I cock my head to the side and look up at him wondering why he’s asking me this. I consider telling him to go fuck himself, but instead, I sigh.
“Back of my neck,” I reply, trying to sound bored, but inside I’m screaming to do something to save myself from this situation.
I’ve been busy trying to come up with a plan in my head, but every time he’s been in this room, apart from now, it’s been for no longer than five minutes, so I’ve yet to see an out.
He paces around the back of the chair I’m sitting on slowly and sweeps my hair across my shoulder so he can see my tattoo. I tense as his fingers lightly trail over the pattern at the back of my neck.
“Why a key?” He asks, and I’m starting to wonder what his game plan is.
I don’t answer him, choosing to stare at the cement wall in front of me in defiance, I’m done playing this game of cat and mouse.
He grips my hair and twists, making it pull at my scalp and I stop myself from yelping. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“I said. Why a key?”
“Because... I hold the key to my own destiny,” I force out, my voice sounding a little shrill and pathetic.
He begins to laugh and the weak feeling I just had gets replaced by a seething anger. I feel it as it flows through my veins and I flex my hands, willing him to come in front of me, but he doesn’t. He grips the back of my neck and I feel his wet tongue dart out and lick around my tattoo. I cringe, goosebumps rising on my skin and I try to pull my neck away but he has me gripped so tight he’s pinning me down to the chair.
“But here’s the thing, sweet girl.” And that’s when I feel the biting pain just above my tattoo. “You’re not anymore.”
I try to pull away again but he pulls me back by my hair as I feel him cutting away at my neck. My breathing picks up as the burning pain carries on, squeezing my eyes shut, I will my mind to go anywhere else but here.
Blood oozes down my back and as he lets me go, I fall to my knees and retch onto the hard, cold ground. My blood makes tracks down my face as my head hangs there, and I watch as it drips onto the floor. I cry out in pain, I’d do anything to make this go away, it’s excruciating.
He kicks me onto my side and bends down to show me something about an inch long in the palm of his hand. Feeling myself on the verge of passing out, I try to focus on whatever it is he’s holding. As soon as I realize it’s my tattoo, I lose the contents of my stomach.
“Now who holds the key to your destiny, bitch,” he laughs out menacingly.
“You’re sick!” I scream at him through desperate, emotional sobs.
He leans close to me and whispers, “And don’t you forget it, sweet girl.” Before he stalks out of the room, leaving me in a pool of my own blood and puke.
I roll my shoulders, stretching out my tight muscles and cover up the Harley I’ve been working on, it’s time to head home.
“Hey, Hunter?” I hear from the back of the shop, looking around for who the voice belongs to.
Spotting Tessa, a girl who works in the office, waving at me, I take a deep breath and walk toward her.
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep the boredom out of my voice. She’s okay, she’s just a little too peppy for my liking.
“I was wondering if you wanted to maybe do something tonight?” She asks, trying to be subtle about the way she’s sticking out her chest at me.
I try not to look as I clear my throat and think of a nice way to let her down, I do have to work with her after all. “Thanks, but I’m not looking to date right now.”
She purses her lips and moves closer to me, trailing a finger down my chest, landing on my belt.
“Who said anything about dating?” She purrs, trying to be seductive.
I take a step back. “That’s a nice offer but I like my job, your pop would kick my ass if he found out I was beddin’ his daughter.”
She reaches up and digs her claw-like nails into the back of my neck, and leans in some more so I can feel her lips brush against mine as she says, “Your loss.” And saunters off, making her hips sway that little bit more than is necessary.
I scrape a hand down my face as I watch after her, she knows what she’s doing so I tear my eyes away and clock out for the day.
The scene at the clubhouse when I walk in is one I’m becoming more and more used to. There’s at least nine brothers sat in here, all drunk of their asses watching the club broads grinding on each other, and I’m beginning to become tired of it. I walk over to my pop, Jojo and Pres sitting on a table at the back of the common area, ignoring everything going on in the front.
They all nod at me except Pres as I sit down in the empty seat and scan the room. Not seeing my brother, I turn to my pop.
“Where’s Jacques?” I ask, a frown marring my face. He’s normally here by now.
He shrugs. “Didn’t come home last night, figured he crashed here.”
I purse my lips, it’s not out of character for Jacques to pass out here but when he does, I always know about it.
“Not with me he didn’t, you seen him?” I direct my question at Pres and he just grunts.