Chapter 1
Ruby
Sitting in the chair, the needles do their job, taking me away from all my misery.
The position I’m in is a bit awkward, but I hold it as the machine punctures my skin, releasing the toxins of the scar and replacing it with something pleasing where only pain existed before.
Every scar I've covered has been this way.
Every mark left from that night is almost concealed by beauty instead of the ugliness of my attack.
“You’re doing good. Relax and breathe through it.” Wryan’s soft voice pulls me out of my head.
Over the last year and a half, I’ve been down here in Eastport, having either Wryan or Erika cover so many of my scars.
I found Frozen Tattoo and Piercing while reading an article about one of its owners, Erika Aldridge.
She and her brother own this place, and she won an award for her exquisite work.
Booking an appointment with her was incredibly difficult, but when I came in for a consult, she worked on me until August, when they hired Wryan because of her skills with scars and delicate skin.
Wryan is a graphic novelist and author. Her designs are better than I could have imagined and less personal than my own artwork would have been.
I couldn’t visibly bare my soul that way, and I didn’t want anything like what she typically draws, but when I described my ideas and showed her my sketches, she asked for a moment.
Then, using my drawing as inspiration, came up with this neck tattoo.
Erika worked on my leg scars a year ago, which were primarily surgical, so they were clean cuts and marks.
She came up with a design I couldn’t have imagined, with koi fish, butterflies, flowers, and wording to remind myself not to let the memories bury me.
Since that large piece, Erika’s done six others, while Wryan has done two, including this one, for a total of eight tattoos.
Every couple of months, I come in for another session, or “therapy”, as I call it.
My psychologist is all for it because as I transform the scars, I come out of hiding and show off more of myself.
“I’m good,” I whisper. She’s working on my neck, so I don’t want to mess up any lines.
This is the final one to mask the past. After this, any tattoo will be solely for pleasure. Unfortunately, it’s the worst of them all; therefore, the hardest to cover due to its jagged edges and location.
There’s no stopping the memory as it comes to me.
“Fucking bitch, that hurt,” he grits out as he pulls my hair back while I try crawling away after shoving my shoe into his eye socket.
He puts the knife to my neck, and I know this will be the end.
All the pain and torture will finally be over.
My last thought is of the one person I’ve loved since I was a little girl.
I can see him as I close my eyes, and the knife blade slices across my neck, tearing the delicate skin. My body falls to the ground.
“I love you, Benjamin,” I whisper so softly through my split lips, cracked teeth, and broken jaw. Blood oozes from my body in so many places. My head hits the slippery mud, and I can hear the voices, but I’m heading to a blissful place of no pain where the light calls to me.
“Fuck, I wanted to fuck her tight cunt,” Luan grumbles before their footsteps begin to retreat. I hear their car start up and pull away. I’m still lying there when his face appears before my vision again.
“Get up, don’t give up like this. Fight, princess.
” Ben’s voice is in my head; though I know he’s not here, or they wouldn’t have gotten away with what they did to me.
I wait a couple more seconds before pushing up and trying to wrap up the worst of my wounds.
I can’t get the barbed wire out of my arms or legs, so I leave it.
Standing is difficult, but I force the pain into a box in my head and start moving.
A full-body tremble works through me as I step into the woods. Wild rose thorns scrape my skin.
“Ruby, come back to me.” Wryan’s voice breaks through the memories, and the wetness of my tears rolling down my face rattles me. “You’re safe. You’re not there anymore.” Her voice is soothing across my skin.
My breath makes me shudder, and instead of the icky mud of that field, the coolness of the leather table below my body brings me back to reality.
The pain in my neck is a different type of pain than from that night.
I don’t smell the coppery scent of blood; instead, I smell ink, lavender-scented soap, and the incense Wryan has burning nearby. They all ground me back into reality.
“I’m back,” I choke out and close my eyes for a moment to center myself. “I’m safe. I’m alive. I’m stronger than them.” I repeated the mantra in my head a couple of times before saying it out loud.
“I haven’t asked you what you went through. I can see it marked on your skin, but I see it in your eyes more, Ruby. You are stronger. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m better than a bartender,” she laughs.
Taking in another deep, cleansing breath, I absorb her words and the healing thoughts.
“I was attacked when I was sixteen. Left for dead,” is all I say.
My best friend Evie doesn’t even know more than that.
Only a few people know the extent of what happened to me—one being my psychologist, and the other, my mother.
My father and Ben think they know everything, but they don’t.
My brother, Lucian, believes I was in a car accident, and he hasn’t questioned me about it because of Nelson dying that night, and he’s convinced I’m hung up on him still…
although he is getting wiser. I’m pretty sure he’s one of the reasons Torch finally pushed me completely away and started dating a club bunny named Barbie.
I’m so freaking jealous of that bitch. Every time I saw her this past summer, she’d smirk at me, rubbing in the fact that she got him. He’s no longer Ben to me; he’s Torch now. My Ben never would have hurt me the way Torch did.
“Okay, I’m ready whenever you are again,” I say, and Wryan nods as she goes back to tattooing my neck.
Another hour passes, and Wryan finally lays down the tattoo machine. “All done.” She turns away for a moment as I stretch my neck; and, being well into her pregnancy, she takes a moment to work out some of her kinks as well. “Let me get the mirror for you, then I’ll cover it with some Second Skin.”
Wryan turns back to me with the handheld mirror.
I sit up after lying down for so long and stretch again, cocking my head and rolling my neck.
Taking it from her, I study the design that hides the scar, covering it better than any makeup or jewelry I’ve used in the last three years.
The roses and skull hold special meaning to me.
I love the roses because they are my favorite flower, but also, once I got into the woods, away from them, the wild roses halted my attackers from following me when they returned to dispose of our bodies.
As for the skull, I’m the bloom after the death.
I died that night and returned as this woman.
People tried to stop me from ever playing rugby again, but I healed and pushed myself and my surgeons to repair my leg to the point I could play again.
My face had to be reconstructed from all the broken bones; my nose is not the same, nor are my cheekbones.
The plastic surgeon tried, but I reassured him that it was okay.
Young, immature, easily influenced Ruby died that day. Now I’m a mature, resilient Ruby.
After paying Wryan and setting up a follow-up appointment for any touch-ups, I grab my leather jacket, slip it over my crop top, and pick up my full-face helmet I left on the stand beside the coat rack.
When I step out into the nighttime air, the chill hits my exposed skin, so I zip up the jacket, but the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Trying not to let it show that I know I’m being watched, I move toward my motorcycle.
My brother hates that I bring it down here and wishes I would use a car service instead, but I can’t be caged in any more than he can.
Being raised by my father and brother, as the heads of an MC, I developed a love for riding, too.
My mother hates it, but she’s also given in to me when I’ve asked enough times.
I’m her baby girl; the surprise they hadn’t expected after thirteen years of trying.
The faster I go on my bike, the better I feel.
I crave speed. I crave dangerous situations too.
When I get to my black Yamaha YZF-R6 with yellow accents, I slip on my helmet.
My long hair falls in a braid down my back, and I wrap a leather band around the length from the base to almost the ends so it doesn’t fly around.
Clicking the buttons on my phone, I sync to my helmet’s Bluetooth and turn on the cameras.
With my leg thrown over the bike, I settle into the seat and act like I’m getting ready to take off, but I reverse one of the cameras and notice the prospect from Shiver of Chaos MC sitting back on his bike, ready to follow me.
He doesn’t bother me; it’s the car down the block with two men in suits that does.
I’ve noticed them following me a few times.
Honestly, it’s been since fucking Paris Channing challenged me to go to a real dance club.
She then proceeded to try to get me thrown out, and it was the next day that I noticed the extra tail.
I have no clue why, but I’ll figure it out without letting my brother find out.
He’ll go into overprotective mode. He went berserk when he thought I was in a car accident on prom night; thankfully, Judge has no idea I was beaten within an inch of my life.
He’d jeopardize everything our father sacrificed in order to seek revenge.
Every man involved but one has been killed.
He’s still out there, seemingly a ghost. Torch couldn’t even find him.
Granted, I didn’t give him all the information necessary, either.
Plus, my father made a deal with the devil to ensure he wouldn’t hurt me again.
But I want to be the one to kill him finally.
I want to torture him like he did me. I want to cut off his balls and feed them to him before he dies.
It’s a recurring nightmare. Luan comes back, and this time he succeeds in killing me before I exact my revenge.
These men parked on the street could easily be a part of his family, but that would mean that, even though I was in an Albanian-owned club, they would be breaking the treaty.
As far as Luan knows, I died that night.
It was part of the discussion my father had with the Albanian family.
I was the final piece of revenge Besnik had for the loss of his beloved firstborn son.
I click on the front camera and start up my bike, taking off like a shot out of the parking lot, music blaring in my ears, and head out of town toward campus. I have studying to do, and I want to check on Evie. She’s been avoiding me, and I’m not going to let her; she promised.
I still can’t believe she got back together with her ex.
Justin beats on her, and before that, he was mean, calling her fat and ugly.
She’s beautiful. My best friend is what they call a big, beautiful woman, and I wish I had her height.
She’s five foot ten, while I’m five foot three.
She’s a beast in the scrum, and as a wing, she and I work seamlessly together.
It’s like we can anticipate what move the other will make and are there for each other’s handoffs without forethought.
When I roll into her apartment complex, I notice her car missing from its spot, letting me know she’s not home, so I drive on toward campus and park in the student lot behind my dorm.
Switching the cameras off on my helmet, I slip it off my head and swing off the bike.
Stretching out, I glance around and notice the prospect; he needs to work on his tailing skills if he wants to remain unseen.
I don’t see the car, but I know they’re there.
The prickle along my skin, my neck hair standing on end, is a warning I won’t ignore.
Using a keycard to enter the building, I make my way to my fourth-floor dorm room. Last year, my freshman year, I shared a room, but this year I requested a single.
Punching in the code, I enter and drop my helmet on the stand near the door before closing and locking it.
I installed some extra security locks for when I stay in my room because I rarely feel safe on my own.
But I don’t lock them now. I have a study session in the library in fifteen minutes, then I’m going to the Commons to grab some food before coming back to study some more.
It’s midterm week, and I want to keep my GPA up.
There was a time I believed I didn’t need to go to school.
I almost gave up my full-ride scholarship to stay home and have babies with Ben, but he didn’t want the same future.
He almost laughed in my face when I told him I would stay in Jupiter and be his ol’ lady.
Yeah, that didn’t happen, and here I am.
Now, I’m giving my studies my all because I doubt I’ll ever go back to Jupiter again except to visit family.
I can’t see him with another woman. Making the family I wanted with him.
Grabbing my books, I load them into my backpack before making the trek across campus. My major is in art history, so I should be able to get a job in a gallery or museum after graduation. The further away from Jupiter, the better.
“Hey, runt, where is your fat cow friend?” Paris yells at me as I cross the quad.
If I weren’t running late, I’d give her more than the one-finger salute I do.
I’d love to punch her in the mouth, but I can’t afford to be kicked out of school, and she knows this.
She’s here on Mom and Dad’s dime. My parents could afford to send me to any university, but I didn’t want them to.
I worked my ass off to get the full ride through rugby and grades.
I had to prove I could do it after the attack.
Paris hates Evie because Justin is her fuck buddy.
She’s mad because they’re back together.
Personally, I think Paris suits him better.
He’s an asshole, and she’s a “c u next Tuesday,” if you know what I mean.
I don’t use that word often, but she is one.
The awful things she says and does to Evie bother me.
I make it to the library with a couple of minutes to spare and find a seat in the corner to begin the Introduction to Art Theory flashcard session.
I love this class, and it bothers me that some of the kids think it’ll be an easy A.
It’s not. They’ll need to know not only the theory but the methodologies, and those can be challenging.