My chest heaves and he just stands there, assessing me, wondering what I’m going to do. I don’t know myself, this may be the only chance I have at washing the dried up blood, puke and grime off my fragile body.
I turn around, my feet crying out for the comfort of the black fluffy rug that’s in my bedroom, and start to take off my soiled clothes. My shorts go first, then my tank top. I’m left standing in my bra and panties and I stave off a whimper as I undo the clasp of my bra and let it fall to the floor. His hiss of breath makes me feel sick and I hurry to take off my panties.
I feel disgusted at myself, at him. I feel violated. My hands cover up all of my important parts and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, taking me far away from this place. I’m taken back to the beach in Little Hollow, what is a harsh reminder of a tragic accident for Sam, is a happy place for me.
He runs his calloused fingers down my spine and I tense up, wishing for it to be over. He walks away and I hear the the sound of metal scraping against something, putting me on high alert and I curl in on myself as the first bucket of icy cold water hits my skin. It feels like a thousand little pin pricks are hitting me all at the same time.
I shake profusely, awaiting the next one as he fills the bucket up again. “You’re going to have to turn that sweet little ass around if you want me to get all of you.”
I stifle a sob as my teeth chatter, keeping my eyes tightly closed, I turn around and immediately the bucket of water is emptied over my skin. He does this several times over but I don’t feel clean. I feel dirty at the thought of his eyes perusing my body. Seeing for the first time what I’d never let him see when I was younger.
I dare to take a look out of one eye when the water stops and he’s standing there, hand in his jeans, stroking himself. It makes me whimper and I sink to the floor, wishing for it to open and swallow me up.
I hear him grunt and his retreating footsteps tell me he’s gone. Should I make the move now? I can hardly put any pressure on my leg because of my knee so I don’t know how far I’d get, but my thoughts are interrupted as five minutes later, he comes walking in the room and an itchy blanket is wrapped around my shivering form.
He tries to get me up but I’m stiff. My bones are that frozen to the core that he growls in agitation and picks me up instead of waiting for me to hobble back to the prison he’s keeping me in.
I feel like prey. Like a cornered, helpless animal unable to do anything against the predator that is trying to break me before going in for the kill.
Surprisingly, everything is clean when he places me on the chair back in the room. He must’ve cleaned up my puke and blood. Why?
He’s still standing over me and I flinch as his hand wraps around the blanket and he tucks it over me. He stalks around the back of me again and I instantly curl into myself as he swipes my dripping wet hair to the side to look at the wound he’s created.
“Would you stop shaking, this needs to be stitched and I can’t do it with you moving about like that,” he bites out.
I squeal and hop out the chair, jaring my knee as I do so but not really caring as I press my back against the wall to get away from him.
“You’re not going anywhere near me with a needle!” I scream in fright and his lip curls up.
“Sweet girl, you’re forgetting my number one rule. What. I. Say. Goes.” With each word, he takes calculated steps toward me.
I’ve had enough. “And I think you’re forgetting that I don’t give a flying fuck what you say!” I grit out.
His face changes from surprise, to humor, to anger all in the space of ten seconds and I await my punishment on baited breath. He’s an inch away from my face, so close I can smell what he ate for lunch mixed with body odor and leather. “Fine. I hope it gets infected and you rot from the inside out.”
He kicks out my good leg and I land with a thud onto my injured knee, crying out.
He just couldn’t stand that I won that one, and it won’t be the last either, I won’t let him break me. I watch him leave me there on the floor and I shiver and cry for all I’m worth.
“You think you can do a better job at being Pres than me?” Pres asks as soon as the door to his office is shut.
Does he really want me to answer that?
“I warned you, Bear. I told you to bring anything straight to me, privately.”
His fists slam down on his desk and I just sit back in my chair lazily, unaffected by his show of authority. “I think you’re forgetting I did. You’re the one-”
Pops gives me a shake of his head.
“I’m the one that what, Bear?” He hisses, narrowing his eyes at me.
“If you had better control, Pres, this shit wouldn’t be happening. And you know I’m not the only one that thinks it,” I counter, raising a brow at him.
He sits in his chair and runs his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, but doesn’t say anything.
I continue, “Taz is your downfall, he always vetoes anything you ever say. He has no concern for the safety of this club, he enjoys getting fucked up and fucked so much that it’s made him blind to what really matters here.”