Page 31 of Room One Hundred and Four: Shock and Awe

The old ladies I met at the clubhouse told me how serious it is to be claimed. At the time I was a little jealous and didn’t fully understand why they were telling me about it. I didn’t think they were rubbing their status in my face, but it was hard to believe it was any different, either. Now I understand.

They also told me about the club angels and the thought of them flirting or trying to hit on my men made me see red. Thankfully, I didn’t have to rip anyone’s extensions out, but I kept an eye on the angels, that’s for damn sure.

I’m so wrapped up in the love bubble that we’ve ensconced ourselves in that I don’t think twice about answering the door with a big smile on my face when someone knocks. My smile immediately drops just as my heart breaks.

Because my parents are standing on my doorstep. How can I be happy when confronted by the demons of my past? I should have known it was time for them to show up and try to bring be back into the fold again. They never go all that long before trying.

That’s not what breaks my heart—I’m used to their crap—but the way submission and defeat wraps around my mom like a blanket is hard to see. She doesn’t look up at me even as I stare at her.

It’s such a shame because she’s a beautiful woman. But something is missing.

She doesn’t glow. She doesn’t sparkle. She holds no worth in herself and that makes me want to rage and destroy. It makes me want to be the destruction the men of our church always preached about.

But I know it would do no good. And that breaks my heart all over again.

I don’t even get the chance to say hello before my father bellows, “Enough of the disrespect and blasphemy you continue to show, Navy. You will go and pack your things. I’m taking you home. It’s time you meet the man I have ready to marry you.”

I gasp and take a step back into my home, even though everything in me wants to stand my ground. Sure, he’s come by and tried to cajole and threaten me into returning with him, but I had thought he had given up on marrying me off to some schlub years ago. I, clearly, was wrong. Honestly, I should have known better.

“No,” my voice wavers, a whisper on the wind when I want it to be a tempest. I force myself to look up into his eyes because I won’t be like mom and cower in front of him. “I won’t be packing a bag. I won’t be leaving my life. I sure as hell won’t be marrying anyone from your church,” I spit out the last word like it’s an abomination which is exactly what they always tried to make me feel like.

His face goes bright red in a single heartbeat and for the first time in my life I’m truly afraid of him. He was a man that firmly believed in the ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’ outlook on having children and discipline. How could I have forgotten that?

I start to wheeze out panting breaths as I remember all the times he would spank me and punish me for just existing. I was always a good girl who listened, but the problem was, and always has been, that I’m a female which means my sin is inherent.

What did spanking me ever do? Would it change my gender? Would it make my curves disappear?

I hear the stomping of heavy feet as my men move closer to me and I almost breathe a sigh of relief, but I hold it back and I sure as hell don’t’ turn my back on a man who believe women are property to be traded and sold even if no money exchanges hands.

“You are my daughter, and it is my right to set up your marriage to a man who can handle you and show you your place,” his lip curls as he spits the words at me, clearly incensed.

I shake my head slowly, glancing at my mom and wishing I could break her free of her chains. I can’t; no matter how hard I wish.

But I broke free.

I found a new life.

I found worth in myself.

I found worth in my body.

I taught myself another way, a better way for me.

“No,” my voice cracks and I wish I could spew the same fire that he’s hurling at me. But some things are too deeply ingrained, and my knees feel weak from defying him this much; the fear is too almost suffocating. “It isn’t your right. I’m a person with free will. I’ve found my own life, and I will continue to live it,” my words are strong, but my voice is weak.

I hate it because I want to scream and rage. I want to be a banshee to his immovable mountain of belief that he thinks makes him untouchable, unquestionable.

I feel my men step up behind me, giving me their strength. Spark’s hands land on my hips and he gives a squeeze. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know who it is. I just know. I’ll always just know.

Dad narrows his eyes and I know the vitriol in his heart will be spewed all over my men. I won’t be able to shield them. But…then I remember who they are.

Spark.

Rites.

Crucify.

They will stand tall, and they will not bow. Because they wear leather cuts with the devil’s skull emblem, and they know real family, brotherhood, and love.

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