And I am in certain ways, but in others I’m just like him.
It should terrify me, but it doesn’t.
I’m not going to inflict pain unless it is truly deserved. I’m not ever going to cut an innocent child. I guess that’s the difference. He seeped his evil with every cut, and now with every good act I do, the evil prevails, burning the scars and wanting me to do more than the good that raised me.
Speaking of the good that raised me, I need to call my mom and see how she’s doing and move her here so I can take care of her. Reaper won’t mind.
“Cauterize the wounds. Check him over for any other cuts that might need stitches. Church. Two hours. We come up with a plan. I want fucking revenge. I want to fucking taste it.”
“What if Maximo is behind it?” I ask him as we walk out of the playroom and into the treatment room where everyone is resting.
Almost everyone. Little baby Joey is crying at the top of her lungs, and Skirt is doing his best to rock her to sleep.
Reaper doesn’t stop to speak to me. He wraps an arm around Sarah’s waist as she posts up against the wall with her hand against her chest. “If Maximo is behind it, I’ll fucking rip his spine out and watch him collapse to the floor.” Reaper’s boots pound against the stairs and as the basement door groans open, he stops climbing. “And after that, I’ll reach between his shoulder blades and smash his heart with my bare hands. No one fucks with me or my club!” Reaper slams door to end the threat and conversation.
Let’s hope war doesn’t come down between us and the mafia.
A battle between allies is the last thing we need.
I really don’t want to go out tonight, but Brody, a guy in my Trig class, begged me to come to his party. He’s my best friend in the entire world, but school kicked my ass, and I just want to go home and sleep. I stayed up all night studying and still failed the test. If I don’t pass the final, I won’t be graduating, and I’ll have to take the class again no matter the tutors, no matter the studying.
It’s frustrating.
All I want to do is go to my apartment, get my ice cream out, and put on a Netflix show.
Maybe curse.
Scream.
And punch.
Then sleep for days. Then I’ll go home to Ruthless and see where I can find myself. Maybe Tool can get me a job at Kings’ Club, and I can take a break from school and focus on me. Everyone thinks I’m okay. Everyone thinks I’ve gotten over what’s happened, but really, I know how to put a smile on my face and call it a day. But every time I close my eyes, I see them.
The Ruthless Kings of Atlantic City, New Jersey.
I imagine them throwing me in the basement, without food, without water, chained like a dog, threatening to fuck me, use me. It was dark down there, so cold and wet. It smelled like piss and shit, rain and mud.
Then, when I saw sunlight for the first time in weeks, maybe it was months? I can’t remember, I thought I was going to go blind it was so bright. If I think hard enough, I can feel the heat penetrating my cornea.
Ruthless Kings Jersey damned me, but the Ruthless Kings Vegas saved me.
And all I want to do is go home to them. I’m out of my element in college. I’m not ready. After tonight, after this party, I’m going to pack my things, take a leave of absence from school, and give myself time to heal.
If I ever do.
I might have been saved, but it might be too late for me; my soul might be stuck behind Hell’s gates.
I give myself one last look-over in the full-length mirror I have propped against the floor. I’m unimpressed. Black skinny jeans, red tank top, white cardigan.
Yeah, I’m ready to really throw down. Jeez, I’m a sad excuse for a college girl. “Whatever,” I say to my reflection and throw my hair in a messy bun, and then I drop my hands to my thighs and blow out a breath. “This is as good as it’s going to get. I’m going to the party, having one drink, and leaving.” My voice is stern while I discipline the haunted girl in the mirror.
“Better be glad I love you, Brody,” I say under my breath as I grab my black cross-body purse, sling it over my shoulder, and walk out of the door. Another reason I can’t say no to Brody is because he only lives in the building up on the hill which is a short walk for me. Saying no is just crappy on my end.
I lock my door and inhale the night, lingering cigarette smoke and the laughter of people from downstairs having their own party along with the beat of music vibrating the walls. I stuff my keys in my purse and make my way down the stairs. My hand grabs the rail as I prance down the steps in my new red flats, not heels because I can’t walk in heels, and yet I still feel pretty.
I wince when I pass the scuff mark on the wall where Badge and Bullseye carried my couch up the steps and slammed it against the cheap siding.
Yep, that’s my fault. I said right, but they went their right which was my left and everything turned into a shit show. Badge pulled a muscle in his back, and Bullseye got hit in the head with the back of the couch.
To say I felt horrible was an understatement.
I get to the bottom of the steps, and a cloud of weed hits me in the face. In between the bushes in front of me is a group of men and women passing a joint, laughing. I cough, waving the smoke from my face. How can people smoke that stuff? Reeks of skunk, yuck.
Passing the cacti lining the sidewalk, I follow the path up the hill. My thighs burn already. I make a mental note to work out more. I’m ready to take a break. “Damn,” I hiss when a cramp in my side starts to ache.
I knew I should’ve stayed on the couch. I fucking knew it.
I glance up to the sky and think about the beer waiting for me and then, for some damn reason, I think of Doc.
The first man to ever offer me a drink at Ruthless. Our fingers brushed and something told me to stay away, but only because I wanted to get closer. I felt something with him I wasn’t ready for. Now when we see each other, we give each other a wide berth, yet circle each other like sharks that are ready to attack.
A relationship that will never bloom, never happen, never do anything other than go in circles. Literally.
I get to the top of the hill and wipe the sweat off my forehead. I climb up the first set of steps to Brody’s. I bet all the other girls there are in mini-skirts with their boobs hanging out of their tops.
The low bass of the music shakes the steps as I climb them. The green painted door is open, and a few girls come out, laughing and tripping over their own feet from how drunk they are.
Yeah, one drink. This is not my scene.
I stop at the doorway and look inside with nervous eyes. My stomach flips and not in a good way. My instincts are telling me to run, but I hate to be the kind of person to go back on their word, especially for my best friend.
The lights are off except for a few Christmas lights strung around the rooms. Beer pong tables are set up, people are playing strip poker in one corner, and there’s a couple making out on the kitchen table.
It smells like beer and cheap perfume.
And I don’t feel like having a headache tomorrow.
I turn around on my new flats, but I hear my name being called from behind me. “Joanna! Joanna, you came,” Brody says with happiness and relief. I spin to tell him I’m leaving, but the pure joy etched in his rosy cheeks takes the ‘no’ right from my vocabulary.