Chapter 8
Emily
One and a half years ago …
Irummage in my bag for my phone. It’s freezing out here, and Mick still hasn’t arrived. I reminded him this morning, when he dropped me off, that I finished at eight.
Me: Are you still coming to pick me up? My shift finished half an hour ago.
It takes a good five minutes to get a reply, and that only makes my annoyance grow. I wish I didn’t have to rely on him for a lift when I finish late. I usually get a bus during the day, but I’m not comfortable travelling on one at night.
I have a driver’s license, but I haven’t saved up enough money to buy a car yet. Not a reliable one anyway.
Every time I get close, Mick always hits me up for a loan that he never repays.
I’m not exactly sure what he does for work. I asked him once, but he replied with, “That’s club business.”
Whatever illegal shit he’s up to, it’s never consistent. One minute, he’s rolling in cash, living his best life; the next, he’s flat out broke.
Mick: I’m at the club. We’re having a party. Come.
Me: It’s been a long day. I’ll see you when you get home.
As I go to dump my phone back in my bag, it starts to ring. I blow out a long breath before I answer it. The moment I hear Mick’s voice, I can tell he’s drunk.
“Babe,” he slurs. “I want you to come. You’ll have fun.”
“I’m tired, Mick.”
Hanging around a bunch of drunk bikies is not my idea of fun. I’d rather scrub a toilet with a toothbrush than deal with that circus tonight.
When the booze starts flowing, the guys get louder, cruder, and the women who hang around there aren’t much better. They’re all fake lashes, skimpy clothes, and the kind of smiles that come with an open invitation.
He sighs dramatically. “Come on, don’t be like that. Everyone’s asking where you are. You know it looks bad when my own girlfriend doesn’t show up. Just have a drink, say hi, and I’ll take you home after. Promise.”
“You’ve been drinking. I’m not getting on the back of the bike with you when you’re like this.”
“Fine, we can get a taxi home, or stay here the night.”
I’ve seen the revolving door of men and women disappearing into the back bedrooms, to do God only knows what. There’s no way I’m sleeping in one of those beds.
“Say yes. All work and no play makes Emily a—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I grumble.
Mick barks out a laugh, and despite my annoyance, I feel a smile tug at my lips. He has one of those laughs that fills a room. It’s loud, carefree, and the kind that makes people turn and grin even when they don’t know what’s funny.
“You work too much … I miss you.” It’s hard to stay mad at him when he sounds like that, and maybe that’s half my problem.
“Fine,” I sigh. “But I’m coming in my work clothes. If I go home to change, I’m liable to climb into bed and never leave.”
He chuckles again, smug and satisfied, and I can almost picture that lazy grin of his, the one that always gets him exactly what he wants.
There are two prospects manning the gate when the taxi pulls up out front. The old guy behind the wheel eyes the run-down factory, the line of Harleys parked in front, the eight-foot chain-link fence surrounding the property, and the rolls of barbed wire coiled along the top.
He raises an eyebrow as I count out the tips I got today and hand them over to cover my fare.
“You sure you want me to leave you here? This doesn’t look like a place a pretty woman like yourself should be,” he says, his voice tinged with concern.
I give him a tight smile. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”
He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, as I step out of the cab. My sensible, black flat shoes crunch under the gravel as I approach the gates. The sound of laughter and loud music drifts through the fence.
A guy I don’t recognise lifts his chin and puffs out his chest. “This is a private party,” he growls.
I roll my eyes as the guy standing next to him elbows him in the side. “That’s Muzzle’s missus, you fucktard,” he snaps, his tone sharp enough to make the first guy flinch.
I smirk, shaking my head at their ridiculous posturing, and step past them when the first guy opens the gate.
My stomach twists with anxiety as I approach the building, and I feel like I should’ve taken the taxi driver’s warning, but I know Mick will look out for me while I’m here.
The scent of leather and sweat hits me full force as I enter, and I’m already regretting agreeing to come. The music pounds so hard my chest vibrates, and the crowd presses in from all sides. It’s a full house tonight.
I stand just inside the entrance and scan the room looking for my boyfriend, and bile rises to the back of my throat the second I spot him.
Some bitch wearing nothing but a sparkly red G-string is sitting on his lap, and if he turns his head just slightly, one of those perky nipples that sit on her enormous chest is likely to take out one of his eyes.
Mick’s hand rests casually on her hip, and he has a beer in the other as he talks with one of the bikies beside him.
My first instinct is to turn around and walk right back out, but instead, I find myself storming straight towards them. The music thunders in my ears, lights flashing over bodies pressed too close together, and every laugh or moan from down the hall twists something in my gut.
Seeing it firsthand always makes me wonder what Mick gets up to when I’m not around. I’ve seen some of the bikies—men I know for a fact have old ladies at home—slipping into those back rooms with a skank in tow without a hint of shame or remorse.
Does my boyfriend do that, too? The thought makes my stomach twist as a sour burn rises in my throat. I push forward, needing answers I’m not sure I want.
When I come to a stop beside them, I reach for the woman’s ponytail, tugging her head back until our eyes meet. “I believe you’re in my seat,” I say, keeping my voice low despite the anger raging inside me.
My eyes flicker to Mick, and I see that his full attention is now on me, with that easy smile I’ve come to love, curving his lips.
“She was just keeping my lap warm until you got here, babe,” he states, like it’s no big issue. “Isn’t that right, Amber?”
She bites the corner of her lip and gives him a look I can’t quite decipher.
When he gets no audible reply from her, he bounces his leg once, in an attempt to buck her off, then juts his chin, silently ordering her to leave. When she pouts her lip and stands, he slaps his hand against her bare arse, and I see red.
His gaze moves back to me as he taps his open palm against his thigh, gesturing for me to sit where that bitch just was. Is he fucking kidding me right now?
I remain rooted to the spot as I reach for his beer, like I’m going to take a swig, but instead, I turn the bottle upside down and dump the liquid all over his sleezy head.
The guy beside him roars with laughter, but the scowl twisting Mick’s face has a chill running down my spine. I should’ve known not to poke the bear when he’s been drinking, because that’s when his ugly side emerges.
Turning abruptly, I place the bottle down on the filthy makeshift bar as I pass, then push through the crush of bodies, heading for the exit. My pulse pounds in my ears, louder than the music, louder than the shouts behind me.
I know I’m going to pay for what I just did, but it was worth it. Every damn drop. He’s lucky I didn’t smash the bottle over his head.
The second I shove open the heavy metal door, the cold night air hits me like a slap. I gulp it down, my chest feels tight, and my heart is racing. The sounds of the club fade behind me as I move towards the front gate.
Warm tears streak down my cheeks before I even realise they’re there. I swipe at them, furious with myself, with him, with the whole damn thing. I glance back at the door, half expecting it to burst open and half praying it doesn’t.
I call a taxi with shaky fingers, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds, as I wait for Mick to come after me, but he never does.
I should feel relieved, but I don’t. I know I haven’t heard the end of this. I embarrassed him in front of his men, but in all fairness, he disrespected me, too. How would he feel if I did something like that to him?
I know for a fact he’d lose his shit. I still remember the first time I came to the clubhouse and one of his mates slapped my arse. Mick didn’t even think; he just swung and knocked the guy out before anyone could react.
I’m standing on the corner, further down the street, when the taxi finally arrives. I feel instant relief when I climb in without a word.
I’ve never been one for confrontation, which is probably why I’ve gotten so good at faking it.
I’ve learned how to smile when I want to scream, how to keep my tone steady when everything inside me is falling apart.
But something in me broke tonight, and I don’t recognise the person who grabbed that woman’s ponytail, or the one who poured beer over Mick’s head, or the rage that came with it.
By the time I get home, the quiet feels heavier than the noise in my head. I slip inside, lock the door, and head straight for my room. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, and all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry, but I have way more important things to deal with right now.
My hands are trembling again, but not from fear; it’s from the realisation of knowing what I have to do.
I drop to my knees beside the bed, reach under it, to pull out the old shoebox I’ve been hiding there for over a year. It is the money I’ve been saving for a car, but now it’s going to be my escape plan.
My safety net.
My way out.
Deep down, this money has given me some peace. Mick hasn’t left a mark on me since the first time he manhandled me, but there’ve been times when he lost his cool and came close.
I lift the lid on the shoebox, already picturing the piles of bills stashed inside, but I audibly gasp when I find it empty.
For a second, I just stare, my mind refusing to catch up. Then the room tilts, and my breath catches in my throat. Someone’s already taken my way out, and now I’ve got nothing.
My shock is short-lived when I hear the rumble of a bike coming down the street. I already know it’s Mick.
Anger flares hot in my chest. He took my money. He stole from me.
The engine cuts off, and the silence that follows only fuels my rage. I leap to my feet and rush towards the front door, not caring about his reaction.
That is, until he uses his boot to kick the front door right off the hinges.
I stumble back as the shattered piece of wood whips past me, missing by inches. But it isn’t the splintered debris that sends a chill through me; it’s the crazed and furious look in Mick’s eyes as he charges in my direction.
“Mick,” I whisper, retreating another step, but there’s nowhere to go. The main room is too small, too cramped. I’m trapped.
“How dare you embarrass me in front of my brothers like that!” he roars. His arm flashes upwards, and before I can move, his hand cracks across my face. The blow is so hard it knocks me off my feet.
I hit the floor with a dull thud. For a heartbeat, everything freezes. Mick stands over me, his chest heaving. When he lifts his arms again, I flinch and brace for another hit, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, he drops to his knees beside me, pulling me into his arms. “I … I’m sorry, babe,” he stammers as his voice breaks. “Fuck, Emily. I love you. I’m so sorry.”
Now isn’t the time to say it, I know that, but the words slip out anyway. “You took my money.”
“Shh,” he murmurs, running his hand over my hair. “I’ll pay it back.”
My entire body trembles with fear, anger and confusion. I don’t want his hands on me, but I’m too scared to push him away. His touch feels desperate and possessive as his warm breath ghosts against my ear.
“Mick,” I whisper. “Please … just stop.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me; his eyes are red and glassy, full of guilt.
“I said I’m sorry,” he mutters, as if saying it again could erase what just happened.
Sorry isn’t enough.
It will never be enough.
I flinch when he leans in to brush a soft kiss against the corner of my mouth. The side of my face throbs, and I taste the metallic tang of blood on my tongue.
He presses his forehead to mine, whispering empty promises I’ve heard too many times before. I stare past him, hollow, shattered, and numb.
When he stands and lifts me into his arms, carrying me towards the bedroom, I’m too weak—too afraid—to fight him off.
It’s in that moment that I realise I don’t know how to leave him, but I know I have to.