Page 1 of Tess, Property of Blaze

Tess

Past

My cheek is hot beneath my palm, and I wince as I turn my head on the pillow to face Viper. He’s out cold. After a night of partying at the club, he came home drunk, and I suspect high as a kite as well. I should have run, but I didn’t, even though I knew what was coming.

I’m used to being a punching bag for him, but Viper doesn’t like it when I don’t fight back. You see, my cries of pain and begging him to stop turns him on even more, so tonight I let my mind drift away to another place as he strangled me with one hand and thrust deep inside of me repeatedly, bruising my core with his savage rutting.

Silent tears run down my face, leaving a stinging sensation where he’d cut my cheek with his skull ring when he backhanded me.

I never loved Viper, didn’t want to marry him, but I was ordered to by my father, president of the Forseekers Motorcycle Club. My mother died giving birth to me, leaving my dad and the club members the only family I had left. Even till this day, my father blames me for her death. He never lets me forget it, especially when he gets in one of his violent moods, which ends up with him getting drunk and spitting out hurtful words to me—saying I should have never been born, that I should have died instead of her.

I was brought up feeling like I didn’t belong, and all I ever did was try to please him. So when I turned twenty-one, Viper, the VP of the Forseekers, showed interest in me. He wasn’t completely unattractive—ten years older, broad-shouldered, with dark, almost black eyes, and blond hair. When my father told me I was to marry him and become his old lady, I didn’t argue. If it meant I would see my dad happy and proud of me, even if it was for just one day, I would do it. I didn’t need to love him. I could have done worse, I kept telling myself.

It only took a month of being married till he laid his hands on me in violence for the first time. The next day he said he was truly sorry, bought me flowers, and took me on a romantic ride on the back of his bike, followed by a picnic at the beach. I forgave him—he did promise after all that he would never do it again—but it was all lies, I had found out the hard way.

After a few more times of him hitting and raping me, I confided in my dad and asked him for help. And it was then I knew I had to get out of there. My dad said that if Viper had hit me, that I must have deserved it. It was my duty to please my man, and I must have done something wrong to upset him. I’d just nodded my head and turned around and left the club, knowing full well it would be the last time I asked my dad for anything.

So from that day on, I started to save every cent I could to get me out of there. I needed to have some money behind me in order to make a life for myself somewhere else.

And then that day arrived.

Today.

Not worrying about taking anything with me but a few clothes, I packed a duffel bag and threw it under the bed. In hindsight, I should have left then, when I had a chance. I thought Viper would be out for most of the night, getting drunk at the club and passing out there, meaning I’d have all night to get the hell out of LA.

But I was wrong.

It seemed none of the club whores had quenched his insatiable thirst, so he decided to come home and take his anger and frustration out on me, getting off at the same time.

So now I’m lying here, my swollen cheek throbbing and my heart threatening to beat out of my chest. I’m scared it’s pounding loud enough he’ll hear it, so I lean up on my forearms and look over at Viper—he’s out cold, there’s no way he’s gonna wake up tonight. I sit up, my torn panties barely intact and my shirt ripped to shreds, bloodred marks from his nails leaving tacky streaks over my chilled skin. Wincing as my battered body unfolds, cramps in my pelvis area threatening to make me lose the meager contents of my stomach, I slowly get up from the bed and pad quietly over to the en suite.

I close the door gently behind me and turn to face the mirror, catching a gasp in my throat when I see myself. I take in my red and swollen cheek, blood still oozing from the cut and blending with the mascara that’s smudged over my face from the tears I’d cried. “Be strong, Teresa,” I whisper to myself.

I inhale gingerly, checking for any broken ribs or internal damage, and let out a sigh of relief when there’s no sharp pain. I turn the faucet on to just a trickle, rinsing my face quickly and efficiently with cold water. Being careful, I dab my face gently with a towel then tie my short hair up, leaving a few strands to fall around my face.

The door of the en suite clicks loudly as I head back to the bedroom, and I pause, waiting to see if Viper might stir. He doesn’t, so I move with silent urgency to the drawers to grab a fresh set of panties and shirt. I dress quickly, throwing my destroyed clothes on the floor. I bend down and pick up the discarded jeans that Viper had roughly tore off me, then pull them on, followed by my white Converse. Lastly, I grab my leather jacket out of the closet, zip myself into it, and then carefully tiptoe to the bed to remove my packed duffel bag from underneath. Viper’s snores come out in slow, even breaths, but I still can’t help checking on him every time I make the slightest sound. If he woke up and saw me dressed and packed, he’d make sure I’d never leave.

With my bag over my shoulder, I tiptoe out of the bedroom and grab the keys to my bike off the hook by the front door. My Sportster will get me out of here.

Taking one last look at what I call my home, the same home that my parents owned when my mom was alive, I feel a sense of relief. I’m getting out of here, and I’m going to start my own life. With my mind set, I open the door and close it behind me, making sure it doesn’t slam. My bike is parked in the driveway still, and I secure my duffel bag to the back of it, then place my helmet over my head before I walk my bike out of the driveway, not wanting to make any sound. Once I’m out of earshot, I straddle it and start her up. I can hear music still blaring from the Forseekers clubhouse, just up the street. My dad had bought a place close to the club when he became president so he could come and go when he wished, and now it was Viper’s and my home, a wedding gift from my dad.

Underneath the sense of urgency to get going, I’m also feeling a tingle of excitement at starting a new life. I lift the kickstand and take off toward the highway, knowing I have a long ride ahead but determined to get as far away as I can.

New York, here I come….

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