Chapter 2
Tillie
“C ruz, I didn’t see you-u there.” My gulp is noticeably loud in the quiet of the changing room and his predatory eyes don’t miss a thing as they narrow on the sweat dripping down my temple.
“I was just leaving for the night, my shift is over. I have school in a couple of hours so I’m heading back to the compound.
” Why does my voice have to come out shaky and scared?
He takes a deep breath through his nose and his eyes close in sick bliss, thriving on my fear.
Cruz is a sociopath and I’m wondering how I never saw it years ago when my heart throbbed for him. The crazy was right in front of me the whole time.
My pulse is jumping out of my body and trying to get the hell out of here, I only wish I could follow it instead of being trapped in this room with one of my worst nightmares.
As far back as I can remember Cruz was always in my life.
We grew up in the club together after the Jokers took him off the streets.
Payne found him wandering from dumpster to dumpster as a runaway and for some reason, my father took him under his wing.
I’ll never understand why. Cruz was a constant shadow of mine, around every lurking corner, and my silly, foolish heart thought he had a crush on me…
I never saw the possessive ownership, not once, until it was too late.
Every memory I have, Cruz takes a big place in it since the moment he stepped into the compound.
From when Uncle Rig brought home my first crotch rocket at age fourteen, Cruz stood right behind me with hunched shoulders and his hands in his pocket as I tried to figure out how to balance my body on the damn thing.
Yeah, that was pretty young for a girl to be riding around the streets alone and without a license but rules don’t apply to people who deal in the criminal world.
It was all an act just so Cruz could gain my father’s approval, a father he never had…
he could fucking have him for all I care.
Payne and him were two peas in a pod, it used to make me jealous of the attention I didn’t have but now…
the fuckers can have each other for all I care.
The feel of him currently breathing on my face causes a shiver of dread down my spine.
He lifts his hand, reaching around me, and trails it over my exposed shoulder blade, across the tattoo that covers the worst of my nightmares.
The ridged letter C was carved into my right shoulder blade with a small swiss army knife by the asshole in front of me and yeah, it’s not a small scar.
It took a while to create, what he likes to call artwork, through my delicate skin.
I had the needle stinging into my skin the first chance I got to cover it up, a feather covers the rigid bumps.
It’s not noticeable now but we both know what lays under the ink.
My memories I’ll have to carry with me always and to Cruz, it just means ownership.
His property and a sick reminder for him.
“Why do you show your body to other men like you want it? I bet you try fucking all those boys at that school of yours, but they know not to touch what’s mine, don’t they, little bird?
Does the slut inside of you enjoy it?” His grip on my shoulder digs in the angrier he gets and I know I’m going to have a bruise right over his scar he takes pride in.
I slap his hand away and his eyes darken until it’s only his pupils taking over the white of his eyes, his cheeks turning red in rage.
Next thing I know my back is scraping against the cold metal lockers as he shoves his body against the front of mine and slams his fist repeatedly on the locker right by my head.
The need to flinch is strong but I turn my head to the side because looking at him takes me back to that night.
The smell, the fear, and the hopelessness all come back with him this close.
“No-o, Cruz, I wouldn’t do that. No one compares to you.” My words come trembling out on a lie that I hope he doesn’t notice and my vision gets blurry around the edges, I keep blinking to get rid of it without looking at him still.
“Look at me!” He shouts in my face, spittle landing on my cheek, and his voice rings in my ears, causing a small whimper to escape from me.
My throat moves with a rough swallow, stalling to gain the willpower to gaze into his lifeless eyes. Once he has my attention again, he clears his throat, stepping back like nothing ever happened, and slicks back his greased up dirty blonde hair as if he didn’t just have an outburst of rage.
“That’s good to hear, little bird. The thought of anyone taking what’s mine again makes me jealous.
You know, I think about that night a lot.
Sliding between those creamy thighs that tempt me every day and hearing your screams of pain can really do things to a man.
Tell me you think about me too.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand and by the faraway look in his eyes and a secret, sickening smile, he really is reliving that night.
Do I think about him? Yes. Every single fucking day because I’m equal parts terrified of him and at the same time I’d like nothing better than to take his swiss army knife and cut him into tiny pieces.
That would take a long time but I’m willing to get the job done to satisfy my thirst for revenge.
My father was right though, men do rule the world.
The thing about that is when a woman hurts so deeply, she always gets her vengeance and one day I will too, even if I die trying.
“Of course, I think about it every night, Cruz. How could I forget?” I say with an almost bored tone and keep my expression blank but my nails leave marks in the palm of my hands from squeezing my fist tightly.
Like I could ever forget, all I feel is rage coursing through my blood.
They say blood is thicker than water but I call bullshit.
My own blood causes me to live in fear day in and day out, turning me into someone who has a taste for sweet retaliation pooling in the back of my throat that I almost choke on daily.
“That’s a good thing about memories, you always have a reminder of them to look back on.
I have to go, meeting with Payne about a special subject that I can’t wait to get my hands on.
I’ll be seeing you, Tillie.” He crooks his head, watching my pulse jump in my neck before leaning forward and placing a kiss there.
Those two seconds seem to last for a lifetime, but it’s easier to breathe when he steps back from me.
He straightens his leather Joker vest with the prospect patch missing in its usual spot, his rings gleaming in the dim lighting. He winks at me before turning around and walking away without the fear of me stabbing him in the back.
The second he’s out of sight, my legs collapse beneath me with my breathing shallow as the fear and memories resurface.
I live in a bubble where I pretend it never happened, but every time I stare into the Joker members’ faces, it’s like they stick a needle into my bubbled world until it explodes and I’m out in the open just to be hurt again.
My head bangs against the locker behind me as I stare up at the ceiling through my tears that won’t fall.
How can a person heal when it’s a constant reminder that you’ve been violated and passed around like a rag doll?
When you see those people daily? Sometimes I think death is a better way, just take a small blade to my wrists and drift away but my body would be left alone as a hard shell that my soul was just keeping as a bodysuit.
I think that pain would travel with me no matter where I go and it won’t end with me leaving for good.
I’d rather see this to the end where the compound goes up in lights, in a fire of explosion as it reflects back in my eyes.
One day.
Running my trembling hands through my hair, I sigh in frustrated defeat just before standing up and grabbing my bag off the floor when I head to the back of the building to leave.
The need for an adrenaline rush grips me tight, making my skin itch.
I need to have control and racing sounds like the perfect opportunity to ground me.
The exit sign ahead is like a beacon and I’m jogging down the hallway to get out of the strip club, my eyes dart to every hidden dark corner just in case I need to break into a sprint before hands can grab me.
Slamming open the back door, the parking lot is lit with one lamp post, and my baby is parked right under the spotlight in all its glory.
Shiny black and purple accents make my bike stand out but also blend in just like me.
The only freeing moment I have in my life is when I’m riding down the streets with her between my legs.
We live for that daring moment where all possibilities are endless and it’s the danger I can control as I speed with my knees almost kissing the pavement.
My crotch rocket is the only thing that gives me the illusion that all is going to be okay.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling onto a long stretch of a deserted road with cars parked on the sides, their headbeams acting as a runway on either side of the pavement.
My eyes scan behind the tinted visor of my helmet for Manny, the one and only money holder for the races, the guy you want to know when a race is happening.
I met him a year ago when he followed behind me one night when I was feeling extremely daring on my bike and he hopped out of his car, dropping to his knees begging for me to race into the night.
So here I am, waiting for a thrill and wanting to challenge a fucker to feel something.