If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (14 page)

I could hardly see through the tears when Ben saw me still there the next morning, trying like hell to find Lauryn, Ty, and Eden.

But all I could find was Ty, still cuddled up on a corner sectional sofa set off to the side of the main room, sawing logs like a baby in his own damn bed.

I nudged him before glancing around for my sister and our other friend.

“Ty, wake the hell up. Where’s L and Eden?”

“The fuck are y’all still doing here? I told your sister and her gay ass friends to leave! Rox!” Ben, Eden’s fucking asshole boyfriend, barks from the main area of the club before pointing at the both of us then hooking his pointer finger, motioning for us to come here.

‘Shit.’ The thought crossed my mind for the hundredth time that morning as I grabbed Ty around his scrawny bicep and began tugging him. “Ty, fucking come on. Shit!”

Once I’d got him pulled up and standing, I looped my arm around Ty’s and slowly headed in Ben’s direction, just as I was beckoned by the pompous fucker. And I decided in that moment, no matter what happened, after tonight—I fucking hated bikers. And everything that had anything to do with them. Especially Eden’s piece of shit excuse of a boyfriend, Ben.

He glared knives at the both of us when we stepped closer to the bar and into the area of the club where he stood, when this four-foot-nine pixie/fairy biker-looking chick with boy short pale blonde hair walked up, dressed in teal scrubs. She screwed her face up at me before scanning me from the ground up. “This is the shit that gets your dick hard, Ben?” Her head shook back and forth before she sadly smiled at me and pierced my eyes with hers. “Sad, really. What are you, like nineteen, sweetheart?”

But it was like my mind couldn’t keep up with the words being spat out at me because every one before the last that was spoken was like another strip of blade sharp shrapnel splintering my already riddled and mutilated heart.

“This is Rox, Jacques’ old lady.” Ben hooked his thumb at her. “I doubt you’ve met him, anyway. Rox just got off work. Go find the rest of your group and she’ll get y’all home.”

Ty’s thin but strong arm circled my waist just before he whispered in my ear, “Come on, Cinderella. I told you last night before that fifth shot of tequila we should’ve left with L and Eden.”

“We didn’t leave with L and Eden?” I was certain somehow his mind read mine—that or I might have actually said the rambling thought aloud.

“Yeah—no, sweet pea. We didn’t. But at least you gave it a shot. True love always deserves a shot, right? And look.” He smiled before looking down at my Doc Martins and whispering so the rest of the room couldn’t overhear. “At least you have both of your glass slippers.”

Roxy scoffed, obviously hearing him. “Yeah, and I’m beginning to run a little thin on what’s left of my patience for the night. Ben, keep a side of your bed warm for me.” She turned and headed towards the row of open garage doors leading outside then said over her shoulder, “I’m gonna need a bed and a pillow after I drop off these toddlers. And I don’t even want to
fucking
know what Jacques still has in his bed leftover from last night.”

All I heard of Ben’s response was, “Fuck. Yeah!” as Ty and I followed in line, like little freaking ducks wobbling after their momma through the club’s exit door.

The lines of bikes row after row gleaming under the sun already set so high in the sky were startling to say the least. The chrome and all the different contrasting colors patterned across the blacktop as we walked past bike after bike caused my feet to slow ‘til Ty tugged at my arm still looped around his, dragging me forward through some black gravel scattered across the black as ink asphalt. “Girl, shit. I’m not gonna drag you! These people want us—have WANTED us gone! Now, I’m leaving. Are you coming or not?”

“Shoot! Ty, sorry!” I quickened my footsteps until I’d caught back up with him and I was not lying or exaggerating when I said, “I’m still trying to figure out what the hell happened last night. I don’t drink, Ty. I never freaking drink. Babe, what the hell?” I jerked my arm slightly, trying to get his attention when he stopped. “Ty, what the hell? How did
he…
” I pointed to the massive red building with huge graffiti artwork spelling out Sons Of Silencers MC with a crucifix that mirrored the one in my dreams lightly shaded in behind it. “…Show up in this horrid freaking mistake of a night?”

“Right. A night neither of you will fucking repeat, either,” Roxy said as she unlocked the half door of a black chromed out Jeep. The top wasn’t on, but the two doors still were. “Look, y’all came with Ben and some of his gang, right? Is that how you children found yourselves amongst men...where the streets have no name in this damn city? Where’s your friends?” When she crossed her arms over her chest it shifted her scrub top down, revealing what I’d assumed were smaller breasts, shoving them up, and I must say, it did sting a bit when I’d realized the difference between her body and mine.

Ty shook his head in my peripheral. “No. It’s just us,” he responded, but my thoughts were already too rampaging to really focus.

While I may have gone through puberty, and I may have noticed the curves that seemed to show up overnight, ‘I don’t look like her,’ I thought, as the evil, sneaky low self-esteem pulled, shredding the last frays of thread holding together my little teenage heart when her words hit it.

“Jacques, the VP of this club; I’m his old lady. And I have been for a very long fucking time. And I can promise you…” She pointed to a huge, and until that point, completely unnoticed sign out front that read: NO ONE UNDERAGE PERMITTED. 21 or OLDER!!! SEX, DRUGS, AND ROLLING BIKES HAPPENING HERE! “…That’s one rule Jacques and Arch Cain follow. If you want to stay alive, I’d forget about this place and everything you saw happen here last night.”

Though she was tiny, she was voluptuous. ‘I’m not,’ I thought, hating my own self-pity. I’m gawky and tall. I mean, I have curves, just not like hers. Not at all like hers.

And even for a woman with a stature as small as hers, she hopped up effortlessly into the jacked up Jeep before cranking the engine and shifting into reverse. “Now, get the fuck in. It’s bedtime, little ones.”

When she winked at me, just before blowing me a kiss, I pictured ripping her face straight off her head. And I was sure it was something else I was pissed at. I was ninety-nine percent certain I couldn’t hate this woman as much as I felt like I did. I just freaking met her!  And shoot, as mean as she was—she was giving us a ride home.

What’d all the counselors call it?

Deflecting. Yeah. I was probably just deflecting. From all the agony that was left in place where my stupid freaking heart used to beat. As my hand came to my chest to rub the ache, my fingers felt the cool silver chain just before grasping the charm hanging from it. And instantly I knew that it was my cross necklace...
his cross necklace
. I just don’t freaking recall how the hell it got back around my neck! Why did I have to let Lauryn, Eden, and Ty talk me into going last night? I knew it was a bad fucking idea! I even said it, along with, ‘Mark my words.’

The bitch wouldn’t even drop us off where we asked her to, either. Roxy asked where we lived, and after Ty muttered his actual address, I followed suit but quickly added the address we were supposed to be at. Lauryn’s address. I didn’t know if our ghetto plan was still intact or not—but Ty and I for damn sure weren’t going to go off our course or plan of trajectory.

I watched as Roxy’s Jeep turned the corner, and waved when Ty looked over his shoulder and frowned, still buckled in the backseat as they drove down a bit towards Ty’s house.

And I’m sure, because of what’s happening on the inside—in that cage that used to hold what was left of my soul—I’m sure if my face is anywhere near revealing how crippling the unit measure of hurt that’s taking place, it’s in the frown marring my face.

I sigh before glancing back at mine and Grammy’s little blue A-framed shotgun house.

“Well, here goes. Fucking. Nothing,” I mutter, slowly making my way up the steps. And I swear, if I could
find
my freaking cigarettes, I’d chance seeing my newest arch nemesis and step around the corner real quick to light one up.

Instead, I wince when the door creaks as it opens when I step over the threshold and into the house. For a second, actually it's more like seventeen, it was long enough for me to get the front door closed behind me and make it a few steps towards the hall—and I’m shocked, floored really, that I’ve done it.

Against all odds, and no matter how bad of an idea last night was, I actually freaking may have gotten away with it. And no sooner have my lungs inhaled the breath needed to sigh in relief, Grammy’s recliner across the room groans under what I, regretfully, can only assume is her weight. And the light from the lamp on the end table spills, lighting the room when I hear it flip on.

“Before this conversation even begins, Eve Of’May O’Malley, I want you to know I know it’s been hard for you. I know. Do you understand that, sweet girl?” The tightness that won’t let its hold loose from around
everything
from my belly up constricts, keeping any smart-ass remark I halfway conjured up locked in my head where it belongs when she keeps speaking. Just as clear and calmly as you please. “And I know how hard it’s been on you, especially. I know you haven’t been with your momma like Eden has, Evie May—and I’m sure she thinks it’s partly my fault somehow. Hell, and I can’t rightly claim no fault. But that conversation is for later. After the rest of the house wakes up.”

She stands before making her way over to where I’m still frozen in place, feet still stuck to the floor when she flipped on the freaking lamp.

And when her watery brown eyes slowly settle on mine, I figure this is what it feels like to die after you’ve already died. “I expected better of you, Evie. It doesn’t matter who’s at fault here tonight, or ever, the bottom line is, I expected better of you.” 

I feel my lower lip quiver when her hands reach out for mine then stop and fall back to her side; and if I had anything left of myself, or who I thought I was before last night, I would've fallen apart when I saw the tears in her eyes fall over her lashes.

“Now, go on. Get to bed. I’m tired.” She sniffles before nodding once and heading down the hall. Then when she’s in her room, she quietly closes her door.

And I blink. Like the childish stubborn brat I know I am, I blink. I blink away the tears, and then glance towards the lamp still lighting the only room in the dark house. “I’m sorry, Grammy.” The words come out hiccupped and in a whisper to an empty room. “I’m so sorry.”

‘I didn’t mean to let you down,’
I think, quickly blinking again. And the thought just sort of finishes itself as I take the few steps, flip off the lamp, and tiptoe quietly to my room.

‘It’s just what I do. History repeats itself. And I’m a letdown.’

History always repeats itself.

***

Jacques, or I’m sorry, Mr. Cain, whatever the hell his name is—is a guy I met once, a really long time ago. Back before the tenth or hundredth time my mother broke my heart by crushing childish dream after childish dream and ruining my immature outlook on life…

There was a little boy I met once in a park, with deep navy blue eyes and dark—almost black it was so dark—hair. Okay, so he wasn’t so little. And these are memories which have been replayed in my head a hundred-thousand times, so mind the details. Plus, I’m a child of the system. Or was. And to me, there’s them and there’s us. Kids and adults. So, at the
time
, I thought we were on the same team. And had I known then what I know now, I’d have kept my freaking mouth shut while sitting up in that tree, watching him pound the bark off it the first time I met him.

But I didn’t—cue the heartstrings on the world’s smallest violin playing the saddest song you’ve ever heard about a little girl falling in love with someone she has no business associating with.

God, I’d do so much different in my life. So much. But I’d do almost anything to redo every damn moment of Jacques Cain. Every one. I can’t even recall if he said why he was at the park the first time I saw him. I do know that even if he did tell me it wouldn’t be something important enough for my little mind to hold onto and absorb. ‘Cause it’s completely blank from my memory; like I said—no recollection.