Page 17 of Broken
Chapter Eight
Izzy
Max said that I have to go to the clubhouse. Apparently, the leaders want to talk to me again, not that I have anything more to say other than, ‘I don’t know.’
His hand holds mine in the car. “Things will be fine. I’ll be there the whole time.”
I squeeze his hand, but can’t shake the nerves that are filling me. These men want answers I don’t have.
“They aren’t gonna hurt you, babe.”
I look over at him because it’s the first time he’s called me something like that. I like it. It makes me feel like I might mean something to him.
The truck comes to a stop and my heart lurches. I try to take a calming breath, but all it does is make me a bit lightheaded.
I can do this.
My door opens and Max is standing there. He stands back instead of pulling me to him like he did at lunch. This whole thing sucks. I jump down, stumbling a bit but his hand steadies me.
“Thanks.” I look over at him.
He looks so different now that we’re here. His face is a bit harder, his expression like a statue. He has a mask on, and I really don’t like it.
I walk toward the clubhouse and each step fills my body with more anxiety than the one before. When we walk in the entire room hushes. Every set of eyes is focused on me as Max walks in front of me. I follow him, trying to not look up at the people observing me like an animal in the zoo.
Max leads me back to a small room where The President and VP wait for me. I stop in the doorway to the room, while all three men stare at me. There is a chair sitting in front of the oval wooden table they’re sitting at. The walls of the room are lined with wooden panels that look like they aren’t too old, and the floors look about the same. There are no decorations in the dark room. The only furniture is the large table and the small chairs surrounding it.
“Get out, Lady.” The President’s voice is hard and his tone is clipped.
I can see a flash of anger in Max’s eyes at the nickname, but it quickly disappears. He looks at me for a minute before walking through the door and closing it behind him.
Now that it’s just me and the two of them everything in me is screaming to run. My heart is pounding so hard I swear it’s hurting my chest. My fingers grip the seat of the chair in fear of what might be about to happen.
“We have questions, and we need answers to them,” Twisted growls out. “I’m not in a patient mood.” He stands up, leaning against the table. “Who. Are. You?” Each word enunciated in a lethal tone.
I wish I had the answer to his question. It scares me that I don’t.
“I asked you a question, girl.”
My head drops. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?” he shouts, and I jump. “Where did you get that picture?”
I remember the picture. It was of a couple that looked to be in their late twenties. If I knew them I have no idea how. “It was in my hand.”
“Yea, we figured that out. How did you get it? Where did it come from?” the VP speaks up, and I look over at him. His face is kinder than the President’s.
“I really don’t remember.” The defeat in my voice is evident.
“Then tell us what you do remember.” His soft voice coaxes me.
“I woke up and everything hurt. The stars were above me and I was lying on the ground in a field. My clothes were ripped and when I first tried to stand I fell because I was dizzy. It hurt to walk, but I just kept going. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I shouldn’t stay where I was. The picture was in my hand, but I couldn’t remember who the people in it were. That’s when I knew something was really wrong.” A few tears trail down my face. “I couldn’t remember anything. My name, if I had a family, who I was. Everything was gone. I was so scared. That’s when a truck passed me. There were a couple of girls who got out and they said they wanted to help me. Then I was brought here. I have no idea who I was before that night.”
I start to rock back and forth, the rhythmic motion helping me from completely losing my shit. My mind has been obsessed with the what-ifs. I think the most frustrating part is that I don’t know if I belong somewhere. I see these girls with their men, I’ve even seen a few kids running around, and I have no idea if somewhere I belong to something like that.
“One of our guys is trying to figure out who you are, but it isn’t easy. There aren’t any missing person reports. We even checked the surrounding states. You don’t have any noticeable marks except for the tattoo on your wrist. It’s like you appeared out of thin air. We need something from you because right now we’ve hit a wall.” The VP stands up next to the President. “You gotta give us somethin’.”
I think about the red bike from my dreams. I want to tell them, but my mouth won’t open. Something about it feels important, but I can’t bring myself to mention it.
