Page 16 of Ghoul

Ghoul

“Iwant you to be the monster I thought you were,” she said in such a fucking heartbreaking voice there was no mistaking her hopelessness. She was shattering in front of me, and I hated it. The walls of my heart constricted so tightly with regret that it physically hurt. There was no remorse in my body for taking that asshole’s life, but I had to agree with her. I wished I was the monster and not her father. Her soul was broken and barely hanging on by a thread, yet she gave the word beautiful its definition.

It was difficult to wrap my head around the fact I was the reason for her being the disaster she was. There was no guessing what kind of course her life had taken after I inadvertently walked into it, but it was unquestionable that it wasn’t fucking sunshine and rainbows. She undoubtedly was on another level of messed up in the head if she’d slept with me knowing who I was and what I had done. Not to mention the fact she wanted to kill me. I didn’t blame her for the latter because, honestly, I would have done more than simply have the desire to take my life if the roles were reversed. I would have gone through with it and shown absolutely no mercy. That alone spoke volumes about her character.

I had witnessed some unbelievable shit in my life, but this was something I never saw coming. The probability of seeing a guy with three nuts was more likely than her being the same person as the little girl whose life I ruined. Yet, here she was, chewing on her bottom lip, driving me fucking insane, saying exactly that. Even though I shouldn’t be looking at her in the way I was, given the fucked-up situation we were in, I couldn’t stop myself. Now, more than ever, I needed to understand her, though.

My eyes took time to inspect every detail on her face: breathtaking brown eyes with flecks of gold around her pupils, extraordinarily soft plump lips, a natural rosiness to her high cheekbones, and long flowing hair that ended right about her ass. The red was more visible than the last time we saw one another, the perfect length to pull, but that wasn’t the most distracting part. It was those damn eyelashes that were so thick, most would swear they were fake—anyone who wasn’t me, that was. I knew they were as natural as anything else on her. They were just as thick as I remembered them to be when they batted away the tears raining down from her eyes as she pointed me out in the courtroom when she was a child. I swallowed hard as acceptance dropped into my body. She had all the same features the little girl had, but now she had grown into them and was smoking hot.

There were nights her face was all I saw when I closed my eyes and laid in my cell, stupidly trying to find some peace I would never find. Even when I tried to forget her, my subconscious refused me the luxury. At first, I told myself she didn’t exist because I thought it would be easier to forget what she’d seen if she was a figment of my imagination. It would have made living with myself a hell of a lot more tolerable if she wasn’t real. Life didn’t have actions to simply be beneficial. Quite the opposite, actually. It was why consequences existed, a constant reminder of how you had wronged someone. That was what she was to me some nights. Her face was one I hoped not to see for the first several years in the pen, but after a while, it brought me comfort. I was never able to forget what I had done to her, and it kept me grounded. As odd as it was, her youthful face helped me not fade away into despair. Despite how I had wronged her, I was able to remember there was still innocence in the world and never wholly fell into the desolation that tried so desperately to consume me. For that, I swore somehow, someway, I would make it right with her if ever given a chance. I’d vowed if our paths ever crossed again, I would do everything within my power to give her a better life. That grand gesture was royally fucked now, and even though it was unintentional, there was no going back to make things better.

“I wish I was, too,” I admitted honestly with a shake of my head, wishing more than anything to be able to bring her comfort. My instincts right after she came into the clubhouse quickly went from wanting to wrap my hands so tightly in her hair that it hurt as I bent her over the bar and fucked her senseless to what I felt now. There was an undying urge to protect her brewing so strong within me, I couldn’t deny it. That was far from who I was. For most of the roles I filled in my life, I was always viewed as the darkness no one wanted to touch; it was an infectious sin that could spoil the earnest of hearts. Truthfully, in most cases, it wasn’t a problem for me to step aside and be the desperado of nightmares. I had never been coveted for my admirability and concrete good morals. I was a fucking biker. A dirtbag. It didn’t matter how people put it, I was never cast the hero in the stories told. A lot of times, I laughed when I was called names and said something along the lines of “Got that fucking right.” Except when it came to her, I didn’t want to be the villain. Now more than ever, I wished it wasn’t true. My involvement in unraveling the faith she had placed in her dad was one of my biggest regrets. Yes, I was a fucking asshole, but I was a fucking asshole with a least a few standards to life.

No child should ever learn of the horrific things the person who claimed to love them has done. Children should never have to worry about what their parents are doing or question what they say, debating if it was truthful. I had often wondered if my dad hadn’t been half of the deadbeat he was, how I would have turned out. I didn’t regret my brotherhood with the Royal Bastards, they were my family, but I couldn’t stop my mind from projecting illusions of a possibility of a different life. One I would never have, and I was fine with that.

“I don’t think it’d be the best idea if I drove right now. Do you have a helmet?” she spoke in a voice above a whisper before taking my hands and standing.

“Yeah, c’mon. It’s out in my saddlebag,” I admitted and told myself not to let the fact that she was going to be pressed against me affect me. It might have been easier if I didn’t know how fucking amazing she felt, maybe then, it would be realistic to believe my mind wouldn’t be focusing on her body against mine the entire time. It should have been the last thing to overtake my thoughts, but it wasn’t. I was only able to prevent so much, and then I went into autopilot. It could be blamed on the years of psychotropic meds I was fed or trauma. Who knew? I sure as shit did not. The only thing I was positive of was my balls were about to be bluer than the Atlantic, and there would be no relieving them any time in the near foreseeable future.

* * *

As Ginger gave all the details to Agent McFaye, I sat speechless in the corner of the room. I didn’t have anything to add, this was her story, but I was the one with blood on my name. How any of this was possible was beyond me. I’d seen some pretty horrific shit but drew the line with kids, unlike the men who were on our murder list, her father included—even if I wasn’t privy to the information at the time of his death.

She told a story of a little girl who she suspected might have been one of her dad’s victims, and as the words left her mouth, so did the light behind her eyes. I recognized the action, she was checking out of reality and spiraling out of control. She was battling with her own demons within. This much was without question, but in this instance, her thoughts wouldn’t bring her to the breaking point. No, it would be the ghost of a man who she grew up loving that did.

When her father’s file was dropped in front of her, she breathed out a sigh and hung her head in defeat, running her nervous fingers over the outside of it. I scooted to the edge of my seat, waiting for the moment I was certain would come. The moment when she completely broke into countless pieces. It never came, though. We sat for an hour and a half as she silently read every printed word and analyzed each sick photo. Occasionally, she would glance up, and her eyes would land on me. I had no fucking clue what to do, so I would force a reassuring smile. How we ended up here together, with her looking to me for solace, was beyond me. Yet, I didn’t have to understand the travels to live in the destination we had arrived at. Maybe this was my way to repay her. It could be the one and only Hail Mary I was ever to find in my life, so I would take it. The person who was supposed to lift her up in life had done the opposite by feeding his own sickness. He’d clipped her tiny wings from her body long before she had a chance to soar, and instead, she fell from the nest unknowingly to live out the rest of her days in his perverse shadow.

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