Page 2 of Sweet Revenge

Always alone. I couldn’t even remember the last conversation I’d had with a person.

He found me eighteen days before my eighteenth birthday, and I considered that a sign, so I followed him back to what he called a clubhouse, and I never left.

He never let me.

He said over and over again that he’d never let me go and what once felt like my only chance at freedom quickly became my prison. I still thought it was better than the alternative. By age eighteen, I wouldn’t have had to go back to my uncle, but I had no job, and I hadn’t even graduated from high school. He kept me locked away in that damn clubhouse or in our shitty apartment, like I was a dirty secret or, worse, his property. He owned me, and he knew it.

I had nowhere else to go.

The beatings started shortly after I moved in with Snake. A slap in the face and a punch to the ribs all became a weekly occurrence if he was drinking or upset about something. I came to learn the sounds he would make if he was agitated late at night when he was coming home, and I’d try to hide or feign sleep, whatever I could do to become inconspicuous or hopefully invisible to him, but it never worked. I would take a beating, usually accompanied with sex if he was drunk, and then he’d collapse beside me while I would lay awake and know in my soul that if my mom could see me, she’d be disappointed.

She taught me to be resilient in an unforgiving world, but she didn’t live long enough to teach me to be strong enough to break free of my own prison.

I’d heard often while I was growing up that people, mainly women, would find themselves trapped in situations and under the control of another, but I found it hard to believe they couldn’t find a way out if they were strong enough, if they tried hard enough, until I was living in the same situation. Over the years with Snake, he slowly tore down the little bit of confidence I had until I believed I was nothing with or without him. He told me repeatedly no one would want me, that I was trash he found amongst the trash, and that I would always be trash. I believed him. After all, he was the only person I ever talked to.

Until I met Luke Dimarco.

The first time Snake beat me badly enough that I had to go have my broken wrist set at the hospital was also the first time I met a man with kind eyes. He held my hand and offered me an escape from the prison I was living in, but I’d been afraid. The world was too big and too scary to me now. I was alone, and as bad as Snake was, he was also all I had in this world.

So I stayed.

I stayed and endured more beatings than I ever imagined my body could survive. He stripped me of any beauty I ever thought I had, stripped me of any confidence I may have possessed at one time, and sadly, he took away my belief in resilience.

He taught me I was worthless.

And he taught me well.

I denied Luke every time he came to see me in the hospital over the years, but truth be told, I came to anticipate his visits, to hear his voice, and talk to someone who was listening. I told him about Snake, about the club, the little that I knew, and he tried, he really did, but I was always afraid of the repercussions if I talked. Sadly, over the years, the beatings became more tolerable because I knew I would talk to someone who actually gave a damn if I lived or died in that hospital.

I’d come to accept this was my life. Snake was my world, and the only world I had would eventually end my life. Snake would kill me, and I knew that without a doubt; his hate for me was intense, but I never understood why.

Then one day, on a rare occurrence that I left our apartment to go to the store, I saw Luke and a beautiful woman holding the hand of a little boy. I watched them, without them knowing, enthralled by their small family and the love so obvious between them. It was odd seeing Luke outside of the hospital, and a large part of me was sad that I couldn’t walk up to him and chat, but I knew I wouldn’t be welcome. I also knew, for me, it would be torture. I’d developed a crush on him over the past few years and always thought of him as mine, at least for those small chunks of time. It was what pushed me through, but seeing him, so happy with her, I realized I was exactly what Snake said.

Trash.

And I always would be.

I’d snuck out that day, thankful Luke had never seen me. I then convinced myself to squash any little girl dreams I’d had about Luke Dimarco.

It wasn’t long after that, on a night when Snake thought I was sleeping, that I’d heard him talking with some other members of the club and laughing about a fire they’d set at Luke’s girlfriends house. I lay there that night, listening to him, knowing my schoolgirl dreams of Luke or someone like him rescuing me from my prison were just that, schoolgirl dreams. I made a decision, as I lay there, a decision that would change my life.

And everyone’s around me.

The very next day, I went out while Snake was at the clubhouse for a meeting or church as they call it in the Motorcycle Club. When he woke, I’d asked for permission to go to the store, not surprised he was in a good mood because he’d caused sadness to the man he’d come to hate. Luke had arrested Snake often over the years for assault and always tried to convince me to press charges, but I never did. I never would, and Snake knew that although it didn’t ease his hate for the man he felt was trying to tell him what he could and couldn’t do with his property. Snake was untouchable—at least, that’s what he thought—and every time I didn’t press charges, I proved him right. Fear is a strong emotion and being alone and afraid can drive us to do things and accept things that we wouldn’t normally. Accept things we would never want for anyone else.

I couldn’t drive because I’d never been taught, so over the years when I was allowed to leave, I would walk, but I knew I couldn’t walk that day as far as I needed to and be back in the amount of time Snake expected. I had money stashed in a bag of flour in the cabinet, money that Luke had given me every time he’d seen me in the hospital, money he assumed I used to get a cab home since Snake would never come by or pick me up. No matter how long I was there. But I didn’t use it for that. I saved it because I knew one day I would need it; I just hadn’t known what I’d need it for.

That day, I rode the bus to the edge of town, then walked the last mile to the clubhouse. I’d heard its name and location thousands of times over the years when no one knew I was around. Those were the times in my life I was happy to be shy and quiet. I was unnoticeable.

I walked straight up to the doors of that clubhouse and knew there was a chance it would be empty because of the time of day, but I also knew I wouldn’t have many opportunities to do what I needed to do. In the back of my mind, a little voice kept reminding me that if they wanted to, they could call Snake to come get me, and that day would most likely be the last day of my life.

I’d been willing to take that chance.

CHAPTER THREE

MAGGIE

The sound of the door opening and small noises like someone was walking around the room trickled through my senses, bringing me back to the present, but I couldn’t open my eyes, nor did I want to. I heard voices talking and felt someone touch my hand, but I was in that glorious place where I felt no pain and could exist without actually being present. It had sadly become my very favorite place to be.

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