Scar (Black Hearts MC #8)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ELSIE

Father and Layton came back and thankfully, all seemed calm. I’m not sure what happened in the deal while they were away, but whatever it was pleased them. That’s good, because I need them to be in a good mood this week. The only downside was that Layton thought he was being caring and romantic, which led to him wanting sex. I gave it to him, closing my eyes and counting down the minutes until he was done. Thankfully, he never lasted very long, and when he wasn’t angry at me he was gentler. Not that it wasn’t uncomfortable. Having sex when I wasn’t the least bit turned on and dry as the desert down there could never be enjoyable for me. I often wondered if he noticed. I mean, I thought men would notice shit like that, but not him. I faked it when he fucked me, and when he spent 3 minutes rubbing my left labia thinking it was my clit, pulling out my best porn star acting just for it to be over.

One more day. Just one more day and this would be over. Well, I hope it would be. There was still so much that could go wrong, but I couldn’t think like that. I had to trust that Scar and his club could take care of this. Looking up at the clock in my father’s office for what feels like the millionth time, I worried I was being too obvious. It would be 4 pm soon and then it would be dinner, so I could then excuse myself for an early night. The sooner I sleep, the quicker tomorrow will come. My stomach rolls with anticipation. I feel like a child excited for Christmas Day, but the only exception is if it goes wrong, then either myself or Scar will end up dead.

“You have somewhere you need to be?” my father asks as he looks up from the paper he’s reading.

I shake my head. “No, just looking forward to seeing Layton,” I lie.

My father huffs and shakes his head. “Quit what you are doing and go make a start on our dinner,” he orders.

I nod and stand, pausing at the door. “Is there anything in particular you would like?” I ask.

“Beef wellington, with garlic potatoes and asparagus. For dessert I’m thinking a chocolate torte,” he demands. I nod and grit my teeth, knowing full well that I will have to go out to the store to get all of those ingredients. Father quickly notices my annoyance. “If this is a problem, we can discuss it further,” he suggests with a threatening undertone. As he stands, his hands rest on his belt, implying exactly what will happen if I refuse to cook what he demands.

I must never tell him no, never have an opinion that is different from his, and I must never show him any disrespect.

I give him a tight and as always submissive smile. “Of course not. I’m more than happy to make that for you.”

He doesn’t smile, just nods and returns his attention back to his paper. I walk into the kitchen to take stock of what ingredients I need to buy, then move to grab my purse. As my hand touches the front door, my mother approaches from behind.

“Going to the store?” she asks. She turns to grab her coat and shrugs it on. Before I can answer, she walks past me towards my car. “I will come with you. I could use some more vodka,” she states. My feet halt, as she never comes to the store with me. That is a job beneath her. Her jet black hair glistens in the early evening light as she turns and smiles at me, only her hard face barely moves, due to the years of Botox freezing her stone cold face.

I eye her sceptically. She never smiles at me, unless it’s at my expense. I walk to my car and after unlocking it, she gets in the passenger seat while I get in the driver’s side. My gut swirls as an uneasy feeling brews within me.

We are both silent on the drive to the store, and I start to think that I am overthinking it, that maybe this is her fun side. She knows I would be tense wondering what she is going to say or do. By simply not saying anything, she has me tied up in knots. As I push the cart around the store with my mother walking by my side, she stops and looks at some candy.

“You know, this was my favourite when I was a little girl,” she states. I don’t comment. “I’ve craved it for years, wanting it, but if I eat it, if I start treating myself to something this good, it will ruin everything I have worked so hard to build.” She sighs. I frown at her confused, wondering when did candy become so deep? Her glacial stare comes to me. “Just like your biker friend. He may make you feel good, so much that you crave him.” She pauses and my stomach dips out, my palms become sweaty.

How does she know? Shit, shit, shit!

She takes a step closer to me. “Being selfish ruins lives. It destroys lives, and it will destroy everything I have built for myself,” she warns.

The question escapes my lips before I have a chance to stop it. “Why would you care? You aren’t happy.”

“I care because I have a life where the man in my life buys me whatever I want. I can do as I please whenever I please. Having him around protects me. Do you not think there are people out there that want me dead? Stupid girl, this goes so much further than what you know. Your father may be tough on you, he may be fucking infuriating, but if he dies, then the control that he holds will be gone and that means none of us are safe,” she says through gritted teeth. “Your biker friend can’t protect you. He will just use you for sex and then discard you like a used condom,” she adds.

My hands ball into tight fists at my sides, and I dig my nails so tight into my palms, I’m sure they must be drawing blood. “You know nothing,” I say through gritted teeth.

She huffs out a laugh. “My dear delusional daughter. You do not understand the lengths I will go to ensure not just my life. The way I like to live my life is protected, and I will keep it that way, even if that means watching you suffer,” she threatens. She pulls out her phone and shows me a video; it’s Scar pulling me out of my car and kissing me.

My cheeks heat, not from embarrassment, but from anger. Rage boils in my chest at the thought of her taking this away from me, taking him away from me. He’s the one thing I have to hope for, the only person to ever be nice to me. She arches a brow as she looks me up and down.

“Well, I think this is entertaining. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look angry before. You’ve always been a pathetic little pushover. It’s nice to see a little bit of fire behind those eyes,” she gleams with amusement.

I almost open my mouth to chew her out, to finally tell her how much I hate her and wish she was dead, but my surroundings quickly come back to me, realising we are in the middle of the store in front of many people. It’s exactly why she has done this, damage control. By calling the shots, she has me exactly where she wants me.

Her grin widens when she’s knows I’m not going to react. “There she is, the good little mouse.” She smirks as she pats my cheek with her palm. I grit my teeth, grinding them tight as I place my hands back on the cart and continue to shop. At the checkout my mother leans in, just to add salt to the wounds she’s already torn into me. “Oh, and if you are thinking of suddenly being brave and getting your biker boyfriend to rescue you, then I will show Layton the video. I’m sure he will find a way to deal with you.” She smiles and winks.

On the drive back, I feel like I’m about to rip the steering wheel clean off. My eyes flicker to my glove box where my handgun is, to the gun Layton insisted I carry for protection. Only I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean for me to use it for protection against my mother.

I park on the drive, and after waiting for my mother to get out first, I lean over and take the gun out of the glove box, pausing to check that it’s loaded, even though I know it is, because I have never used it. After removing the safety, I slowly get out of the car. The roaring sound of blood rushing through my ears as I grip the gun tight in my hand pumps through me is the only sensation I feel.

I keep my eyes pinned on my mother, watching as she stops and laughs, turning to face me. “Come on tubby, you don’t want to upset me now,” she says, waving her phone with the video on it.

“Why do you hate me?” I growl.

She turns and walks towards me. Stopping just a foot away, she cocks her head to the side, that sadistic grin plastered on her face like I’m stupid for not knowing why she hates me so much.

“You’re weak and pathetic. I had hoped you would be strong like me. Stronger. You could have taken it all, but instead, you have been a snivelling, ass licking leech. You have brains, you had the chance to take out your father, to be the powerful woman I had dreamt you to be, but no, you pathetic, fat useless cunt,” she spits with such venom, I can feel them bury under my skin. With no control, my finger pulls the trigger and a loud bang echoes around the now dark night sky. Her eyes go wide as she looks down at her hand touching her stomach, her fingers now glistening with claret.

“I am not pathetic, and I am not fat. I fucking loathe you,” I seethe as tears sting my eyes. She stumbles and as she collapses to the ground, she lifts a hand for me to help her, but I don’t. I just stand over her and watch as she tries to pull herself towards the house for my father. She doesn’t make it far until her body gives up. She releases a final gargling gasp and then her body goes limp. My hands shake and I drop the gun, gasping.

I quickly cover my mouth as the realisation sinks in of what I’ve done. I drop to my knees and roll my mother over, looking into her dead lifeless eyes as they stare back at me. After I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand, I frantically look around. I get to my feet and hook my hands under her arms and drag her body back into the shadows around the side of the house, out of sight. Moving quickly, I grab my gun and place it inside my purse, deciding to keep it on me should my father or Layton find my mother. I grab the shopping bags out of the car and keep my head ducked as I walk into the house. After heading straight to the kitchen to place the bags down, I then run upstairs to the safety of my room. I walk straight into my bathroom and pull out my cell, hitting call.

“Hello, Chic Coutur—” a soft voice answers.

“Scar, I need Scar,” I say, desperately cutting her off.

There’s some muffling and then Scar comes on the phone. “Angel?” he asks, the worry evident in his voice.

I pace my bathroom floor. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve killed her. I killed my mother. I’m a monster. They will find her and kill me. My father will kill me,” I pant, panicked.

“Fuck!” he snaps.