols with a skull in the center, an emblem of death and destruction if there ever was one.
I couldn't cry anymore. I couldn't even breathe. I couldn't handle the truth ripping through me like daggers.
Skin wasn't what I thought.
My savior was just one more demon who was probably going to subject me to new tortures I couldn't imagine. The hero died that day. It didn't matter anymore that he'd been so kind, that he looked so handsome he'd thrown off all my instincts.
I hated him for betraying me, and his monstrous club too.
IV: Money, Money, Money (Skin)
This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Fuck.
Soon as I got her inside, Meg stopped talking. She wouldn't even look at me.
And who the hell could blame her? I'd stabbed her in the back and twisted it deep, the price of getting my boys on board to help save her life.
I couldn't have taken out all three motherfuckers alone in that dingy parking lot. Crawl and Sixty did it for me as much as the reward money I'd promised the club. Now, the only way I could keep myself from letting them down was by letting this gorgeous, damaged, blue eyed babe down so hard I feared she'd break.
I put her in my room and locked the door, walking away with the heaviest rock in the world sitting on my goddamned shoulders. Guilt was always an absolute bitch, the shit hanging over me now made me wanna drive off the nearest cliff.
Whatever, this wasn't the end. Not by far. I'd get her home sooner or later, just as soon as my brothers were satisfied.
There was no Option B.
Meg couldn't just jump off at her parents' house. They'd never pay up the quarter million to an outlaw MC. I had to make 'em, one way or another.
Hell, I had to convince her, get her to help me string her folks along 'til the cash was in my hands, heading for the Prez's office like tribute.
It was only a matter of time 'til the others found out. The Prez would fly into a rage when he learned we'd killed three Deads across the state line. Shit, we'd be lucky if it wasn't already hitting the news.
And if just one person at that piss stained motel saw us, remembered our patches, or maybe just enough to give a sketch to the cops...
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wanted to put my fist through the nearest wall.
Instead, I headed for the bar, where my brothers who'd been along for the ride were already drinking. I looked at the clock.
It wasn't even eight in the morning. Christ.