Chapter 3

Ivy

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he screams, venom in his voice.

I try to get away from him, to open the door and get outside, but he’s so much quicker than me. Instead, I’m dragged back by my hair, pain radiating through my scalp as he yanks me hard and slams me to the floor.

“You don’t leave unless I say you do,” he seethes, then he spits on my face.

It mixes in with the tears that I’m trying desperately to hide from him. He doesn’t like crying. He thinks it’s weak.

Hell, I don’t like crying either, but sometimes it’s the body’s only reaction. When the fight or flight kicks in, sometimes it’s the only way to let out the fear.

“I’m sorry,” I plead, trying to back away from him, but there’s nowhere to go.

I scoot myself against the wall as he looms over me, waiting for the chance to strike again. My hand instinctively goes to cover my face, but I’m too slow. I feel the sharp crack of skin on skin as his palm connects with my cheek. He grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me up to stand as if I weigh nothing at all.

I’m a rag doll compared to him, a worthless piece of nothing that he can play with or destroy as he sees fit. He never lets me forget it either.

“Even if you left, there’s nowhere you can run from me,” he growls lowly, so close to my face that I can smell the whiskey on his breath. “I will always find you. And the harder you make me look, the worse your punishment will be.”

He smacks me across the face again, then punches me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I curl up into myself, trying to protect my vital organs. I think I saw that in a movie once. There’s nothing else to do as he unleashes his physical tirade on me.

In the end, I’ll have a broken rib, a broken nose, and a smattering of bruises. I can already feel them forming as he kicks harder and harder against my back. He shouts all manner of hateful words that I try to drown out by covering my ears.

It’ll be over soon. He always runs out of steam eventually. When it does, he’ll be sweet about it. He’ll clean up my injuries and hold me tight. He’ll tell me he’s sorry that he has to punish me, but he wouldn’t have to if I weren’t so goddamn stubborn. It’s always my fault. If it isn’t something I’ve forgotten to do, it’s the tone of my voice when he gets home.

Once, he beat me senseless because I made his coffee too hot.

This time isn’t like those, though. He’s angrier than he’s ever been and for a moment, curled up on the floor, my face pressed into the scratchy rug, I don’t want to survive. I hope he kills me this time, because at least it would be over. A person can only take so much before they’re finally broken, and we both know that’s his main goal.

I’ve never wanted to die before, though. No matter how dark things have gotten, no matter how dangerous, I’ve always kept fighting. I’ve always found a reason to keep going. That’s what finally snaps inside me. I don’t want to die, especially at the hands of this monster.

Just as I’m thinking it, my eyes open and I realize I’m not there anymore. My face is against a scratchy fabric, but it’s a pillow, not a tear-stained rug. I’m curled up in a ball, but I’m not protecting myself from an attacker anymore.

It takes me a minute to remember where the hell I am. It comes back to me in pieces. Finally breaking free when he wasn’t paying attention, stealing a car and taking off, breaking down in the middle of nowhere. The bikers.

I sit up in bed, heart pounding, as I remember exactly where I’ve landed. They’re not puppy dogs, that’s for sure. Outside my door, there are two dozen gruff men who would probably be happy to send me back out into the desert and let me take my chances.

I can’t stay here. This roadhouse is just another prison full of guards who would use me up just to tear me down.

Groaning, I sit up and try to stretch my sore muscles. The bruises around my ribs hurt the most. The breaks didn’t fully have a chance to heal before they had to endure more pain. Still, I take in a deep breath because I know I can. I still have air in my lungs. I’ll live to fight another day.

I get up carefully and tiptoe to the door, pressing my ear to the wood to see if I can hear anything. Nothing. That’s really no reassurance. The main hall is far from here, and I’m sure they’re all in there shooting the shit, playing pool or drinking beer, waiting for their new houseguest to emerge.

I sigh and slip out of my bloody clothes as I head toward the bathroom. There’s not much here to use, and I didn’t manage to pack much, so I just shower off with hot water. I dress quickly in one of the only other outfits I could bring and wonder if they have a way for me to wash my blotches. I doubt that was high on the priority list when they built this place, but I’ll need to ask.

I have no idea how long the car will take to fix, so I have to mentally prepare myself to stay here for a while.

I finally talk myself into leaving the room. I know I’ll have to start working soon to pay off my stay, but Hawk didn’t lay out the exact terms. I set out to find him, but run into Maverick instead. Actually, he runs into me and looks so startled I worry one of my eyes has popped out of its socket or something.

“Good morning,” I say, almost shyly. God, this is so awkward.

He doesn’t return the greeting, only nods.

“You’re the mechanic, right?” I ask, remembering him sticking his head under the hood of my car.

“Yep,” he answers, popping the p.

He’s a chatty one.

“How’s it looking?” I can’t help but ask.

Maybe I’m lucky and he managed to fix it last night. Of course, I’ve never been lucky. Not for one single moment. I see it in the way his face falls.

“Wanna go look?” he asks, inviting me to follow him.

I’m almost glad not to have to wander through the club by myself. I don’t like the way the men stare at me when I pass. At least I know how club rules work. Hawk’s allowed me to stay and made me a guest. No one here can touch me, but that won’t stop them from leering. Maverick doesn’t say anything as he leads me to the garage, where I see the hood of my car up and the parts all taken out. What. The. Fuck?

“That good, huh?” I can’t help but joke.

Part of me wants to laugh hysterically while another part wants to start weeping. So much for a quick getaway.

“It’s a shitty car.” He shrugs, walking over to it and peering inside the now-empty engine compartment. “It’ll take a while just to get it to work.”

“I don’t need you to do anything fancy,” I tell him. “Just get it started and guarantee me fifty miles. I can boost another car when I’m far enough away.”

He lets out a short, loud laugh. It’s an unexpected sound that echoes in the space and gets under my skin.

“This car won’t drive fifty feet in this state,” he finally says bluntly.

“It might help if you put the engine back in,” I quip.

He laughs again, almost shyly, as if he’s not used to the sound of it.

“Trust me, this engine is doing you no favors,” he tells me earnestly. “I’ve ordered in some new parts. It’ll take a while for them to arrive, but you’ll get a lot further than fifty miles when I’m done.”

“Thank you,” I say genuinely, surprising myself.

He just shrugs again and guides me back through the club.

“Hawk’s decided you can stay,” he answers quietly. “I’m just doing my part to help.”

His words sound almost rehearsed, and I don’t miss the way his cheeks seem to redden. He barely looks at me when he talks, and it suddenly dawns on me how shy he is. Ridiculously, I start to wonder when the last time he got laid was.

After what I’ve been through, the last thing on my mind is getting into bed with another man, but he’s too sweet not to notice. I bet he’d be gentle.

I nearly laugh to myself at the thought and shake my head to clear it. He doesn’t speak again as he guides me to the bar, where some of the men are sitting at the tables eating breakfast.

“I’ll leave you here,” he says with a nod. “Breakfast is $10 for outsiders, but Hawk might let you work it off.”

I nod and watch his back as he goes back to the garage, probably to work on my car for the rest of the day. He’s easy to be around. I haven’t felt that in a long time, and I definitely need all the allies here I can get.

As if summoned by the thought, I turn to find Ghost watching me, his arms crossed. His name is starting to become more and more apparent to me. It seems he just pops out from nowhere, especially when he’s the last person I want to see.

“How’s the car looking?” he asks with unbridled disgust.

“Like it needs a lot of work,” I tell him defiantly. “I guess you gotta put up with me for longer than you thought.”

“You’re of no concern to me unless you step out of line,” he answers tersely. “So don’t step out of line.”

“Who the hell do you think I am?” I ask, feeling exasperated. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here. So keep that in mind when you’re threatening me.”

“I have a better idea,” he says with a small smirk. “Get the hell out of here and I won’t have to threaten you.”

“Fine,” I shrug. “Give me your bike and I’ll leave right now.”

This brings him up short, and we just stare at each other for a moment. His nostrils flare and his shoulders rise and fall slowly like he’s trying to control his breath. He’s the enforcer here, that’s clear, but I refuse to be intimidated by him. I’ve survived a lot worse.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he finally sneers before brushing past me.

I go up to the bar, where the bartender stands waiting for me. He’s an older man with gray hair that reaches his shoulders. He’s a little stockier than the other men I’ve seen in the club, and he’s got a scar over his right eyebrow. He looks like he’s seen some serious action but also seems perfectly at home behind the bar, serving the other club members.

“You must be our new stray,” he says with a smirk. “Can I get you something to eat? First meal’s free.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

I pull out a barstool and sit. He doesn’t even ask what I want. He just goes to the kitchen and appears a minute later with a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and fresh fruit.

“It’s on me, then,” he says kindly. “You look like you could use a solid meal.”

I stare at him suspiciously for a minute, not sure why he’s being so nice to me. When he turns away, I inspect the food closely, but I can’t tell if there’s anything wrong with it. It isn’t until Blaze comes in, grabs a piece of my bacon, takes a casual bite, and doesn’t keel over dead that I decide it’s probably safe to eat.