Chapter 6
Chapter Six
I awaken to the unfamiliar feeling of being held by strong arms. My first instinct is to pull away, but this biker’s hand is warm and gentle against my hip.
My cheek fits the curve of his shoulder, and I’m tangled with him in the blankets.
I wake up slowly. My brain is still stuck in some concentrated place between a nightmare and a memory.
It takes a minute for reality to catch up.
I’m in a big, comfy bed in a nice house that doesn’t belong to Hector.
The bedding is clean as well as my body, but my limbs are stiff. The skin around the fresh cut on my hand is tight and throbbing. I try to sit up, but his arm pulls me close, keeping me anchored.
I steady myself with a deep breath and stare at the line of his jaw, watching his chest rise and fall.
The dark bristles of his beard tempts my fingers.
I start to touch his face but decide against it.
Lunatic is still asleep. Men aren’t supposed to look this peaceful, but he does, even with the faint scar splitting his eyebrow.
He’s sort of beautiful in a weird way. I close my eyes, debating on whether or not I should attempt to fall back asleep.
Here in his arms, it’s easy to forget why I’m here and that Tonya is dead.
My temples pound, reminding me I need drugs to survive.
It’s not even about getting high. At this point, it’s about maintenance to keep alive.
I never grew up thinking I wanted to be a junkie or a whore, but I wasn’t given much choice.
My teen years were spent stuck in a state of comply or die, and I chose to live.
“Morning,” Lunatic says in a sexy but drowsy voice.
I wipe my eyes and try to get fully awake.
Some other biker comes knocking at the door to fetch Lunatic for Big Daddy.
He doesn’t say anything more to me. I roll to my side and stare at the wall because I know any minute now I’m going to be sick.
The headache is already building, and soon I’ll sweat.
Then comes the jerking muscles, nausea, and diarrhea.
“Hey. Sit up,” a gruff voice tells me. I roll over and look at him. He was with the group we rode back with last night. The patch on his cut reads Tyrant. He looks as mean as his name sounds. “Brought you something. Courtesy of Hector.”
My blood runs cold hearing Hector’s name.
He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, crowding into my space even though the mattress is the size of a damn continent.
“Can’t have you getting sick.” He smiles at me in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I shake my head and try to sit up. Sweat is already prickling my skin.
The room spins a little. Tyrant hands me a little blue pill—oxy, maybe, or fentanyl.
I don’t bother to ask. My hand trembles as I take it, burning shame stitching itself into my guts.
The Juarez brothers don’t let anyone leave easily.
Even here, stateside, I’m tethered. A pill for a leash.
“Prez will be wanting to chat with you,” Tyrant grunts, like he’s annoyed at playing nursemaid. “A prospect will bring you breakfast.”
He watches as I swallow the pill dry, jaw flexed, arms folded over his chest. He’s big. Bigger than Lunatic by a hair, but older. Early forties with dark hair streaked with flecks of gray cropped close and the kind of eyes that never stop observing.
“There’s more where that came from.” He rattles a bottle of pills at me.
I want to tell him to go to hell, but everything hurts. I’m tired, sore, and hungry. I don’t know these men. Their behaviors. What will happen if I test boundaries and push buttons? There are rules here, even if I don’t know them yet.
His gaze fixes to my mouth with a sick concentration that turns my stomach.
I know that look. What it means and how men like him take what they want.
“Hector says you’re supposed to call and check in with him, so you better not make me look like an asshole.
” I nod. Tyrant softens his voice to a mocking sweetness.
“You do that and we’ll get along just fine, Daisy.
” He hands me a burner phone. “It’s pre-programmed.
Don’t miss your check-ins or I’ll be forced to remind you what happens to girls who don’t follow orders or those who turn into rats. ”
I don’t need a reminder. I remember all too well what happened to the last woman who crossed Jose.
“Keep that phone hidden.” Tyrant leaves the door clicking behind him, and the stillness picks at my nerves. I learned quickly never to be memorable, never to be out of line.
Quiet returns, and I’m left with my thoughts.
I don’t know how long I have before someone else comes.
I stare at the phone. For a second, I try to imagine what it would feel like to just smash it to pieces. What a fantasy. I can’t even make my own legs get me out of bed right now.
I press call on the only saved number.
“Pequena flor,” Hector says, and my belly does a flip. “Tyrant is one of ours. He’ll take care of you.”
“I see. I’m at the clubhouse and under lock and key.” I don’t give him anything he doesn’t already know. I’m not sure why he needs or wants me here if he’s already got a man on the inside, but it’s not my place to question him.
“Good. Talk soon, yeah.” He ends the call.
My stomach burns with hunger. I force myself to get up and find somewhere to hide the phone. I settle on sticking it behind a drawer in the bathroom.
When I come back out, Big Daddy is waiting for me, and he doesn’t look happy to see me. Not that I can blame him. I’ve been shoved onto them like inheriting debt that isn’t yours.
“Brought you a change of clothes. My daughter is about your size.” He nods to a stack of jeans and tees on the bed. “I know why you’re here.”
“I––”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t try and bullshit me, girl. What I want to know is what you get out of this?”
“They have my baby.”
“A baby you’ve never held.”
Of course, Lunatic told him. He’s not my friend. He’s not my anything. The biker was simply doing what he was told. My mind flashes back to the way waking up next to him felt. Safe and warm. “No. But I gave them life. Carried them inside my body.”
“I’m going to tell you something I’ve not shared with anyone. I know Hector has a mole here. You give me a name and I’ll find your kid. Set you up with a new life.”
My pulse thrums. “I can’t make any promises.”
“Think about it. You can’t trust the Juarez brothers.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You’re still breathing, aren’t you?”
I nod. “Think about my offer. I have no doubt whoever it is will make contact with you soon enough. For now, I’ve got my girl and her friend coming to pamper you a little.”
“Why? Why are you being nice to me?”
“You remind me of someone I used to know.” He glances at something on his phone and leaves without elaborating further, leaving me more confused.
“Girl, the right hair color and cut can change your life,” Celia says as she runs her scissors over the ends of my hair.
She’s sweet. Her and Gwynee, Big Daddy’s ol’ lady, both are.
I’m sure he’s hoping I’ll let my guard down and tell them something. But there’s nothing to tell. The things I know about Hector and Jose’s business is likely less than they have knowledge of. They’re in business with him. Not me.
I’m just a whore and a junkie.
Like my dad and Charlie. I’m no better than Cookie.
It’s been sometime since I’ve really thought about them. If they could see me now, would they be proud that I became everything I hate?
Sometimes I wonder what became of my father. Wonder if Momma and Jacob ever think about me. Jacob probably doesn’t remember I ever existed, but surely my mother wonders what fate she condemned me to by leaving.
Maybe Big Daddy can’t find my baby, but he could probably tell me what became of my family.
Celia streaks some color and bleach through my locks while she and Gwynee chitchat about her salon. I mostly tune them out.
They eventually leave, and some doctor guy shows up to check me out.
He asks a million questions and draws some blood and takes my urine.
He gives me some supplements along with some antibiotics for my hand and a bottle of pills that are supposed to help someone going through withdrawal.
Except I’m not. That asshole Tyrant will make sure I stay on the hook.
My skin is all goosebumps and shivers, but the pill he gave me is keeping the edge off for now.
Until I need another. How long does he think we can keep this up before someone gets suspicious of him hanging around me?
I don’t understand what his part in all of this is.
It can’t be money. The club does business with the cartel, and by the looks of this place, they aren’t hurting for money.
I rinse my mouth, rub cold water in my eyes, and stare at myself again in the bathroom mirror. I look less haunted than last night. Or maybe it’s just the numbness settling in. I run my fingers through my hair. My hand throbs, but it’s manageable. I’ll give it to Celia. She knows hair.
I almost feel pretty. Almost.
When I come out, Lunatic’s in the room. He’s wearing his cut with a plain white tee under it that makes the dark ink on his arms stand out more than usual. He looks good. Too damn good.
Every nerve in my body goes on alert when he steps into my path, but I keep my chin up. If he’s going to do something, I’m not going out begging.
He takes one look at my new hair and whistles. “Damn, Babygirl. They gave you the full treatment, huh?”
I shrug. “Don’t get used to it. I’ll be dead in a week, anyway.”
Lunatic’s mouth quirks up on one side like he finds my pessimism endearing. “Come on. Let’s go eat. I’m fuckin’ famished.”
He takes my right hand in his left and gives me a reassuring squeeze.
He doesn’t treat me like I’m some dirty whore.
It’s confusing. I don’t know how to read him.
Is he really this nice, or is it all an act to soften me up?
To gain my trust, so that I’ll tell him every dark and dirty secret I’ve not shared with another soul.
I think he’s just taking me down to the kitchen so when he takes me outside to his bike I’m confused. “Where are we? Are we allowed?”
“You’re not a prisoner here, Daisy. If you want to walk out that gate and down that road without looking back, you’re free to go. No one in this club is going to stop you, but I can’t guarantee your safety if you do.”
I lick my lips and stare at the open gate. I could run, sure. But where would I go and how far would I make it before a bullet hits me square between my eyes?
It’s harder than it should be to ignore the way his hand hasn’t let go of mine since we left the house. I want out of here, but I also want to find out what the fuck it means that he keeps holding on, like I’m some lost girl who needs a chaperone. Maybe I am.
Like he can hear my thoughts, he releases his hold on me. Silence stretches between us as the sun shines down on us and the birds in the trees around us sing. Lunatic stands here with his hands in his pockets, waiting, like he is utterly indifferent to whether I run or not.
Two years ago, I’d have bolted. Shit, maybe even last week.
But something in me is different now, or maybe it’s just that I’m tired of waking up every day stuck between fight or flight.
I can hear the phone in the bathroom drawer, calling me back like a leash, like Hector’s invisible hand on the small of my back, ready to yank.
Ready to control, ready to punish me the second I piss him off.
“I could eat.”
“All right, Babygirl. Let’s eat.” He hands me a helmet.
I climb on his bike with him, and we roar through the gate and back to the highway. For a minute, I truly do feel free. The wind whips through my hair. My mind goes blank and I don’t have to think.
I get to enjoy the ride.
Lunatic takes us out past the edge of town to a mom-and-pop place that looks like it hasn’t changed since the ‘60s.
Chrome barstools, checkered tile, and a jukebox that only plays classic rock.
A couple of burly bikers in cuts nod to Lunatic when we come in, but otherwise nobody gives us a second look.
He picks a booth at the back. His eyes do a sweep of the parking lot through the window before he slides into the seat across from me.
I peel the laminated menu open. It’s all burgers, shakes, and fried everything.
My stomach’s not sure if it wants to devour the whole page or turn itself inside out from the stress.
A middle-aged waitress comes over, pen tucked behind her ear. “What’ll it be, honey?” She asks me, and I have to remember it’s fine to answer. That no one’s going to slap me if I get it wrong.
“Um…”
“Bring us some coffee. We need a minute.”
“Sure thing, sugar.” She winks and returns just as fast with a pot and two mugs.
“Take your time,” he tells me as I scan the menu again.
“What’s good?”
“All of it,” he laughs, but not at me.