Page 13 of Angel

My stomach does a summersault at the mention of those words… then you fight like hell. I’ve been fighting my whole life—wouldn’t be any different.

“Good thing I brushed up on my martial arts.” My voice squeaks with the feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “How did you get so smart with all this anyhow?” I ask him out of curiosity.

Bullet has always been our tech savvy guy here at the club. Sure, he got his name from his perfect aim, which we don’t really know about either. But we were always curious as to how he became so smart with all this computer stuff.

“Let’s save that story for another time, shall we?” The small twitch of his eye means he’s carrying around baggage. He has secrets of his own, a pattern many of us share at the club. “I might not fully agree with Chain’s decision here, but as VP, I do trust him. I trust him with my life. As should you. He wouldn’t throw you in there without a plan or a way to protect you.”

He doesn’t need to reassure me; I know Chain wouldn’t. “I do trust him, Bullet.”

“Good… I know he might not treat you like one of us all the time, but it’s only because you’re like a daughter to him, and no father wants to see his daughter get hurt.”

He talks like he understands.

“Oh yeah? You got a secret kid too?” I jest at Charger’s expense.

“Ha, please. Me, as a dad? No thanks, doll. Not my cup of tea. Anyway, just remember this… you’re wearing a patch. That right there should be enough respect. So, if you want to call this whole thing off, and I think Chain wants you to, then I’m all for it.” He grunts. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Chain does want you to back out.”

I trace my fingers along the breast pocket of my leather. My patch name means a lot to me. It’s my only prized possession, the only thing I’m proud of, but it won’t ever be enough—not if it doesn’t carry the same weight as it does for my brothers.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll manage.” I smile, turning to leave, but Bullet gently takes my arm.

“Be careful, Angel.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I got this.” I wink with a boost of confidence.

I scoot under my comfy silk sheets and stare up at the ceiling in nothing but my old Harley night shirt, which has rips and tears all over it. The thing has been through hell and back. It’s special, because Maggie bought it for me on day two of my arrival, and it’s been with me ever since. She said I needed to look more like a biker, which is funny, considering I was only eighteen at the time.

I stay at the clubhouse like most of the guys. It’s my sanctuary. My safe haven. It’s funny how people think a set of four walls can make you feel secure. But still, there’s always been something that never put me one hundred percent at ease. Maybe it’s because I’ve been on my own for so long. Running, without really running. Fighting, without really fighting. Nothing to fight for or run from. Then why do I still feel this need to do so? I guess I’m always looking over my shoulder. It’s a protective barrier I put up. One I wear so well.

I turn, laying my cheek on the cold side of my pillow. It’s lonely in my world. Even surrounded by family, I still somehow feel empty.

I remember when I first met Chain and his club. Charger and Hush weren’t members yet. The rest welcomed me with open arms. I was battered and beaten—Chain takes in the wounded and clothes the scared. Turns them into warriors. Just like he did with Hush and Charger. Charger was a borderline goner when our Prez found him on the side of the road. Hush? I still don’t know his story. And me… well, I was dumped off at the club’s doorstep. All I needed was a basket and a pink bow. I believe my father thought this place would hurt me, sell me off, but the joke’s on him. I’ve been here ever since I was eighteen, then Chain patched me in after I turned twenty-five. Broke tradition. Broke the rules.

I hug the pillow to my chest, seeking comfort in its softness. I think about never having someone, like how Maggie has Chain. It’s okay. I don’t want that. I don’t want to become someone’s ol’ lady. And I sure don’t want to date. Dating is juvenile.

I turn again—this time on my back—and lay my arm on my forehead, glancing at the empty space next to me. “Ugh, God. I really am pathetic.” My father was right. I’ll never amount to anything. When I can’t fight the exhaustion anymore, I let my eyes close, and the darkness consumes me.

“Audrey! Did you not hear me, girl? I’m talking to you.” My dad’s rage is worse tonight. I can see it in his eyes. It gets worse when he drinks. My mom just sits there, in the same spot on the couch, pretending like she doesn’t hear him shouting at me.

“I-I’m sorry.” My body goes stiff, and the room starts to spin.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” He crushes the beer can in his hand and throws it at me. I flinch, then cower while enduring the sting on my face. I feel the blood trickle down my cheek. “I said go get your father another beer. Fucking deaf and dumb.”

I scurry away to the kitchen, hoping he doesn’t say anything else. I dab at the blood on my face. The cut burns from the touch, and I hold back the tears. I ignore the pain and grab a beer out of the fridge.

I hate him so much. I hate him with everything I have.

“What’s that on your neck?”

Oh no. It’s from chemistry class. Please don’t think it’s a hickey. “I burned myself in chemistry. One of the beakers broke and splashed on me, and—”

“Come here, girl.”

My hands start to shake, my body shuddering with fear, before I slowly step toward him. He grabs my arm, jerking me to his chair. He studies the mark on my neck and then spits at me. I duck my head down, trying to hold in the tears… as well as the contents of my stomach. I want to vomit. “You’re nothing, Audrey. You’re just a dirty whore, who will never amount to anything! Do you hear me? Nothing.”

I gasp for air, jolting awake and grabbing the covers.

I’m not there. I’m here. It was just another nightmare.

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