Page 10 of Dangerously Deceptive

At this point, Mum has walked over to Dad, pushed the blue-haired girl away even though she was still on the floor, and planted her ass on my dad's knee. He was glaring at her with a look of disgust as she spoke, clearly not wanting to be interrupted. He got like this when he had the attention of most of the club. It’s like this is a cult, and he is their preacher. They hang off his every word, and believe me they are so hypnotised or indoctrinated by him that there’s no saving them. Even Mum, who normally loves the limelight too, can tell this is not a time to piss off Dad, as she dips her head, more out of loyalty than shame. I don’t think she is capable of any kind of emotion. But, given she has been part of this hellhole since she was fifteen, giving birth to me just a year later, I can see why she is so messed up.

The fact that my father, who was thirty-one years old when I was born, married and knocked up a sixteen-year old girl, might give you an idea of the types of men we are dealing with. I know I should pity my mother. She is stuck in a loveless marriage, her life at just thirty-five is essentially set in stone. She will stand by my father’s side while he remains Reaper President, but when his term ends he is either dead or he retires to become a Lifer, which is essentially a patched member with no real purpose. They attend social events, and he will still get a vote in Church, but otherwise, he is a thing of the past. The best my mum can wish for is that, so she can live alongside him. If he dies, she can be thrown out on her ass, or relegated back to being a Sweetbutt, her status gone along with her husband.

There’s no way either of them could make it in the real world. All they know how to do is drink, do drugs, and ruin people’s lives. There’s hardly a job to suit that. Which is why people in our lifestyle have a very short shelf life, something I fully intend on having no part in, which is why I’m working so hard to get the fuck out of here.

“Go down to Purgatory. Strip down to your underwear and assume the position. Keep your heels on. Remain there, ready for us. We will be down when we are ready. Do you understand? Are these rules ones you are actually capable of following?” my dad asks, tone as condescending as possible.

“Of course, Pres. I will go there now.” I don’t even recognise my own voice, it sounds almost robotic as my body takes over on autopilot.

I’m going through the motions, walking towards the basement that the Reapers refer to as Purgatory because it’s the place they take people who receive the worst punishments. They simply keep you down there until they decide the punishment is over. Essentially, it’s hell’s waiting room. When you go down there, you can’t fucking wait to die. I have only been to Purgatory once before, the night my life changed forever. I still wake up in cold sweats, screaming in my sleep over the horrors I endured. Now I am going to have to do it again. I barely survived the first time, when I lost a vital piece of my soul. I don’t think I can survive it again. I know there I will reach a point when I will beg them for death, I just hope they show me mercy and allow my suffering to end.

Fuck! You have no idea how much murderous rage I have coursing through my veins right now, after hearing Shayla talk about what happened. What’s worse is that she seems to get this glassy distant look in her eyes, and I can tell she is either not telling me the whole truth, or she is lying to cover for those assholes. Hearing aboutPurgatory,whilst she never went into any specifics about what they did, you don’t have to be a fucking psychic.

I don’t think I have ever felt such anger, and it’s as though my whole body is humming as she talks. My leg is jiggling up and down as I am desperate to get up and start to pace around. But, I don’t because it’s not about me. This is about being here for Shay. So I stay in my seat, listening as every word she speaks causes my body to coil.

I’m not usually known for my rage. I rarely get in fights. Liam is the violent one out of the two of us, and he hasn’t got an ounce of rage in him either. Everything he does is cool, calm, and well thought out. But, I know he abhors violence against women just as much as I do. Still, if I asked him to go and blow an MC compound to smithereens, I think he would have an issue. Good thing that isn’t what I am asking…yet.

“Shay, you can’t go back there. What are you going to do?” I ask as a rogue tear slides down her cheek. She has been doing a very good job of keeping them at bay while she spoke, but on more than one occasion I have seen them start to pool, only to be pushed away.

Her voice is shaky, but determined when she instantly replies. “I have to go back. I have no choice. I am the property of the MC. There is no out unless they say there is. That’s why doing this job is so important.”

I don’t know why I care so much, or why I am so angry that she is willing to go back to them after what they have done to her. I have only known her a few days and she has been unconscious for most of them, but the idea of her, or any woman for that matter, having to go through this is awful. The fact that her abuser is her father and the people who helped to raise her is even more disgusting.

“Look, I understand that they have a hold over you, but if you go back there, your life could be in danger! Don’t you get that?” I can’t help the fact that my voice becomes raised. It’s not like I am shouting at her, I’m just mad and I want her to see sense.

Pulling her hand away, the resigned look she had on her face morphs into anger, her nostrils flaring. “Do I fucking get that?” she spits, her voice harsher than I’ve ever seen it. “Does this look like I don’t fucking get that?”

With that, she lifts her hospital gown with one hand, as she uses her other to lower the bed sheet she is covered with. As more of her skin is beginning to show, I look away. She is about to expose her bikini line, and there are times I really fucking like looking at naked skin, but covered in black-and-blue bruises and dried blood, whilst in the middle of a hospital bed, feels wrong, even to me.

“Look!” she shouts, drawing my attention back, and what I see has my blood running cold.

Etched in black ink, across her lower left hip, extending towards the area that should be covered by pubic hair, if Shayla had any. Even though my brain notices she’s waxed, it’s an afterthought. Instead, all I can focus on is the tattoo of a small reaper with the words ‘Property of’ tattooed above it.

They must have had her naked to tattoo this onto her body. Not only is that in itself sick, the whole fucking thing chills my bones. They really do see her as nothing more than an object. One they need to control.

They could have tattooed her anywhere. Hell, putting it on her arm would have been a fucking lot more effective because it’s on display all the time. With this, you would only be able to see it while Shayla was in a bikini or naked. Which leads me to believe, they want the people she fucks to know that she belongs to the Reapers. That they want to have control, particularly in that area of her life. Maybe that’s the reason she initially turned me down when things looked like they might lead that way when we were in the motel room.

Meeting her gaze, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. I want to try and keep the overwhelming pity I feel for her off my face, nobody wants to see that. Particularly when they already know how fucking shit their situation is.

“Fuck, Shayla. Which one of those assholes did that to you?” I ask, although in my head they’re all complicit for letting one person get away with this kinda crap towards women. She obviously thinks it’s a stupid comment too, because she actually starts to laugh. It’s not a jovial laugh, it’s more a laugh born out of desperation. Those that are usually followed by statements like, ‘if I don’t laugh I may cry’.

“It wasn’t just one. They all pinned me down and played a part in it. The whole club was there watching,” she replied, that cold, emotionless tone returning to her voice, and I don’t fucking blame her.

“What about your dad, or your mum? They can’t have been there?!” I ask incredulously. Her dark laugh is back but now she has a glare in her eye that I’ve never seen before. She looks almost evil, which is stupid because she is just a scared young woman. But, I think maybe she does hate her parents with a fiery passion.

“Of course they were fucking there. My dad did the writing. My useless cunt of a mother, if you can even call her that, was there egging everyone along. The thing to know about my parents is that they are bloody power-mad. Dad loves being in charge, and because he’s a ruthless bastard with no emotions he is good at it. Whereas Mum, she’s even worse than him. She joined the MC, looking to make it to the top. Although she is still below the men in the club, she is the highest-ranking female, something she wastes no time pointing out. My whole life has been about them showing how they have power over me, and until I earn my freedom, that will never change.”

Taking hold of her hands, I gently stroke at the back of her hand with the pad of my thumb. I notice her shudder lightly and it makes me smile. Of course I like the idea of this woman being even slightly interested in me. But before I can tell her a load of false promises, the nurse comes strolling in.

“I was about to bring you some morphine so you can have a sleep like we talked about, but your brother is here demanding to see you. He says you will want to see him, even just for a short time since you haven’t had any of your family with you while you have been in here. What would you like to do, sweetheart? Visit then sleep, or should I send him away for now?” While the nurse, who I think was called Annette, is talking, she is also constantly whizzing around the room. Fiddling with wires or settings on the machines that Shayla is connected to. As well as writing in the folder of notes at the bottom of the bed and on her handheld device. This is clearly someone who either is stupidly busy, or she likes to be on the move. I suspect given how busy this hospital is, I think it’s a bit of both. Though, she does make eye contact and give Shayla a few minutes of her undivided attention as she asks the question.

Shay freezes, the little remaining colour now slipping off her face, and she looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Erm, now is fine. But only short. Thanks.”

Annette’s little but loud laugh fills the room. “Don’t you worry about that one, sweetheart. I will have him out in fifteen minutes if he doesn’t remove himself. You need to sleep and after this, you will be taking that nap. Understand?”

As Shayla’s genuine, tinkling giggle erupts from her lips, it’s obvious that she really does like this nurse. It brings a smile to my lips, I like the fact that she finally feels like she has someone on her side. “That's no problem. I would love a nap. If you could get rid of him sooner, I would be fine with that.” The nurse looks at Shayla, like what she said is a bit strange, and Shay must have noticed too, as she adds in another sentence, “You can’t choose your family, can you? Mine can be overbearing. Plus, right now, there isn’t a lot that sounds better than medication and a nap.”

This, and the fake as fuck smile that Shayla plants on her face, seems to be enough for Annette. She nods and shuffles out of the room. She returns minutes later with a younger guy in tow, and I must admit he isn’t what I was expecting. While Annette was out of the room getting the visitor, Shayla told me she doesn’t have a brother, and to prepare for a visit from a Reaper. Though she was expecting it to be an older man. Normally this is a job for the Vice President. They must know that the police were here by now. My guess is that they are here to find out what she told them. Fuck, they aren’t going to be here to check her over and make sure she is okay, are they?

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