Page 9 of The First Cut
Lola
“Need you at the clubhouse. Wear something slutty,” Driller orders before leaving the house, slamming the door behind him.
I keep my eyes down until I hear his bike start up and drive away. Only then do I hobble into the bathroom to clean myself up. I strip off what’s left of my clothes and step into the shower, turning the water on as hot as I can stand it.
Trying not to cry, I pretend the bruises on my thighs and the savage teeth marks that cover my body aren’t there. I ignore the swell of my belly because if I don’t, I’ll break.
I pretend none of this is real—because if I don’t, I might just take a razor blade to my wrists.
I close my eyes and try to imagine that I’m anywhere but here. I picture myself lying on a warm, sandy beach with Havoc beside me, watching as a little girl who looks just like her daddy runs across the sand and throws herself into his arms. If I concentrate really hard, I can almost convince myself that I can hear him laughing.
I swallow and open my eyes, the daydream fading away, leaving me face-to-face with harsh reality. It’s been five years. Five years of me being trapped in this hell, waiting for Havoc to come back and save me, only to find out he has no plans to return at all.
If the rumors are true, he’s the new president of the Raven Souls’ mother chapter. A dream come true for him, I imagine.
And all the while, I was trapped here in a never-ending nightmare. It was the hope of him coming back that kept me going. The promise of a hero coming to save me got me through my darkest hours.
But it turns out he only ever planned to save himself.
My chest pulls tight with the urge to cry, but I don’t give in to it. Tears don’t get me anywhere. Drillerlikesit when I cry, so I’ve learned not to feel much of anything anymore. And maybe there’s a part of me that’s scared that if I start, I won’t stop—until I drown or I’m swept away.
Thankfully, this morning was a rarity. He barely touches me anymore––guess my novelty’s wearing off. Now he spends most of his time at the clubhouse, leaving a couple of prospects to watch me. I know they’re there to stop me from running. But I gave up trying after the last time––when he broke my legs. Being totally dependent on him was the worst kind of torture. And honestly, I’d take the beatings and rapes over lying in my own piss and shit for days.
I shake away the memories and step out of the shower, drying myself off without looking at myself in the mirror because I hate seeing a stranger staring back at me.
I head into the bedroom and pull on a pair of clean underwear, a short denim skirt, and a tight black tank top with the Raven Souls logo on the front. I run some product through my hair and leave it to air dry. If I try to blow-dry it, my curls go feral.
I apply the thick stage makeup Driller got me to hide all the bruises on my face and body. I add a pair of fake lashes and finish by swiping on some bright red lipstick. I look every inch the painted lady I’ve become.
Ignoring the few pairs of high heels I have, I go with my black Converse—just in case I have to run. These days, it’s better to plan for anything.
I shove my book and a bottle of water into my bag, along with a sweatshirt and a pair of leggings—stuff I can change into later when Driller forgets about me again. Hopefully, he hooks up with one of the club girls so I can come home and pretend I don’t exist like everyone else does.
Taking a deep breath, I blow it out slowly, pressing my hand to my stomach. I stroke my bump, reminding myself I’ve got a reason not to give up. I can’t pretend to love them. Not yet, anyway. There’s too much trauma to unpack for me to deal with my actual feelings. But having the baby to focus on gives me something to think about, something to keep me from myself spiraling into despair. As it stands right now, I can only hope that I find a way to get this baby away from here, somewhere where they can grow up safe and loved. Even if that means they grow up far away from me.
Heading downstairs, I glance into the kitchen, I know I should eat something—if not for my sake, then for the baby. But there are only so many peanut butter sandwiches I can stomach. I had hoped that when Driller showed up earlier, he would’ve brought groceries, but he was far too pissed off to think about something as trivial as feeding me. Instead, he used my body as a punching bag, leaving me aching, bruised, and hungry.
Shaking my head, I remind myself that it could always be worse. My eyes flick to the floor in the hallway as flashes from that day hit me—the day Driller beat Havoc’s baby out of me.When I came to, I found myself in bed with a cast on my left arm and another on my right leg.
I still don’t know if I’m happy or pissed that the Ravens have a doctor they can blackmail into doing whatever they need—like treat an unconscious girl without asking how she ended up like that. Part of me wished I’d died that day. The other part knows I’m lucky I received medical attention while my injuries healed, leaving me with, at the very least, a permanent limp.
Back then, I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the clubhouse. It was months before I was well enough, and by the time Driller finally dragged me back, everyone had already turned on me. I gave up on any of them helping me. Over time, I kind of faded into the background—which, honestly, was probably for the best.
Knowing I’m pushing my luck, I head out, locking the door behind me, and take the long way to the clubhouse. Bandit, one of the two Dobermans that guard the place, wanders over to me. He sniffs my hand before nudging me for a scratch.
I laugh softly. “You’re going to get us both in trouble,” I murmur.
The dogs don’t bother with anyone but me, but I know I’m supposed to ignore them. The one time Khan saw them all over me, he threatened to get rid of them. He didn’t give a shit that I was crying and that’s why the dogs were trying to comfort me. I was nothing to him.
“Go on, Bandit. Guard,” I tell him firmly.
He whines and licks my hand, but in the end, he does as he’s told.
I slip in through the back door and head for my usual spot in the back. A few people glance my way, but most ignore me.
Razzle, one of the club girls, walks over with a sneer on her face. “I hear Havoc’s coming up to see Khan and Driller.”
I freeze, her words hitting me like a punch to the gut. She notices my reaction—and grins.
