Page 10 of Tormented

FOUR

Abbey

Ramona moves between the kitchen and the common room as though she’s the center of the fucking universe, as though the place would fall apart if it weren’t for her ability to boss everyone around. She’s a goddess, with long, crimson hair and flawless olive skin, and she knows it, using her feminine wiles to get what she wants. Half these over-sexed assholes would slit their throat if she asked them to. It’s sickening the way they covet her, and it’s also a no-brainer why she used to be the guys’ favorite whore before she threw in the towel to be Sawyer’s ol’ lady. He moved her and their son, Mack, off-site to keep the other members from looking at her, pining over what they couldn’t have anymore. His jealous streak doing what it does best.

I bet he doesn’t even know King called her in to help with catering for the visitors, today. I should be thankful that Ramona’s here, easing the burden. But I’m not, because I’m stuck behind the bar, cleaning glasses and stocking fridges with a front row seat to witness how Sawyer will react when he sees her.

Am I jealous? Totally.

Stalkerish? Maybe just a little.

Unjustified? Completely.

It’s not as though it’s any of my business what the two of them get up to. I’ve got no ownership over Sawyer; I’m just a starstruck fool who thinks he needs better than what she has to offer.

But again, none of my business, right?

“Under control?” Callum, our VP, asks as he leans on the bar.

“I think so.”

He catches my not-so-subtle scowl and follows its direction toward Ramona. “Problem?”

“Nope,” I say jovially, popping my p. “None at all.”

He eyes me suspiciously, before reaching over the bar to snag an open bottle of Jameson.

“Hey.” I slap his hand off it. “Other people have to share that, you know. Use a damn tumbler.”

He accepts the glassware I pass over and pours a drink, swirling the contents before he talks again.

“What is it between you two anyway?”

“Nothing.”

Everything.

I was barely into double digits when I got my first period. Scared the shit out of me, because nobody had explained how a woman’s body works. I came to the club a child, and never went to public school; Apex opted to homeschool me because of my obvious behavior problems after he picked me off the street, and growing up around a rough bunch like this? No surprise that nobody gave me “the talk.”

So I asked the only people I thought would understand what was happening: the women who were always around—the whores. Little did I know that the official start to my womanhood would mean a change in attitude from them toward me. A couple of the girls—Ramona included—decided that if I’d hit that stage in puberty, then I better start behaving like the rest of the women around the club who weren’t promised to anyone. I needed to pay my rent with my legs wide and my opinions to myself.

And when King put a stop to it by informing Apex what the girls were up to, well, that didn’t score me any brownie points at all.

“You stop in to see your niece today?” I ask.

Callum nods, swiveling on his stool to watch a few of the younger members carry trestle tables in for the buffet they’ll put out later. “Thought I might as well see how my sister’s doin’, considering none of us will probably get a break for the next while.”

“It’s a big meeting tomorrow, right?”

“Yep. Cali, Fort Worth, and us. King’s brought the whole club together.”

“What about the satellite chapters?” Even though the Fallen Aces only has three clubhouses, there are at least a dozen smaller towns that operate informal get-togethers once a month between a handful of members.

“On standby. It’s only officers at this stage.” He turns to face me, leaning both elbows on the counter. “Why the curiosity?”

“I saw Sawyer upstairs when I was sorting out his room.”

“Yeah?”

---