7. Finleigh
Finleigh
T he woman in the mirror? She’s not me. Not the “now” me—the one with no memory. The one with injuries so excruciating that it makes it hard to catch my breath sometimes.
That woman in the mirror… She’s a car wreck. It should have been unsurvivable, yet somehow, here I stand. Cheating death with every intake of breath and wishing the Reaper had come for me.
Fear pulses through my veins every second that passes. I want it to end. To know who I am and what my real life is like. Most of all, I want to understand how I felt about the baby growing inside of me. Was I happy? Angry, sad, excited? Did I plan to keep it? Or was I giving it away?
Who am I?
Am I really a girl who sleeps with two men? Has a relationship with them? Are we even in a relationship? One minute they say we are, and the next they say they haven’t seen me in a while and didn’t know about the baby. What should I believe?
The more I stare at my nude body in the bathroom, noting all the scars on the inside of my thighs, the bruises in their stages of healing, the stitches holding me together, nothing makes sense.
Nothing at all.
Surviving a shot to the head is still a mystery to me. I was told the bullet skimmed my scalp, never breaching my skull. Logically, I understand. Emotionally, though, nothing adds up.
Who did I hurt so badly that they tried to kill me? What did I do to them?
So many questions spiral through my mind like a never-ending staircase, and with every answer that comes, more questions arise.
With the sling off my arm, the bruising in my shoulder is alarming.
It carries down my chest and bicep, across the top of my back, and into my throat.
The sight alone is frightening, but I’m told it’ll be fine.
The shot was a through-and-through, with no bone fragmenting.
Some physiotherapy should help with muscular damage, but eventually, I’ll have full range of motion again.
My memory is another story. Doctors seem optimistic it’ll come back, that my brain is only protecting me from trauma. It’s a good thing they say, not remembering being raped by multiple men. Not reliving the physical agony my body went through at their hands.
All these things are told to me, but they forget one thing… When it all does come back, I will remember, and it’ll feel like it’s happening all over again. I’ll be raped a second time. Only it’ll be worse because what if I’ve healed when the memories flood my mind; how am I supposed to cope then?
Exhausted and hurting, I re-enter the bedroom I was set up in. I had planned to shower, but I don’t have the energy to figure out how to wash my hair and body without destroying my cast again. Or ruining the bandages on my head and shoulder.
Sliding gently into bed, my ribs scream in agony while trying to lie down carefully. Moaning when the pain becomes harrowing, I don’t bother to pull up the blanket. I can’t bend, my body screams in misery, and who cares if anyone sees me naked?
Closing my eyes, flashes of the past flicker through my mind. Moving colors just out of reach. A rush of feelings tugging strings from my heart and acting like its puppeteer. I have no control and can’t curtail the rush while fighting to breathe through overwhelming emotions.
The worst of it is, I can’t discern anything and bring forth a memory to recall. They’re illusions with no details. Inhaling deeply, I aim to focus on anything else, but pursuing the mind tricks only succeeds in giving me a headache.
Axl provided me with money and a phone, allowing me to believe they’d let me leave if that were my choice. In that moment, he was right; I was ready to run. I’d woken up in such a state of panic and couldn’t shake the feeling. Danger lurks, but why? The fear of someone coming for me terrifies me.
My eyes pop wide when the door creaks open. Seeing Brute standing there, a scowl on his face, makes my stomach clench tightly.
“You need to eat.” His stern tone makes me feel like a child as he closes the door behind himself.
“The baby needs food.” At his words, fluttering picks up in my stomach.
“Do you need help getting dressed?” I realize my silence frustrates him, but finding my voice seems impossible.
“Dammit, Fin, fucking answer me.” He drops down onto the bed behind my ass.
“Yes,” I finally whisper.
His warm hand on my shoulder brings tears to my eyes. I feel so cold, but when either of these men touches me, it’s like being next to a furnace. Everything is cozy again.
“You good with the clothes from earlier?”
“Uh-huh.” What else would I wear? I only have what they bought me, and I’m not about to ask for even more from them. How will I ever pay them back to begin with?
“Dinner’s being cooked by the prospects. I told them to keep it simple. They went with lasagna. You okay with that?” The frown on his face as he helps me up, slipping the sweats over my feet, is telling. He doesn’t often speak this much.
“Am I a vegetarian?” I wonder out loud.
“When we met, you had no trouble eating a double cheeseburger with bacon. I think you’re safe.” My lips quirk up in a brief smile at his description.
Time stands still as his eyes roam my face, like he’s memorizing me. His finger on my jaw is a pleasant touch, rough from working with his hands, yet soothing with its lack of expectation.
“You have a gorgeous smile.” The sweet words from Brute are unexpected. He’s not a sweet man. Not soft in any way. Yet, for me, he seems to be. “Let’s get you fed.”
Just like that, the moment passes, and he’s unreadable again. In place of the man with a gentle touch and kind words is the ruthless person who appears ready to kill at a moment’s notice.
After he’s done helping me dress, he leads the way out of the apartment, holding my casted hand with his.
As we slowly make our way downstairs, there’s a lot of noise that sets me on edge.
Music plays from unseen speakers, chatter comes from the men I saw earlier before fainting, and the sounds of cooking fill the air.
“Hey there, princess.” Axl waits for us at the bottom of the stairs, a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes crosses his full lips, and I wonder if they ever show genuine emotion.
“Hi,” I squeak out, noticing all eyes on us. “I don’t like being the center of attention,” I whisper as they stand protectively at my front and back.
“They’re curious about you,” Brute explains, placing a hand on my waist.
Axl tips my chin up to force me to look at him. “Ain’t nobody going to touch you.” His voice seems to carry, and everyone resumes what they were doing.
Biting my lip when my chin starts to wobble in an attempt to stop myself from the unexpected urge to cry, I bob my head subtly.
“Come on.” Brute takes my hand again to lead me over to a table against the wall, which is set up with the two men from the hospital serving food. “They worked hard on this for you.”
Leaning into him before sitting down, I ask, “What are their names?”
“Olympus and Neo. They’re working to become patched members of the club. They’ll do anything you ask of them.” Brute gives them both a stern stare, and they nod like their lives depend on it. Perhaps they do.
“Thank you both.” They bow slightly and take off, leaving the three of us alone.
I sit against the wall, uncomfortable with giving my back to random, unfamiliar men. Brute and Axl angle their chairs to keep me and the entire room in their sight. I don’t think it’s a trust issue, however. It seems more security-like.
“Eat.” Axl pushes a plate filled with fragrant food towards me, but I reach for the glass of water first. My throat is parched and feels like it’s getting drier by the moment.
“Are you not eating?” They also have plates, and more men are heading towards the kitchen to grab food, too.
“Once everyone is settled, we will.”
These men’s dynamics are confusing and intriguing. I’ve never witnessed anything like it and want to know more. I have so many questions but doubt they’ll all be answered, so I start simple. “Are your birth names really Brute and Axl?”
They both turn to stare at me as I grab my fork, attempting to make this interaction feel as normal as possible when nothing is normal at all.
“No,” Brute says, a bite in his tone. “My name is Jack Williams.”
So common. “Why do they call you Brute?”
Axl snorts and waves a hand at Brute’s fists. “You see the size of those things?” He laughs; Brute doesn’t.
They are rather large hands, and I can imagine they’d do a lot of damage to someone; thankfully, they’ve been nothing but kind and protective towards me.
“I beat a kid half to death in high school,” he explains, startling me with the revelation.
“Oh.” I’m still fighting with slicing up a piece of lasagna with the side of my fork when he grabs my utensils and cuts the entire thing. “Thanks.” I finally get a bite in my mouth and nearly gag. Too. Much. Garlic. Dear god.
“They’re not the greatest cooks.” Axl winces and hands me my water glass.
“Hey, assholes, what’d you do to the food?” one of the other members shouts.
Olympus appears frozen in place as Neo narrows his eyes. “Uh, cooked it?”
Someone picks up a piece and tosses it in Neo’s face, making the men laugh and grumble something about ordering pizza.
“They have some things to learn,” another guy rumbles as he collects our plates, offering a reassuring smile in place of the scowl he had moments before.
“Who is that?” Quietly inquiring is easier than having to interact with them when they all intimidate me.
“That’s Easy. He’s an enforcer for the club. Keeps everyone safe,” Axl explains, then starts pointing out other members. Honestly, I forget almost everyone he mentions until he stops on a man called Viking. Seeing him covered in blood is what terrified me into fainting.
He appears normal now, aside from the scar on his face—from the temple, down his cheek, traveling along his jaw to his throat, and disappearing into the collar of his shirt and vest. What a gruesome way for someone to hurt him.
“What does he do for the club?” I’m transfixed by the ice in his piercing blue eyes. They’re…dead but calculating.
“He’s our VP,” Brute answers, turning my head when I don’t look at him. “He’s in charge when I’m not here.” The subtle warning is not missed. If I’m ever here when they’re not, listen to Viking.
Licking my suddenly dry lips, Brute’s gaze tracks the movement, and an electric current sizzles between us as he turns his body towards me, trapping me between his legs.
When he leans forward, I hold my breath, whimpering when our lips touch, and my eyes close, losing myself in the way we connect.
How he opens his mouth, and I follow suit.
He flicks his tongue across my teeth, giving me time to retreat before his hands land on my thighs, gripping me and trapping me in his hold.
Ignoring the searing pain in my ribs by leaning forward, I mimic Brute’s actions as he deepens the kiss, pulling my tongue into his mouth. My casted hand grips the edge of his vest, and my body vibrates with pleasure as he nips my tongue, sucking it into his mouth when I move to pull back.
He doesn’t stop until my head is tugged back by a hand on my jaw and turned into Axl’s mouth. He’s not as patient as Brute, going in right for the kill, sweeping his tongue into my mouth and tasting every inch of me until I moan.
Their mouths are dominant, but the touch of their hands remains gentle as they explore my bruised and tattered body. The reality of my agonizing ordeal should give me pause. I shouldn’t want this, but my body seems to know more than my mind because it immediately surrenders my trust to them.
I should be terrified by the feelings as they kindle within me, but I’m exhilarated, and for the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, I don’t dread what’s next. I anticipate and welcome it.