When He Reads To Me

7. Lissie

Chapter 7

Lissie

“Sometimes love is just a lie.”

“ G et the fuck out of bed.”

The snarling tone pulls me from my sleep. My hands clutch the blanket tightly when he repeats them, but this time with more venom and intensity. The room feels colder, and a shiver runs down my spine as his disgusting vileness fills the air. My heart races, and I brace myself for what’s coming.

Cody hasn’t hit me before, but he has pushed me. The one thing that works best on me, which he knows, is when he degrades me. When he tells me how the only person I have is him and he’s amazed that my sister hasn’t killed herself yet.

When he says those words…

Well, that’s part of what makes me stay.

Who would I have?

Could I live with having no one?

But then there is that small part of me who knows I would be fine if I left him. My sister may hate me at first, and her life might crumble, but she would be alive.

“ Now , Lissie. Get the fuck up,” he yells once more. The blanket is torn from my grip and thrown to the floor. I hear his heavy footsteps as he goes to turn on my bedroom light. Sitting up in bed, the cold seeps into my bare legs while I look at him. He has dried blood all over his face, and his nose is bent at a weird angle. A bottle of vodka dangles from one hand, and I know whatever takes place next is not going to be good for me.

“What happened?”

“ You fucking happened. Get out of bed, now .”

“No,” I whisper.

Then I hear giggling from the living room and know he brought them home with him—the women. It’s been two days since I last saw him and a week since my sister was here. Things have been quiet as usual between us, and to be honest, I didn’t even bother calling or asking him where he was. I like the quiet. And now he comes into my room and demands I get up.

He sucks in air between his teeth and makes a hissing sound. “ Now , Lissie. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. Bed.” The words are abrupt and disconnected, and I know he’s been on a bender by its sounds.

“What happened to your face?” I remain in bed and glance at the clock on my wall.

It’s late—midnight. I went to sleep early tonight.

“ You happened. I’m so fucking over you and everything you cost me.” He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth before he lifts the bottle and takes a drink.

“Okay, divorce me, then.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The sarcasm drips from his words, his tone laced with contempt for me. His eyes narrow—hostility radiating from him. I shrink back, biting the edge of my mouth. “So you can, what? You have never held a job, Lissie. What the fuck would you do without me?”

When I was growing up, I wanted to be an author, which I now find hilarious, considering I read to someone for money.

There is so much on the tip of my tongue that I want to tell him, so many things I have planned, none of which involve his fucking ass.

“See! Nothing . I feed you and clothe you. Fuck, I even give you money for those awful tattoos on your body.” He shakes his head. “Get out of bed. We have work to do,” he spits.

“Work?”

“Yes, you’re coming with me to the clubhouse.”

“It’s not my night,” I remind him.

“Well, now it is.” He storms out, and one of his girls stops in the bedroom doorway. She peers in and looks around the room, then raises her brows at me before she turns and walks off. Skank .

Getting up, I shut the door, change into a pair of jeans, and throw on a sweater, not bothering to put something on underneath it. Pulling my hair into a top bun, I walk out to find two of his girls hanging off him.

All heads turn to me, and I stand silently, staring back at them. They can fuck him for all I care. Believe me, I lost interest in that man a long time ago. They can have at it.

He pushes them off him and stalks over to me. He reaches for my sweater and tugs on it, clearly not impressed with what I am wearing. I’m comfortable. That’s all I aim for these days. I have no reason to dress up for anyone.

“Change,” he orders, his red-tinged blue eyes lock on me.

“No.”

His head tilts to the side. “Maybe I need to start training you better. A little fucking smack here and there should teach you.”

I don’t respond.

If he lays a hand on me, I’ll leave. Of that, I have no doubt.

Why would it take that to make me leave? Things are bad enough as they are.

Why haven’t I already left? Because I can survive with how things are. I can keep my sister sane and not let her spiral back to where she used to be by sacrificing myself. Everything I do, I do with my sister in mind.

“What he even sees in you is beyond me,” he sneers, then drops his hand from my sweater and heads toward the door. The three women he came with file out after him. The door hangs open, and I follow to find them already in the car. Cody always drinks and drives, and as much as I hate it, he clearly never listens to me when I tell him not to. One day, he will get himself killed, and I hope when he does, he doesn’t take any innocent people with him.

I climb into the back seat and stare out the window as the women play with the music. When they land on a song they like, they start to sing, and the one next to me bumps shoulders with me to get me to sing along. I ignore her, as I do with every woman he brings around, and continue staring out the window at the nothingness beyond.

One might wonder why I don’t take the front seat, considering I’m his wife. But I am only his wife in name, not anything else. But even that part, I hate.

The car slows down, and I recognize the compound. It’s currently lit up, and there are bikes and people everywhere, unlike when I am usually here.

The women spill out of the car when Cody parks. The asshole takes another swig of his alcohol and then climbs out too. I contemplate taking the keys and driving off—I’m not even sure he would realize if I did. Cody’s arms are around two of the women as he sidles up closer to the men who are sitting around the fire like he’s already forgotten about me.

Getting out of the car, I look down at the dead grass beneath my old sneakers and sigh.

I’d rather be in bed.

I don’t even know why I’m here.

As I scan the area in front of the clubhouse, it appears no one even notices me.

I know a few of the men here from school and growing up, but not on any truly personal level. I used to be shy and nervous coming here, but now I know most of the guys, as I always pass them when I come in. Even though some don’t speak to me, they all seem to be respectful, for the most part.

I walk into the clubhouse and take a seat at the makeshift bar, then reach over to grab a soda, bypassing Letti and the club members tending the bar with her. Letti is my age, though I have never really spoken to her much when we were growing up.

The guys helping her are called prospects, and basically, they do whatever the other members say and then some. They all seem happy to be here. One of them, Mason, even went to a boys’ private school around here. I think he’s two years older than me. I’m not sure why he joined, but I have heard stories his family owed money and were killed, and that’s why. But it’s all stories. I’ve learned not to listen to rumors, considering how many are out there about me.

“Not drinking tonight?” Mason asks.

“Are you?” I ask him, nodding to his open beer can.

“Want one?”

I’m about to say no, but I shrug my shoulders instead. “Sure.”

He hands me one and smiles. Mason has a nice smile. He still has that vibe about him that he came from money, but I know he no longer lives that lifestyle. Actually, I’m pretty sure he lives here like a few of the others. I tap on the lid of the can and take in the bar. The thick, varnished wood is polished to a sheen that I can almost see my face in it. Mason gives me a knowing look and nods to the can. I crack it open and shoot him a smile.

Just as I put the can to my lips, it’s snatched from my hand. My head whips around, and I find Milo standing there with a woman attached to his side.

“Give it back,” I demand, and he just looks at me. “Give it back, Milo.”

He turns to Mason. “Don’t give her another, do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mason replies without hesitation.

“I’m allowed to drink, you asshole.” I hop off the barstool and reach for it, trying to snatch it from his hand, but he holds it up in the air so I can’t reach it.

“Not here, you aren’t.”

I contemplate punching him, but I realize that wouldn’t be fair. After all, it’s not him I’m angry at.

“Drink.” Milo taps the bar, and Mason serves him while I watch him and smirk.

“Okay, how about a game? Every answer you get wrong, you drink. I’ll do the same,” I offer.

Milo side-eyes Mason as he mutters to me, “I’m not participating in getting you smashed.”

“You are. If I have to be here, you and me and…” I look over his shoulder to the woman, “… whoever that is, are going to drink while my husband does fuck knows what, with fuck knows who.”

“He left,” Milo informs me.

I freeze because, of course, he left. He is the worst husband ever. Most husbands would hate to leave their wife at a clubhouse with only men around them.

Mine, fucking leaves.

“Go away, Cassandra,” he says, and the woman seethes at him.

“That’s not nice,” I say to him.

“Neither is trying to watch you drown out your life with alcohol,” he replies.

I give him my best eye roll. “You’ve seen me drunk once. I bet I’m the best drunk you ever did see. Funny, I’m sure,” I remind him.

Mason chuckles. I beam at him, and he shakes his head, still laughing.

“Milo is a—” Mason starts.

“Shut it, Mason,” Milo growls, cutting Mason off. Mason holds up his hands and puts up a bottle of tequila.

“Let’s do a quiz,” I say, smiling. “I’ll go first. Every wrong answer is a shot.”

“Go ahead.” Milo waves his hand at me as Mason puts two shot glasses down. I smile, knowing I got him to play when he initially did not want to. He pours tequila into each and steps back.

“What’s the smallest state in the USA?” I ask.

He smirks and answers, “Rhode Island.”

I nod at his correct answer. We may not live there, but it’s a place I have always wanted to visit.

“What country is Samsung based in?” he asks.

“South Korea,” I reply with a grin. “What country’s national animal is the rooster?”

He sits back and stares at the shot glasses before he lifts his gaze back to me and says, “France.”

Mason whistles from behind the bar. I look at him, confused, then back at Milo.

“How many elements are there in the periodic table?” Milo questions.

“I’m changing the rules,” I cut in.

“Answer…”

“Every answer I get right, you do a shot,” I throw out.

“Answer…”

“One hundred and eighteen,” I say, then nod to the shot. He lifts it and drinks while Mason shakes his head, laughing.

“What is the rarest blood type in humans?” I ask.

“You couldn’t have gone with something more difficult?” He raises a brow, and his tongue darts out and licks his scar. He does that a lot. “Rhnull.”

I pick up the shot and drink it.

We do this until I’m on my fifth shot, and then he stops. A few people called his name during that time, but he ignored them throughout our game. It isn’t until he slides water in front of me that I give him an assessing look.

“You’re smart,” I say.

“You’re just working that out?” he asks with a raised brow. “And here I thought you were as well. Seems I was wrong.”

“He’s a bloody genius, is what he is,” Mason butts in, coming back with more alcohol in his hands. “But you, Lissie, are just as smart.”

I’m not. I ended up getting two wrong, while he never got any wrong.

“Why are you here?” I ask Milo.

Mason whistles as he walks off.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He leans in.

My vision is a little blurry as I nestle the beer in my hand. I picked up the fresh drink without him noticing. “Why aren’t you off with your women?”

“Like your husband is?” he grits through clenched teeth.

“Yes, like Cody.”

“Because not all of us get everything handed to us on a platter, pretty girl,” he says before standing and striding off.

I sit there and drink the rest of my beer, thinking about our exchange, and I stay there for a good hour before I decide to slip away to the car. I need to sleep, and walking home is not a smart idea.

Trying to get the keys from my pocket, I remember Cody drove. My phone slips from my pocket and falls to the floor in the process. Bending down, I reach for it and hear moaning sounds. Crawling forward on my hands and knees, I see two sets of feet on the other side of the car. Moving around to the front, I stay low and quiet until I reach the other side. When I get there, I see a woman on her knees in front of a man, her head bobbing up and down. Milo has a hand gripped in her hair while his other slides through his own hair as she sucks.

It startles me when that look in his eyes meets mine. It’s not like any look I’m used to.

Want and need mixing into one.

And it’s dangerous to get caught up in a look like that. I back up and fall on my ass. The woman stops for a second before Milo yanks her hair, making her move again. I hurry away toward the fire pit and fall asleep to the memory of the sound he made and the look in his eyes.

When I wake up, I’m lying in a bed—one that isn’t mine—and my head hurts. As I get up, I find Milo sleeping on the floor. I stumble, trying to avoid stepping on him and bang my knee against the bed. “Ouch.”

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles.

“Why am I here? And where is here?” I ask, scanning my surroundings. The bed I was sleeping on was covered with white sheets and was so comfy. It’s like sleeping on a cloud. And why is it so clean?

“Oh God, will you shut it? My head hurts, and the floor is uncomfortable.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” I snark, reaching for the bed again and getting back in, pulling the sheet up to hold off the morning chill that hits my skin.

He grumbles something I don’t understand before he gets up, brings a pillow with him, and climbs in next to me. His stomach hits the bed, and his face smushes into the pillow.

“Fuck yes.”

“No,” I say, trying to push him. He needs to move, preferably out of bed. “I don’t want to share a bed with you.”

“Well, Pretty Lady, you either go back to sleep or try waking your deadbeat of a husband. And we both know he isn’t going to come get you anyway. You and I both had way too much to drink to drive.”

What time did I fall asleep?

Was the sun starting to rise when I passed out?

Gosh, my memory is bad.

“You’ve been asleep for two hours, and you will still have alcohol in your system, so go back to sleep and get rid of it,” Milo mumbles. I notice he’s wearing a white shirt and still has his black jeans on, but his vest has been discarded neatly on a cupboard.

“Stay on your side of the bed.” I reach for a pillow and put it between us, not caring if it’s his room or not. He doesn’t reply as I lie back down next to him. It isn’t long before I pass back out, with the smell of rich leather and ocean breeze surrounding me.

I’m hot. I’m pretty sure that’s what wakes me. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. It’s definitely not the fact that I can feel him everywhere, and I’m too afraid to open my eyes to see the position we’re in.

I’m a married woman in bed with another man.

Not that it matters considering my husband is off with some other woman, nor the fact that I despise him, but still!

“You’re hot.” His voice echoes through me.

Snapping my eyes open, I try to move, but a pair of hands grab my hips, stopping me.

“I suggest you don’t wiggle.” It’s then I feel his hardness pressing against me. Lifting my head from his chest, I note a wet spot on his shirt. “You drool when you sleep.” I open my mouth to reply, and he shakes his head. “And your breath stinks.”

“Why did you move me?” I accuse, looking into his chocolate eyes.

One dark brow raises. “Me? No, Pretty Lady, you moved, I stayed still.”

“You went to sleep on your stomach,” I remind him, and he shakes his head.

“No, I did not. As soon as you started snoring, I turned over and fell asleep on my back. That was until your cute ass decided the best pillow on my bed was me.” When he says it, his brow rises as if to say, I dare you to argue with me .

“I wouldn’t have.” I know I move a lot in my sleep because my pillows and blankets are usually everywhere when I wake—but sleeping on him?

“Oh, you did. Next time, I’ll record it for proof.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“So why are you still on me?” Milo licks his lips. I lift myself off him and almost fall off the bed, but he catches me, and my feet manage to land on the floor. “You can sleep on me anytime. You, my Pretty Lady, are comfy as all hell.”

He stretches, and his shirt lifts, baring a strip of his abdomen. It’s tanned, and he has lines indented on his lower stomach, showcasing a defined V.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I may eat you.” I step back and go straight to the door. “I’ll be here anytime you want me, Pretty Lady.” He flops back down and falls straight back to sleep before I can reach the door.

It’s quiet when I step out of his room, and I wonder how the fuck I’m going to get home.