Chapter 34
“Sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Meela asks.
“I’m sure.” We’re parked a block down from the clubhouse.
It’s dark out now. After leaving the clinic, we turned our cell phones back on—only to be hit with a barrage of missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Sandman.
He knows everything. I don’t blame Leah for telling my secret; anyone would have under the circumstances.
Her tear-filled voicemails begging for my forgiveness broke my heart.
I spoke to her briefly and assured her there was nothing to forgive before powering off my cell phone again; Meela did the same. I wasn’t ready to go back, so we had lunch and browsed a few stores. Later, we saw a movie, wandered around the mall a bit more, and then had dinner.
As we neared Kent, I switched my cell phone back on and saw more missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Sandman.
His threats have my stomach in knots, especially the threats concerning my grandmother.
The last voicemail was from ten minutes ago, and from the loud music and chatter in the background, I knew he was at the bar.
“You don’t have to face him alone.”
“Yeah, I do.” I sigh and undo my seatbelt. “I already put Leah in danger. I’m not going to put you in danger too.”
“I can take care of myself,” Meela quips in her usual sassy tone.
“I know you can, but this isn’t your fight,” I say, turning in my seat to face her.
“Thank you so much for being there for me. We haven’t known each other long, but you’ve been an amazing friend, but no one can protect me from him.
And anyone who tries will probably end up dead.
” I push the car door open. “I’ll see you tomorrow. ” I hope.
“Okay.” Meela leans over and gives me a tight hug. “Call me if you need me.”
“I will.” I inhale a fortifying breath and exit the vehicle.
I could very well be walking to my death, but there’s no point in running or hiding. Sandman said he would always find me, and I believe him. He hates me too much to ever let me go. I square my shoulders and walk through the gates of the clubhouse.
The men guarding the entrance let me pass, no doubt recognizing who I am. Quite a few people linger outside, and dozens of eyes track me as I make my way to the bar entrance. I’m sure they’ve all heard about my disappearing act.
“You should’ve stayed gone. Sandman’s gonna fuck you up six ways from Sunday, girl.”
I glance over, finding my antagonizer slouched against his Harley. I raise my chin, refusing to show fear. “Where is he?”
“Inside, getting wasted.” Cricket ambles toward me, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “I’ve seen him in a rage plenty, but never like this. He just might put a bullet in your skull tonight. Something he should’ve done a while back if you ask me.”
“But he didn’t ask you, now did he?” I retort sarcastically.
“He didn’t,” Cricket admits. “But trust me, your days are numbered, baby killer.” He tilts his head sideways, his intent gaze appraising my physical attributes.
“I don’t understand his obsession with you.
Never did, honestly. There’s absolutely nothing special about you.
You’re average at best. Sandman has a string of beautiful women itching to get at him. ”
“Then tell him to take his pick and leave me the fuck alone.” I push past him and storm into the building.
Cricket is a fucking asshole, but I can’t fault him for hating me. He’s protective of his best friend, always has been.
I scan the smoky interior and spot Sandman sitting at the bar. His messy golden mane is unbound, falling in loose silken waves around his broad shoulders. I gasp in surprise, noticing his slumped posture and the way his forehead rests heavily in his upturned palm. He looks so defeated.
It’s a foreign concept to associate with this deadly man.
Did he feel the same defeat the night I betrayed him?
“I have no idea who this guy is. He forced me in here and started kissing me…” Those words were bile on my tongue, but still I said them and ignited an all-consuming hate that led me to this very moment.
No one in history has ever hated someone the way he hates me. His hate for me is a living, breathing thing. It’s the monster under my bed, the boogeyman in my closet, and the dark phantom in my nightmares.
“Good choice,” Zeus rumbles. “Coming back that is. My boy was prepared to mount a full-scale search for you in the morning.”
Of course, the great tattooed leader of the Gods has two scantily dressed women perched on his beefy thighs. At least there’s no funny business going on this time.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You turned him into a monster.”
Zeus flashes his teeth at me. “Sweetheart, he was already a monster. He just needed a little nudge to reach his full potential.”
Before I can unleash my sarcastic tirade on him, I’m sailing through the air at breakneck speed.
I hit the wooden floor with a bone-jarring thud, knocking the literal wind out of me.
My teeth stab into my tongue, filling my mouth with blood.
Though my head is spinning and my vision is blurry, there’s no question about the identity of the shadowy figure looming over me.
“Sandman,” I croak.
He hauls me up by my throat and slams me on top of a nearby table, sending the occupants scurrying. Beer bottles crash to the floor, sending shards of broken glass flying in every direction.
“You don’t know what real pain is, Zilphia,” he sneers in my face, so close his lips brush against mine.
“Real pain is felt here.” He jabs a finger against his temple.
“It’s wanting a person that you can never have more than your next breath.
It’s when that person lives in your fucking head twenty-four-seven.
It’s when that person stabs you in the fucking back and twists the blade so goddamn deep it pierces your heart.
” He runs his nose along my cheek. “Physical pain can leave scars, but mental scars run deeper. That’s why I take immense pleasure in mindfucking you.
I need you to feel the same mental anguish I felt. ”
The anguish I still feel.
The last part wasn’t spoken out loud, but I swear I heard him say it in my mind. It’s a universal truth that hurt people hurt people—and his hurt simmered for three long years, slowly reaching a boiling point. This time, I’m the one who’s going to get burned.
Sandman’s steel hand squeezes tighter around my neck, slowly draining the life from my body.
I release my hold on his forearm and accept what is.
No one bats an eyelash at the crime taking place, the music doesn’t stop, games are still being played, and conversations continue.
Murder is a trivial thing in the outlaw biker world, as mundane as brushing one’s teeth.
Sandman jerks me forward, lifting me to the tips of my toes. His grip loosens just enough for me to pull oxygen into my starving lungs. “Did you kill my baby?”
I say nothing. I’m just so fucking tired. Tired of him. Tired of my mother. Tired of everything. He launches me over the table, and once again, I find myself on the dirty floor. I stay where I land and close my eyes. I have no more energy left in me.
“He’s going to kill her,” I hear Jigsaw comment.
Zeus chuckles in response. “Nah, he won’t.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so,” he replies, skepticism clear in his voice.
“Zilphia is his favorite toy. He may bang her up a little bit, leave a few cuts and bruises, but he won’t kill her,” Zeus states matter-of-factly. “That would mean no more playdates, and where’s the fun in that?”
“Get the fuck up,” Sandman snarls, seizing my hair and bringing me chest to chest with him. “Did you kill my baby?” he asks again and again, but my lips remain sealed. His wild blue eyes bore into me, promising retribution and blood. “Many horrors await you, Zilphia. Many, many horrors.”
He drags me to a metal door at the back of the bar and presses a button on the intercom attached in the center. A camera is built into the small electrical device, ensuring only authorized persons are granted entry.
“Open the fucking door,” he growls impatiently. “It’s Sandman.”
Click.
We step into a security room, evident from a control panel and the row of monitors lining the wall above it.
Sandman drags me past two prospects, and we’re buzzed into a lounge-style recreation room.
Laughter and conversations abound—club members, their old ladies, and even children enjoy the first-class amenities.
Overstuffed sofas, chairs, and bean bags provide ample sitting for anyone looking to kick back and relax.
Bowls of popular brand-name snacks sit atop a stainless-steel island with plush bar stools on either side.
A matching refrigerator is positioned in the corner behind it.
Beyond that, an arcade can be seen behind a glass enclosure.
A fireplace is situated beneath one of eight huge flat-screen televisions mounted to the taupe-colored walls.
The Gods must pull in a ton of money to be able to afford such luxuries.
Sandman rounds a corner and bounds up a curved staircase to the second floor.
I struggle to match his long strides, my scalp throbbing from his rough fingers.
He shoves me into a room, his hand still tangled firmly in my passion twists, and flings me onto the bed.
I flip onto my back and quickly scramble against the headboard.
“Come ’ere,” he growls, capturing an ankle and yanking me across the mattress. I instinctively kick out at him with my free foot, connecting with his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, my stomach roiling with fear.
Sandman swipes his tongue over the bead of blood on his bottom lip. “You’ll be far sorrier by the time I’m finished with you.” He roughly strips the lower half of my body bare and spreads my legs wide. A long laceration covers my left hip from where my panties dug into my skin.