Chapter Nineteen
Poppy
The clubhouse is buzzing with a strange, frenzied energy first thing Monday morning.
Everyone seems invigorated, talking loudly in the bar area over beers and other alcohol concoctions that shouldn’t be drank this early.
The stench of cigarettes and weed permeates the air, making me want to gag.
I think I may be slightly allergic to weed, the smell makes my stomach curl and my skin feel even itchier than usual.
Gina waves me over from the other side of the room, her smile stretching wide.
“Why’s everyone so chipper this morning?” I question, noticing smiles on faces of club members who don’t usually smile.
“They got him, Poppy! Isn’t that great? Now you don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.”
“Got who?”
“That guy who’s obsessed with you. Wilbur? Wally?”
My stomach sours. “Do you mean Wesley?”
She nods her head enthusiastically. “Yeah, yeah him. They got him! Now they’re just waiting for the other club to retaliate, and we’ll be back on top.”
“What do you mean they got him?”
She frowns. “In prison. They paid a few guys to take him out. According to what I overheard, he was taken to a hospital in Las Vegas, he’s in critical condition. They don’t expect him to make it through the night.”
Tears instantly prick my eyes. “You’re lying, right?”
She shakes her head. “I thought you’d be happy about this, Poppy? You said you didn’t care what happened to him. That you hate him.”
“I DO HATE HIM!” I shout, though it’s a bitter, painful lie. “But they promised me they wouldn’t kill him!”
“And you believed them?” She laughs loudly, her mocking tone like a punch to the chest. “Girl, wake up. Do you not see who we pal around with? These men are ruthless. They don’t give two fucks what they promised you.
All they care about is territory and power.
Warden wants that poser ass club gone. Now they have a reason to take them out.
It won’t be long. According to a few members, they’re expecting retaliation as soon as Warden orders the call. ”
Warden enters the room all smiles. He glances over to where we are standing, shooting me a wink. A wink that has me seeing red.
Gina grabs my arm before I even take a step. “I wouldn’t go over there if I were you.”
“Don’t touch me,” I growl, ripping my arm out of her grasp.
Before she can talk me out of it, I’m marching across the room, straight to where Warden’s taking a long pull from a beer that his girlfriend Sammie presented him.
“Well, hey there, sweetheart,” he says when he sees me, not anticipating the slap that comes out of nowhere.
“You bastard!” I screech.
“Whoa! Whoa!” he growls, rubbing at his cheeks. “Where’s the fire, Poppy?”
“The fire? You promised me, Warden! You said you wouldn’t kill him.”
He laughs. “Oh that! Yeah, and as of right now, I’ve maintained that promise.”
Sammie giggles by his side. “Technically he’s still alive. For now,” she chirps, staring up at Warden with enamored eyes.
“Gina said he’s in critical condition, and probably won’t make it through the night!”
“So, I’ve heard.” He can’t hide his smirk.
“This isn’t funny, Warden! You said you would only rough him up a little bit, not fucking kill him.”
When I go to smack him again, someone stops my hand mid-swing… Arturo.
“Don’t hit him again.”
I spin on my heels, poking the asshole in the chest. “You let this happen!” I shout. “You both said there wouldn’t be bloodshed.”
“Oh, we never promised there wouldn’t be bloodshed, sweetheart. Just that “we” wouldn’t kill him.” He air quotes the word mockingly. “And we didn’t kill him. He’s still alive. Unfortunately.”
“I can’t believe you.” My voice is so loud it carries over the thumping bass of a metal song roaring through the sound system. “I didn’t want this. I just wanted Eddie to hurt. Not for Wesley to… to…” I can’t even finish the words without feeling guilty.
“Face it, Poppy, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have known how to get under that punkass VP’s skin. Now, once my girl gives him a ring, we’re going to meet him on the road and take him and his whole club out. Problem solved,” Warden informs me.
“They weren’t even bothering you!” I challenge.
“Their existence bothers me, Poppy, and if you’re not careful, yours might too.”
“What? You gonna kill me too, Warden? Go for it! Kill me!” I throw my hands out, welcoming death with open arms. I won’t be able to live with myself if Wesley dies. That’s not what I wanted.
He smirks. “Arturo, get your girl out of here before she makes me do something stupid. Make sure she realizes who the fuck is in charge here.”
Arturo grabs me by my waist, lifting me off my feet. “What are you scared of, Warden? Can’t take out a girl yourself?”
His laughter fills the room. “Bitch, I’m not afraid to take out a fucking woman, but I may still need you if this shit doesn’t go the way we have planned.”
“Fuck you!” I holler as Arturo carts me toward our shared bedroom. “I’m not helping you ever again.”
Warden seems pleased as he takes another long drawn out sip of his drink. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. Don’t forget who feeds that little habit you have.”
Arturo pauses for a few seconds as a strange growl vibrates from his chest. He doesn’t say a word, not until we’re behind a closed door and he violently throws me on the bed.
My body bounces off the mattress, and I’m launched a few feet in the air before hitting the floor, my head knocking against the cold concrete.
“What the fuck, Arturo?” I snap, rubbing at the knot already forming on my head. “Did you really have to throw me like that?”
He backhands me the second I bring myself to my knees, his ring cutting into my cheek. “Shut the fuck up, you stupid whore.”
“Whore? I’m not a fucking whore!”
He laughs bitterly. “Aren’t you though? I’ve heard about your life before you came here. What you would do to get your fix. How many men have been inside of you, Poppy? How many diseases have you carried?”
None, thankfully.
“Fuck you!” I bite back, even though the sting across my cheek tells me to keep my tongue.
Another vicious slap almost knocks me unconscious.
“I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”
He loosens his tie, rolling back his cufflinks. Unlike the other bastards in this club, Arturo still works for Moseley, so he dons a suit most days, his allegiance in a strange limbo.
“We seem to be having a power struggle, my pet.” He undoes his belt, the metal clanging against the ground as a warning. “Do I need to beat my bitch into submission?”
Just the thought of it has me already cowering. “No,” I whisper, my voice coming out weak and stripped of courage.
Arturo’s smile slides even more evilly across his face. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Poppy. The only way to train a bitch is to break them.”
The belt comes out of nowhere, snapping inches from my face.
“Turn around!”
“N—No,” I stutter out, shaking uncontrollably.
“I said, turn the fuck around.”
When the belt comes down on my bare knees, leaving a lashing as red as the handprint on my cheek, I cry out in a strangled plea of mercy.
“Arturo, don’t do this, please.”
“Turn the fuck around!” he repeats. “I won’t ask you again.”
Like a robot, I turn, so I’m kneeling on the floor facing the bedspread that’s tucked in on all corners.
My breath hitches seconds before the belt bites into my back, and despite my best effort, I let out a painful squeak, followed by another and another. Each one getting softer as the pain starts to meld together and everything inside me goes numb.
And somewhere in my mind, I tell myself I deserve this, and that it’s because of me that Wesley got hurt.
So, I take each hit, fighting through the pain, parts of me breaking with every lashing as I try to find a safe space in my head to hide.
If I block out the agony and the embarrassment of him demeaning me in this way, I’ll be okay.
I’ll be okay…
I’ll be okay…
My mind slips into a repetitive downward spiral. The gaslighting prominent, the lies even more treacherous.
I want to hate Arturo for treating me this way.
Everything in me wants to fight back.
I just can’t.
Not when Wesley’s barely hanging on.
I gave them his name.
I’m the reason he’s probably dead.
Even though I know that I’ll be okay, I know he won’t, and it’s that thought that finally breaks me.
A single tear slips down my cheek, as my fingers curl into the shaggy green rug at the foot of the bed, my screams of agony twisting in my gut as they mix with ridiculous amounts of shocking pain.
“You stupid, bitch! You’ll pay for making a fool of me! Just like he did in that prison cell.”
Blood leaks down my back as he takes another swing, this time so hard I hit the ground, too weak to get back up.
“Picture your little friend just like this,” Arturo whispers cruelly.
“Back bruised and broken. Blood everywhere. Those few final breaths a struggle just to get out. Do you think he begged for mercy, Poppy? Do you think he pleaded for his life?” He grabs my cheeks and squeezes.
“Are you smart enough to beg for yours?”
“Please,” I croak out. “I can’t take anymore.”
“Have I broken you yet? Or do you need more?”
“No,” I shout. My vision starting to cloud. “Please… stop.”
He rips my head back, forcing me to look into his menacing eyes. “If you ever try to embarrass me like that again, your punishment will be far worse.”
He violently shreds my sleeve, exposing my little addiction to the cold, cruel air. “You’re nothing more than a pathetic drug addict, Poppy. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be nothing.”
The shame takes over.
“I know,” I whisper.
He angrily pulls away. Leaving me alone on the floor.
“Clean yourself up,” he growls. “And maybe, if you start to behave, I’ll let you get your next fix.
” He opens a drawer and pulls out the secret vial I had hidden there, clutching it in his hand, his knuckles blanching an angry white as he threatens to break it.
“Fuck with me, and I’ll make it so your veins never taste this again. ”
“Y—You can’t do that!” I choke out, though my entire back feels like it’s on fire. “I need it.”
He smirks. “I know. Pathetic, isn’t it? Your whole existence revolves around this one tiny vial, and without me you may never see it again.”
“Arturo, please,” I beg, clutching the bottom of his slacks. “I need it.”
“No, Poppy, what you need is a wake-up call. Maybe even an intervention.”
He throws the vial up in the air and catches it. “Who’s bitch are you?”
“Yours…” I bite out, the words almost like poison on my tongue. “Now can I please have that back. I can’t survive this pain without it.”
“Not until you learn to be a good girl.” He pats my head condescendingly, then leaves, locking me inside so I can’t get out. “Only good girls get treats, my pet,” he shouts from the other side of the door.
“ARTURO!” I scream after him. “ARTURO, DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!”
But he will.
Because this is his way of breaking me.
And the sad part is, I’m too weak to stop him.
If Wesley was here…
The thought dies before it even has a chance to suffer.
I’m the one who called the hit—the arrow that marked him for death’s cold, greedy hands. Now he’s lying in some hospital bed. Broken. Defeated. Alone. And I’m over here bleeding out on a carpet, more focused on my stash being held captive than I am about the man who I marked for death.
Who the fuck am I?
Good Lord, what have I done?