REIGN: A Motorcycle Club Romance Novel (20 page)

~
26
~

It had gotten mighty dusty mighty quick. Stupidly, I turned on the
windshield wipers, but they did nothing to dispel the blowing dust. Leaning
forward, I squinted through the haze.

As the dust seemed to settle a bit, I noticed something glinting on
the road before me; in the hazy heat waves baking off the tar, it was
impossible to tell what it was, and to be frank it didn’t really make me think
twice. I wish it had. When I look back on everything, it’s one of the things I
can’t seem to stop fixating on: if I’d slowed down, if I’d realized, if I’d
been more aware…

Reign says not to beat myself up about it. No one in my position would
have done anything different. They make those things specifically so that you
can’t tell what they are. They wouldn’t be very good tools if anyone could just
tell they were there.

But you can’t help what your brain decides to latch on to when it
comes to regrets.

At any rate, I didn’t slow down. I didn’t know what was coming. Even
when I got closer and saw the truck pulled off to the side of the road; what
did I know, then, about who was waiting in that truck? Why would I believe it
was anything except a guy checking his voicemail, or a family of three
consulting a map?

I just sped on, feeling low and like crying despite the image I was
putting out into the world: I looked like Thelma, or Louise, driving off to
freedom with the wind in her hair. I felt like hell.

Though, to be fair, I can’t say I didn’t also feel a little bit better
by virtue of being back on the road; the directionless terror and anxiety that
had taken up residence in my stomach seemed to be abating with each mile I put
behind me. But Reign’s smile kept flashing in my mind, and with it I’d feel
something new (and awful) in my stomach.

A falling feeling, like a dream you know you can’t wake up from, a
dream where you’re tumbling headfirst into nowhere with nothing to stop you or
slow you down. All I knew was that I was leaving behind the first thing that
had made me happy in years, and I was leaving it behind for a future that was
uncertain at best.

But all those thoughts would be cut short soon. Does it sound crazy if
I say that it was almost a relief when I heard the awful popping noises, and
suddenly felt my new car skidding, veering wildly? At least it was a respite
from my thoughts, of Jeremy and Reign and everything in between. I only felt
fear, mortal fear, temporary fear.

In a panic, I clutched the steering wheel, reality still elusive, my
mind fixated on nothing but keeping myself from turning the car over and being
crushed into the dirt.
What the fuck,
I
thought as I heard the terrible screeching of metal against pavement, my car
slowing even as it slid across the dusty road, my heart falling as the panic
was replaced by a sense of hopelessness. I still thought that it was just bad
luck; a flat tire caused by some act of fate, a way for the universe to punish
me, a sign that nothing would ever be easy, nothing would ever come cheap.

The Mustang finally came to a screeching, painful stop – in the middle
of the highway. I was done. I hunched forward, my forehead meeting the front of
the steering wheel. I bet you’ve found yourself doing the exact same thing at
some point or another: groaning, two hands still on the wheel, rubbing your
forehead against the leather, back and forth, hoping that when you come back up
and open your eyes and look around everything is, somehow, better.

Of course, sticking your head in the sand has been proven to work zero
times out of ten.

At least there’s whoever’s in that truck,
I suddenly thought, happy to at least not be all
alone. I heard the sound of slamming doors from behind me. I was so thankful. I
was so stupidly, naively thankful that I wasn’t going to have to try and push
my car off the road by myself, that maybe someone would keep me company while I
waited for a tow truck in the blaring heat. Maybe they could help me put on the
donut that had come in the truck, and I wouldn’t need a tow at all…

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a bit of trouble, miss,” someone said.
Not just someone. I knew that voice. I knew that voice when it yelled, when it
whispered, when it cursed, when it said “I love you.” I knew that voice better
than I knew my own.

My heart went cold, my blood stopped flowing, and my stomach packed a
bag and took a flight straight up my throat. My mouth felt dryer than the air
around me.
No, no, no, no,
I thought,
unable to lift my head from the wheel, trying frantically to tell myself it was
just a trick of my addled mind. I knew it wasn’t, but it was all I could do to
keep myself from pissing my pants.

It was impossible. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair, it
wasn’t fucking fair! He couldn’t be here! He couldn’t have found me, and he
couldn’t have fucked up my car, and he couldn’t be standing beside my
passenger-side door, and he couldn’t be there! If he was, it just meant that I
was destined for misery, that I would never have a good thing in my whole
entire life, that I must have been some sort of awful in a past life and was
paying for it now.

There was silence for a long moment. A silence that felt heavy, full
of things that were going to be said, full of words waiting to be screamed.
There was only one way to confirm what I knew to be true, or to prove that I
was just experiencing some sort of desert psychosis. Slowly, with my breath
still trapped in my lungs, as though if I didn’t breathe it would stop
happening, I began to raise my head.

I didn’t make it very far.

My forehead hit the steering wheel again, this time with the help of a
strong grip on my hair. I heard a crunch as my skull met the leathery surface,
and my last thought before everything fell into a world of painful red flashes
was that I’d been asking for this. Maybe since I’d left, maybe since I’d
married him, maybe since the day I’d been born, I’d been asking for this. Pain
unfolded inside me like a snake that had been waiting to strike. The world
dissolved. After that, there was nothing but pain.

~
27
~

Silas grimaced. The sound of flesh hitting flesh seemed to ricochet
off the endless sky. From a distance of about fifteen feet, he watched as his
client unleashed his rage, in earnest, on the girl. He’d pulled her out of the
car by her hair as she screamed and kicked, and now held her against the car
door as he screamed obscenities and continued to assault her pretty face.

Silas wished, vaguely, for a cigarette. He felt unusually
uncomfortable watching the violence before him; typically, nothing bothered
Silas much. He’d killed enough men – and women – on his own, in brutal enough
ways, to be immured to watching anyone suffer. He could sit through a snuff
film with a large popcorn and a soda and not feel squeamish.

But he felt a little bad for this one. The metal on the side of the
car must have been hot enough to scald, which was bad enough without having
your husband give you a five-finger talking to.
 
Her face was starting to look a bit like
hamburger meat, blood smeared across her cheeks and bubbling around her lips,
opened in a soundless screech. He looked at his watch; Jeremy had been going at
it for two minutes now, and his wife was starting to slump against the side of
the car, the strength to stand being siphoned away.

“Think that’s enough, partner?” Silas asked, raising his voice to be
heard above the sound of Jeremy’s fists. The cop didn’t seem to hear. Silas
walked forward; the cop caught sight of him and raised his face, a snarl across
his mouth, splatters of his wife’s blood on his lips.

“You want her walking and talking enough to keep making you dinner,
don’t
ya
?” Silas said, his tone normal now as
Jeremy’s arms ceased their wild flailing. Jeremy turned to him, panting, and
slowly wiped at his brow with his forearm. His eyes were inhuman, his face
sweaty and red. He mumbled something unintelligible, but clearly malicious. But
he kept his hands away from Gabriella, who had crumpled to the ground, still
shielding her face, shaking and whimpering.

“Alright,” Silas said, walking closer. Jeremy seemed to be deflating,
his shoulders falling, his breathing becoming steadier. “Let’s get her in the
truck.”

“In the truck? I’m driving her home,” Jeremy said, his voice strangely
soft after all his screaming.

“We still have a few details of our arrangement to work out, if you
recall,” Silas said, his eyebrows rising. His gaze settled on Jeremy’s eyes,
which were fading fast. Jeremy, in turn, looked down at the cowering Gabriella.
He seemed like a different person than he’d been just moments before, a flicker
that could have been regret coming over his eyes. Silas walked towards the two
figures and bent down before the girl, who was emitting a series of puppy-like
noises. He reached out for her, meaning to lift her, but Jeremy pushed him
away.

“Don’t touch her. I’ll do it,” Jeremy growled, looking protectively at
Gabriella. Silas wasn’t surprised, and backed away with his hands up.

“Just don’t dally. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you
can take her home,” Silas said over his shoulder.

“What about the car?” Now, Jeremy sounded completely drained, the
question falling to the ground flatly.

“What about it? I don’t care what happens to it. Do you?” Silas really
didn’t care about the car. He knew that if it was registered, it sure as hell
wasn’t registered in her name. And only a few people would be able to recognize
it, anyway. And if Reign found it and recognized it? That would only work in
Silas’ favor: it’d get him all riled up, make him lose focus, help convince
Reign that she really was in deep shit. Reign might walk right into Silas’ arms
without the need for anonymous packages and ransom letters.

“I guess…I guess not but…”

Silas turned, impatient, and snapped his fingers. Jeremy flashed him a
look of rage, but didn’t seem to have the energy to protest.

“Trust me, porky. I’m a professional. Get the bitch in the truck,”
Silas said, his patience dwindling quickly. He was getting nervous about his
client; something about the way Jeremy was looking at his wife told Silas that
he was regretting his actions, that he thought he’d gone too far, that he was
softening up.

Silas didn’t need Jeremy to soften up. He needed the exact opposite,
if the plan was going to go off smoothly. It would do Silas no good to have some
bleeding heart husband hanging around making a mess of things.

To his relief, Jeremy bent down and picked up his wife, who was beyond
rationality and only kicked and fidgeted weakly against her husband’s superior
strength. As they walked towards the truck, Silas could see Jeremy’s mouth
moving, but couldn’t hear what was being said in hushed tones. As they neared,
he could hear the lilting rise and fall of Jeremy’s voice, as though he were
singing her a lullaby.

Fuck me,
Silas
thought with a roll of his eyes.
We’ve
got a softy here.

And wasn’t that just Silas’ luck?

“Where should I put her?” Jeremy asked, tearing his eyes away from his
wife’s brutalized face long enough to give Silas a big, stupid, questing stare.

“In the back,” Silas said, nodding his head to the bed of the pick-up.
She wouldn’t mind riding in the back; she was half-dead as it is. “And get
those spikes off the road, too.”

As Jeremy carried her back and then returned to the string of spikes,
dragging them off the baking pavement, Silas saw his opportunity. He went to
the car, pretending as though he was admiring the fresh paint, and grabbed the
duffel bag, which was conveniently located right under the passenger side seat.
Jeremy was so distracted with situating Gabriella somewhat comfortably in the
back of the truck he barely looked up as Silas trotted back, opened his door,
and threw the duffel bag behind the seat.

“What was that?” Jeremy asked, coming now to the passenger side door
and opening it wide. He seemed hesitant to get into the truck, as though he
couldn’t figure out why he’d ever gotten into it in the first place.

“None of your business. No questions asked, remember?” Silas said with
a sneer. Jeremy was too rattled to debate. He slid into his seat and slammed
the door shut, cradling his head in his hands. Silas clucked and shook his
head. This bully was starting to bully himself. The poor
fool’d
gone too far. Silas could tell; he’d reached that point, rare but real, where
one human stands back and looks at what they’ve done with eyes stripped of
pride, anger, desire.

He had it coming, this moment of self-doubt and, probably,
self-loathing.

Silas turned the key and the truck kicked the life. Driving alongside
the road until they’d passed the wrecked Mustang then hooking a wide U-turn,
Silas headed back towards his little shack. Home sweet home, until he fully
earned his paychecks and could get himself a mansion in Sao Paulo.