24. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trix
Honey passes behind me, making her way into the kitchen to heat up some food for the prospects, while I pop the caps off three chilled bottles of beer and hand them over before moving to where Luxe is sitting.
"What would you like?" I ask, as I tap my nails against the wooden bar.
"Well, I was going to ask for a rum and Coke, but I'd also now like to request a smile alongside that."
Rolling my eyes, I spin around, grabbing a clean glass and a bottle of white rum.
"Come on," he whines. "One of the best parts of my day is seeing your cheeks bunch up because of something I've said. But lately I haven't been graced with that sight, and I'm starting to get concerned."
Tipping the clear alcohol into his glass, I top it off with some Coke, then slide it over to him.
Dragging my eyes up to his, I force a smile before letting my lips drop back down.
"Better?"
"It'll do for now." He huffs, takes his glass and spins around on his stool.
Placing the bottle of rum back on the shelf, I glance around the bar, watching as some of the guys make their way out the doors, the rumbling of their engines filtering through the room as they go.
Dodger, Slate and Cruz are still seated in one of the booths, alongside the blonde woman who was here over the weekend.
Warren and Milo are sitting in the corner booth hunkered over a tablet, while Reeve is sitting beside them, eyes fixed on me.
When he notices my attention is now on him, he slides out of the booth and makes his way to the bar.
"You ready to head out soon?"
My fingers find the edges of my jacket as I glance at the darkened windows.
I still haven't figured out where I'm going to stay tonight.
All day, I've been weighing my options.
I considered messaging Emery, but I know that if I asked to stay with her, she'd instantly know something's wrong, so that's not an option.
Staying with Liam also isn't plausible because his dorm room is tiny. Plus, he'd be more unbearable than Emery with his interrogation.
My only option is to stay with Wanda.
The only issue with that is every time I'm in her trailer, I'm taken back to the nights I'd stay there when I was a child.
Memories of lying on her sofa with tear-stained cheeks. Tossing and turning all night, trying to find a comfortable position that didn't hurt too much from the bruises scattered over my body. Waking up to the smallest sounds in fear of it being my father trying to get in.
I don't think I can put myself back in that position after all these years.
But what other choice do I have?
With a sigh, I turn back to Reeve and nod.
"Yeah, let me just clean down the bar, then I'll grab my things."
The whole way back to the trailer park, my hands have been slick with sweat, no matter how many times I've wiped them against my shorts.
I can tell Reeve's been curious about my behavior over the last few days, and I had no doubt he'd likely ask me questions tonight while driving me home, so I put a stop to it before it could begin.
As soon as I got into the car, I turned the radio on, keeping the volume low, but loud enough for the songs playing to filter through the car and leave no room for a conversation.
That hasn't stopped him from glancing my way multiple times whilst driving though.
It's not until we near the entrance of the trailer park that I reach forward and turn the radio down.
"You can just drop me here," I tell him, pointing at the sign ahead of us.
Scoffing, he shakes his head, then turns and drives through the entrance.
"It's almost midnight. I'm not dropping you off and letting you walk all the way to your trailer in the dark, Red."
"It's not like I'd be in any danger," I protest. "I've lived here most of my life, and I know almost every single person that lives in this park. I'm perfectly safe here."
Turning to me with narrowed eyes, he pulls the car to a stop in the middle of the lane.
"No matter if you think you're safe here or not, I'm not leaving you alone in the dark."
Coldness sweeps over my body, and I gulp, staring at him as the car rolls forward again. He finally takes his eyes off of me, turning them back to the road ahead.
I was stupid to think he'd drop me off away from my trailer so I could go to Wanda's instead, without raising any questions.
He always drops me off and watches me until I'm inside, whether it's here or at the diner.
Usually, I appreciate the sentiment, but tonight, the thought of it has my pulse hammering in my ears and my shoulders tightening.
My chest is rising faster than normal as he rounds the last corner and drives toward the end of the row.
Fingers digging into the skin of my thighs, my eyes dart to my trailer, and my breath rushes out at the sight of the lights being off.
My body remains tense, but my pounding heart starts to settle down inside my chest at the possibility of my dad not being inside.
Reeve parks out front, pulling the car to a stop, while my gaze lingers on the window beside the trailer door, swallowing hard.
After a few moments, I force a small, tight smile onto my face, then turn to look at him.
"Thank you," I mutter, as I slowly reach for my bag and pull it onto my lap.
Casting my eyes back to the trailer, I draw in another deep breath before I open the car door and climb out.
Gripping onto the edge, I pause and give myself a moment to stabilize my legs before I move to the side and close the door behind me.
Hesitantly, I move away from his car, dragging my feet as I close the distance between myself and the steps leading up to the trailer.
When I reach them, I hover there for a few seconds as I listen for any sounds from inside.
Silence greets me, and with one last glance at Reeve—who's peering at me through his windscreen—I take a deep breath, place my trembling fingers on the handle, then gently pull it down and inch the door open.
The inside of the trailer is bathed in darkness.
No sounds.
No movement.
With my shoulders hunched, I step inside, carefully pulling the door closed behind me.
Then I wait, rooted to the spot in the ink-stained room.
Without an ounce of light, a creeping sense of danger settles in my bones.
Keeping my back pressed against the door, and my fingers wrapped around the handle, I wait for the sound of Reeve's engine, holding my breath as the noise breaks through the silence surrounding me.
As the rumbling grows distant, I move away from the door and peek out the window to make sure his car is gone.
When I no longer see the black Camaro parked outside, I release a sigh. My eyes fall closed as I rest my forehead against the glass.
A creak from behind me has my eyes shooting back open.
I remain in place, every inch of my body frozen.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my breathing grows shallow.
He's here.
I can feel his presence, and if I focus hard enough, I can hear his wheezing breaths, and the sound of his nails scraping over the skin on his arms.
"I thought I told you not to come back here," he spits, voice laced with venom.
Squeezing my eyes shut again, I tighten my grip on the handles of my bag, and press my body closer to the wall, trying and failing to hide myself from him.
Scrambling for an excuse as to why I'm here, I feel the peeling leather of my bag brush against my legs, and my eyes ping open.
"I know," I mutter. "I-I just—I needed the rest of my stuff."
An eerie silence stretches between us, but then his dark chuckle fills my ears, mere seconds before his hand wraps around the back of my neck. He pulls me away from the wall and tips my head back at a painful angle.
His fingers dig into my skin, and I'm glad we're shrouded in darkness because then he can't see that the pain makes me wince.
"You're not welcome here," he bites, words ringing in my ear from his close proximity. "You never were, and you never will be."
He drags me sideways, then forcefully pushes me forward. I stumble over my feet, my hands slapping against the door in a failed attempt to keep my face from smashing into it as I fall to the ground.
I don't give the pain time to register before I quickly flip myself around so my back is no longer facing him.
"I won't come back," I promise, my voice shaking. "Just give me my things, and I'll go. You'll never have to see me again."
I hear him stumble, then the sound of a glass smashing against the floor echoes throughout the space.
"You think you deserve anything in here?" He scoffs.
"I'm not taking anything that's not mine," I tell him, as I push myself up from the floor. My eyes dart around the darkened room, trying to get a sense of where he is since he stumbled and possibly fell over.
Within the blink of an eye, he pushes his way in front of me, his hand tangling its way into my hair as he slams the side of my face into the counter.
He makes a noise of disgust, bending down until his breath skates over my cheek.
"You've already taken what's not yours!" he shouts.
A pained garble escapes me when he pins my head against the countertop, but he doesn't let up.
Sneering, he continues.
"All your life, you've been a selfish little bitch. All you ever do is take, and take, and take. It's no wonder I never wanted you in my life. Just look at what you did to your mother," he roars. "You took my Connie!"
"I never took her away from you!" I scream. Lifting my hand to his, I try to pry his fingers off my face. "She died. She was sick, and she fucking died."
"And it was your fault!" He loosens his grip, only to wrap his fingers into my hair and push my head back down onto the counter. "She was fine before you came into our lives. She was perfect. We both were. Then you came along. She gave everything to you, and then you ruined it."
Tears trickle from the corner of my eyes as his words pierce through my already bruised and broken heart.
"It wasn't my fault," I sob.
Using his hold on my hair, he pulls my head upward, then slams me into the front door as he steps toward me.
"You're the reason she changed," he spits. "You drained her of every little bit of goodness she had. You took it all from her, and then once she was gone, you tried to replace her."
"No, I didn't!"
"Yes, you did!" He slams his fist into the door beside my head. "First it was the brown hair, then it was the freckles, and the perfume. Then the moaning, and the complaining. But you could never be her, Beatrix. You're not worthy enough."
My chest heaves with each breath as tears fall rapidly down my face.
"I grew up," I whisper, voice breaking as I speak. "It's not my fault I started to look like her."
"It's just another thing you took from her," he grumbles as he finally releases his hold on my hair and pushes away from me. "I won't allow you to take anything else."
Trembling from head to toe, I twist my arm behind my back, my fingers fumbling around until they find the handle on the door. I quickly push it down, then kick at the door until it opens.
Snatching my bag from the floor, I jump down the steps, falling to the ground.
My shoulders shake uncontrollably, and I squeeze my eyes shut when the door slams behind me.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I swipe the other over my cheeks, trying to brush away the tears, and grimace when I feel how tender the side of my face is.
I'm not sure how long I sit there, silently crying and trying to get a hold of myself while my heart slowly mends itself together, as it has done many times before.
This isn't the first time he's said hurtful words to me, but hopefully, this will be the last.
I understand everyone deals with grief differently, and I can also understand it must've been so hard for him to lose the love of his life, but I don't think he's ever taken into consideration how hard it was for me to lose my mother.
Although, I didn't just lose her—I also lost him too.
From the moment my mom got sick, he checked out, turning to drugs and alcohol to soothe the pain he was feeling.
Once she died, he depended on them even more, inevitably losing his job. That was when he became the cruel man I now know as my father.
The man who blames me for something no one had any control over.
Hearing more smashes and loud thumps coming from behind me, it finally forces me to move.
Dragging myself up from the floor, I wrap my arms around my body, practically holding myself together.
My original plan of staying at Wanda's no longer seems like a good one.
After the events of tonight, I don't want to be anywhere near this place, or the man in it. I also don't want to go back to the place I used to run to whenever this exact thing happened in the past.
Glancing around, I sigh.
With a tear-stricken face and a swelling, bruised cheek I can now feel pulsing, I know I can't go to Emery or Liam.
I'm not ready to admit to them I was wrong about being fine on my own. I don't want them worrying about me and disrupting their own lives to try and accommodate me. They've spent enough time doing that already.
My eyes widen, and I shift from one foot to the other as a thought forms in my mind.
I could go back to the clubhouse.
There's no doubt they'll ask questions, especially when they see my face, but it should be easier to shrug it off with them than it would be with either one of my best friends.
Plus, the clubhouse is one of the safest places I can think of.
No one other than the members go there.
It'll just be a matter of asking Callux if I can stay there for the night.
My feet move of their own accord, no longer stiff and trembling, and I slowly make my way out of the trailer park with one destination in mind.