Page 26 of Bound by Family
A steel-banded arm wraps around my waist, and I turn to see my father who picks me up.
“Kiss my ass!” I scream as my father shuts the door to my office with a loud crash after pushing me inside, my hair flying this way and that.
“What is your problem? You don’t act like this, Bristyl!” he fires at me, and it feels like a physical slap. My father, the big brute he is, rarely raises his voice. And more rarely raises his voice to me. He’s calm most of the time, but in this moment, he’s anything but.
“I’m just frustrated.” I rip my fingers through my hair and pull a chuck of it hard, leaving them to rest on top of my head. “I can’t do my job when they don’t do what they’re supposed to do. I’ve had it!”
“You quitin’?”
Startled by his words, I suck in a huge breath then let it out slowly. The anger fades, and my temper cools a touch.
“No, Dad. All I want is the receipts so I can do what I have to do. I hate going down to the bank because it makes me look incompetent at my job. Then it makes the club look bad because your name is on all the paperwork.”
He falls into the chair.
Taking a closer look at him, there are circles under his eyes that seemed to have taken up residence since he and my brothers returned from their run before the rally. The wrinkle on his forehead has deepened a bit and the lines around his mouth.
“You’ll have all the paperwork you need. On each Friday, I’ll have the boys bring you your shit. That solve it?”
Leaning against the wall, I plop my head back on the concrete block, letting every bit of anger release from my body. In its place, a twinge of worry forms. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Gotta chat.”
That catches my attention.
I move to my chair, take a seat, and fold my hands in front of me. Whatever this is, maybe it has to do with the change in my father. It piques my curiosity, yet terrifies me.
“That shit out there in the garage willneverhappen again. You think doing that shit in front of anyone is okay? You’re damn lucky those are brothers out there and not paying people, or your ass would be in a shitload deeper. You’re not a member of this club. You’re not an ol’ lady. You’re an employee, and you need to learn your place. I’ve been really lenient on you, but after that little tantrum out there, you need to realize where you stand. Gotta toe the fuckin’ line, Bristyl. Keep your shit in check.”
I’m pretty sure, if my father took a knife and shoved it in my chest, twisting it around, it would have hurt less. My entire life has been about the Sinister Sons. When my mom was alive, she let me tag along with her, all the while I only wanted to be a part of this family. My brothers were engrossed in it. My dad let them come to the club all the time with him, but said I couldn’t.
I didn’t understand at the time. When my mother told me it was because my gender and girls don’t become members of the club, I cut my pigtails off so I’d have short hair like a boy. I think I was six or so. It was totally irrational, but being so young, belonging meant everything to me. It didn’t work, of course.
My life has revolved around cookouts, brothers coming to our house, and charity runs where I’d ride on the back of my dad’s bike because my mom didn’t want to go. All of it felt like I belonged, but in the end, I don’t. I’ve never fit in anywhere here, and that realization is a punch to the gut.
In my heart, I always knew it, but never thought about it, taking the avoidance route. Regardless, my father is right. I’m not a part of this. I’m an employee who happens to be the vice president’s daughter and sister to three members. That’s it. However, it’s the fact that my father thinks that way that hurts most of all.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. No way in hell. I’m stronger than everyone gives me credit for. Stronger than this hurt. If anything, it’s making me realize that I somehow need to carve out a life for myself, one that doesn’t include Sinisters. Would that exclude my family, too?
I clear my throat before answering, keeping my tone as low and calm as possible, not allowing an ounce of the hurt to shine through. “I’ve got it. Can I call the bank please and tell them that I won’t be coming?”
My father shakes his head. “I’ll have Stone bring the receipts, and you can apologize to him.”
The hole in my heart grows wider. Not only do I get reprimanded, told I’m not a part of the family I love and have supported, but now I have to apologize? Great, just great. And if I don’t do it, I have no idea what my father will do. Judging from his demeanor, I don’t want to find out, either.
* * *
My bed iscold when I climb into it, the sheets cooling my overheated skin. After apologizing to my brother and entering all the receipts, I came home.
Home. It’s not so much that anymore with my mother gone. She left a hole so deep that the warmth she had disappeared. I don’t stop the tears from rolling down my face as I allow myself to miss her. So. Damn. Much. She would’ve had the advice I need. She would’ve pointed me in a direction. She would’ve put her hand out, yanked me out, and stopped me from drowning. She would’ve guided me or talked to my father and see where all of this is coming from.
Grabbing the pillow, I tuck it close to me and cry myself to sleep.
Instead of calling in sick the next day and avoiding work altogether, I go in, do my job, am cordial to people and leave as if yesterday never happened. I get weird looks, and my brothers stay clear of me. There is no way I will let them see they got to me. Not happening. The day goes by quickly, thank God.
As I sit in my living room, twirling my phone, thoughts run rampant.
“You take care of yourself, Bristyl. Don’t get messed up in this world. You’re too good. Be safe.”Cooper’s last words to me make me want to laugh. He doesn’t have a clue that I’m in this shit as far as a woman can get without being in it. Father a VP, brothers are members, Mom was an ol’ lady. I’m too good? Too good for what, exactly? For him? Please.
