Page 36 of Strider's Misstep

Ignoring Helo, the man stops in front of me. While waiting for him to say something, I notice another man, heavily armed, standing just inside the door. “Katrina,” he purrs. “We meet again. I can’t wait until we can get properly reacquainted.”

He’s one of Barclay’s minions who raped me time and time again, never caring how much he hurt me. I try to keep hold of my sanity, from drowning in despair, fighting to think rationally.He said he can’t wait.In the past, he’d just take what he wanted. There must be a reason he’s not reaching for me immediately.

Trying to put strength into my voice, I ask, “Where’s Barclay?”

He snorts. “He wanted to be here to greet you, but he had another prior meeting he couldn’t get out of. Don’t worry. He’ll be here as soon as he can. And I, for one, can’t wait to see your reunion.” He gets closer, so near I can smell his fetid breath, and my stomach churns, remembering the feeling of him on top ofme. “You’ve been a fucking naughty girl, but the boss is aware of your tricks now. You’re going to get what’s coming. I know how much he’s been looking forward to this.”

I really hope I can’t guess what he’s talking about, but I take some comfort that Barclay’s not here right now, and I’ve got time. What this raping brute doesn’t know is that both Helo’s and my hands are unbound and that my companion herself is my secret weapon. Maybe I’m building up her skills in my mind, but I think she’s more than a match for them, well, as long as she’s not looking down the barrel of a gun.

He’s still smirking. “I’ll just leave you… ladies… to yourselves. Barclay will be here in the morning.” He turns and goes, followed by the guard. It’s impossible not to hear the key in the lock turning.

My strength leaves me, and I curl into myself, unable to stop shaking. My nightmare has come true. I’ve fucked up and now Barclay’s found me.

“Stop panicking, woman,” Helo snaps a few seconds after the door closes. “The Wretched Soulz will be looking for us. And even if they don’t find us, we’re not poor defenceless women.”

Speak for yourself.I might have grown in confidence with Strider wanting me exclusively and giving me some position in the clubhouse, but now, faced with my past, I’m back to the feeble woman controlled by her husband and in abject terror at the thought of seeing him again.

She speaks patiently, as though to a child. “There are weapons here. We’ve just got to find them.”

I’m out of my depth, but as Helo stands and starts moving around, kicking the hell out of one of the drawers and triumphantly holding up a dangerous-looking piece of wood when she’s finished, I start to catch on.

Standing, telling myself I’d rather die fighting than let Barclay put his hands on me again, I, too, start to look at mysurroundings, trying to see as though I was looking through Helo’s eyes. I find a shard from the glass she’d broken earlier, and while I’m not sure if I could stab another human being, I harden myself, knowing I would do anything to stop myself from being raped again.

After a while, we’ve gathered and hidden a few weapons we could use, and I’m feeling stronger. Thank fuck she’s here with me. I’d be nothing if I was here by myself.

I don’t know what time it is. It had been around three in the afternoon when we were taken, but how long the drugs kept us out is hard to estimate. We’ve got all night until Barclay makes an appearance, but there’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep.

Helo leans up against the wall and regards me in the dim light from the small bulb that’s been left glowing.

“Do you know the full story about Strider’s wife?”

Grimacing, I reply, “Yeah. She’s the love of his life who he’s having to watch slowly die.”

“And you know she never wanted to have anything to do with the biker life?”

I nod my reply.

“Chaz and Strider were close from way back in the day,” she begins. “Strider found in Chaz someone he could confide in, talk to him about shit that even his closest brothers didn’t know.” She glances at me to see if I’m paying attention. “Childhood sweethearts don’t always make great partners for life, and sometimes they develop different wants and needs. Even before Strider got out of the service and joined the club, he was addicted to motorcycles. Anna wanted nothing to do with it.”

“He’s told me that,” I interrupt.

She raises and dips her chin. “But have you thought what him joining the club really meant? He put his wants and needs above his love for her. Does that tell you anything about the state of their relationship at the time?”

“Anna could already have been ill and acting out of character.”

“They married directly from high school, and then Strider was away for eight years being a Marine. I’ve seen it time and time again in the service. Marriage quite often doesn’t survive, especially when kids who marry young mature into adults.” She glances to see if I’m taking it all in. “Strider was about to divorce her when he realised things were wrong.” She pauses, swallows, her brow furrows and she shakes her head. “During the diagnosis, he asked the question and got the answer that a TBI, traumatic brain injury, could be the cause of Picks Disease. From that moment on, he decided the accident he’d had the one and only time she went on his bike was the reason why she got ill and became consumed with guilt.”

“Do you think he’s right?”

Helo shrugs. “Who knows? There’s much the doctors don’t know about how the brain works. She could have been born with the time bomb already inside her head, or, yes, it could have been the injury when she fell off the bike. Whatever. Strider felt such guilt that he might have caused what happened to her that he took it upon himself to always be there for her. But that’s not the same thing as love. You hearing me now?”

I’m hearing her. I’m listening. I still believe, though, that Strider’s actions seemed to say something different. “He took me to see her. To show me why we could never be a thing.”

“He took you to see her, to show you how he, too, was suffering. And needed you to wait for him.”

Shaking my head, I tell her, “I’m not hanging around until his beloved wife dies, and then play second fiddle.”

For a moment, her eyes simply focus on mine, and then she tells me, “Firstly, Anna died a couple of weeks back. And secondly, you’re no substitute. From the way Strider’s been inpieces since he couldn’t find out where you’d gone, shows he’s a man who’s fucking head and tails in love. With you. Not her.”

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