I dream that I’m fucking Jamie, that he’s deep inside me, hard and rigid, making me feel tight and full, and when I wake up I’m so angry I throw a glass at the kitchen wall in his cabin. I shouldn’t be having sex dreams about the bastard when he betrayed my trust like that. I shouldn’t be waking up, my head still thick with lust, my clit still aching, my pussy still wet, when the grade-A motherfucker doped me up and shut me away in his private little sanctuary all over again.
I half expect the door to be locked when I storm over to the cabin’s only point of entrance or exit, and yet when I yank on the handle and pull toward me, it opens wide. Probably because Jamie knew by the time I woke up, it would be far too late for me to rush out and do anything to interfere with his plans, whatever they may be.
“You are so going to regret this,” I tell him, growling the words even though he’s not around to hear them. He’ll get the picture later on, though. I’ll make sure of it. The courtyard down by the compound is empty. Night is creeping across the desert floor toward us, a visible line between light and dark, and the air is heavy with the scent of chili and something more organic, floral and completely out of place in this dry, lifeless dustbowl. The smell teases me, bringing memories half floating to the surface of my mind before they sink out of view, unseen and unremembered, and I’m left feeling strangely hollow and unsatisfied.
God, I’m going to fucking murder Jamie. If Ramirez hasn’t already completed the job, of course. My boots are thick with dust by the time I reach the clubhouse. I stamp my feet outside the entrance, knowing that I’m going to be responsible for cleaning up any mess I make in the morning. This whole prospecting thing is far less glamorous than I’d assumed it would be, but everyone here has paid their dues at some point. Every single member of the Widow Makers Motorcycle club has cleaned dishes, cooked meals, and swept floors. It’s the natural order of things. I’m fired up and pissed off right now, though, and knowing that I’ll have to clean the clubhouse from top to bottom tomorrow, as I have to clean it every Wednesday, is making my black mood even blacker. I can’t wait to get my hands on that fucking asshole. He really shouldn’t have done that. I mean, how am I supposed to trust him when he drugs me, simply because I have my own mind and I refuse to do as I’m told every time he opens his mouth?
Inside the clubhouse, there are only a few people sitting at the tables, drinking bottled beer and talking, laughing, watching a fight on the small, crappy television that’s been mounted on the wall by the door. Carnie and Danny are playing pool on the other side of the room, and Fatty is in his regular spot behind the bar, leaning on the beer taps, scratching at his rotund belly. He blinks suspiciously when he sees me headed toward him. No one else even acknowledges my existence.
“Sophia,” he says, straightening up. “You want somethin’, honey?”
You’re absolutely fucking right I want something. I want a set of rusty scissors to castrate my boyfriend with, but I don’t tell him that. “I need to get back there,” I say, pointing behind him.
Last year, when Maria Rosa was locked in the basement below the barn and shit was flying at us from all angles, Jamie had shown me where his ‘office’ was—through a heavy, reinforced steel door in the back, behind the bar. Fatty gives me a worried look. He seems surprised that I’d even know the office was there.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sophia. Jamie doesn’t like people back there without him.”
In fairness, that is true. He really doesn’t like the other Widow Makers knowing that there’s valuable information in the vault. He does his best to only disappear there late at night, when he figures it will be much quieter and no one will ask questions.
“I’m going back there, Fats. You can let me by, or I can fight my way past you. You’ll have a hell of a job explaining to Rebel why his girlfriend is covered in bruises and is bleeding.”
“Shit, girl. That’s just plain evil.”
“Sorry.” I’m not really, though. I’m too mad to even come close to sorry right now.
“You know you’re putting me in a crappy position. He’s gonna be pissed with me either way.”