Page 5 of Falling Hard

Grit and Maiden arrived at my side.

“Boys, you know the drill.”

“I’ll scream,” I threatened Dad.

“Go ahead. You know it just scores you longer.” Dad growled as Maiden softly grabbed my arm.

Tears sprang to my eyes, and this time, they fell, and knowing Dad would be true to his word, I didn’t scream, but I did snatch my arm from Maiden’s grip.

My eyes flickered from Dad to Ryder.

He glared at the beer in front of him, and it was clear he didn’t want to get involved. I noticed the building anger in his eyes, but it was none of my business why he was angry.

Unlike the brothers, I minded my business. I only wished they gave me the same respect.

* * *

You knowhow there are some people in life that you are just automatically attracted to? I wasn’t one of those girls who fell for a man because of his looks—no, I fell for who they were, which was why Maiden and I would never work.

Maiden was the one guy who was immediately eye candy to a woman. He had the looks, but it wasn’t like he was a human body builder or something.

He was rough around the edges with tattoos everywhere, some done perfectly while others were clearly a night-out mistake. Still, it was his personality that made me fall hard. One moment, he would show me a side that had me softening like melted butter, and the next, he showed his other side that would make me breathe fire.

He could piss me off and excite me at the same time, which was a deadly combination. It had resulted in a few…well, events. I called them an event, but there was an eighty percent chance he wouldn’t be able to recall them.

I always managed to lose my willpower when he was in a state not to remember the morning. Then whatever happened could always be put down to a drunken night out. Perhaps that was why I let those stolen kisses and inappropriate touching happen—because at the end of the day, he was a friend, and I was, well, a burden.

I was lying on my bed with my dress pulled up. I cursed myself for wearing a pale-colored dress—fucking rookie mistake on my behalf. The blood had leaked through the fabric, showing Dad the evidence of last night.

Maiden was cleaning the wounds, which weren’t really wounds but battle scars showing I had survived another night being alone with my demons.

He hadn’t said a word, but he may as well have yelled at me by the looks he kept shooting me.

Yep, another thing about Maiden was the fact that one look could tell you exactly how he felt.

The air between us was tight and tense. I knew it was likely caused by either me being a failure or the fact we had a few stolen kisses this weekend, which he wasn’t sure how to now react around me—then again, I doubted he would remember.

I was relieved when Grit walked in, but then I caught sight of his expression. Great, I was about to get questioned.

“Emmie, why didn’t you call one of us,” Grit asked, his voice light and soft, two things a biker shouldn’t have in them. But then again, nothing about these two or my life was normal.

“It’s that bastard being here, isn’t it?” Maiden looked at me, and I frowned.

What was he talking about?

“Who?” I asked.

“Ryder, him being here is upsetting you.”

What a strange connection. Why the hell would I be upset about Ryder being here? I slowly narrowed my eyes at Maiden. “No, Maiden, it’s because I have schizophrenia, and sometimes, I don’t always come out the winner.”

The boys knew that, especially Maiden. God, if anyone knew how moody I could be, it was Maiden. Technically, I had schizophrenia and bipolar, making me schizoaffective, but that was one mighty big word which was only said when a doctor needed my medical history. Needless to say, Maiden knew my bipolar tendencies.

My demons weren’t going anywhere and would never disappear. They haunted me every day, and some days, they were stronger than me.

I wasn’t the girl who smiled or even the girl who was emotional. No, I was the girl who woke up every day fighting demons no one could see. I was the girl who had hallucinations, mood swings, paranoia, and depression all in one and would be considered a nutcase by anyone other than my brothers. I was a girl who ‘suffered.’ At least, that was how one of my psychiatrists described me to Dad. The psychiatrist then said he should consider placing me in a home that ‘could handle my condition.’ Needless to say, the club had to do some sweet talking and exchange a shitload of cash to stop the psychiatrist from pressing charges and costing Dad custody of me after he went full Hammer on the psychiatrist. Personally, I enjoyed every second of him punching that look off the psychiatrist’s face.

“Emmie?”

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