Page 12 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“Good morning, y'all!” Wesley Keller says, coming out a small side door and jogging his way to the front of the altar. Just the sight of him makes my lip curl. I cross one denim clad leg over the other and glance to my right, to where Dena and Chardou are sitting. They both look back at me, and Dena curls her bubblegum pink lips into a smile.
Standing up and scurrying across the aisle, the two girls take seats on my right.
“Hey,” Dena says, grinning and giving Wesley a sidelong glance. Her voice is low and conspiratorial. I've never really admitted this to Reba, but I sort of hate her. “You guys want to hang out with us after? Trevone and some of the guys are heading to the lake in a caravan; there's plenty of room.”
I give her a raised brow, like I'm thinking about it, and try to refocus on Wesley. Reba and I have known each other since kindergarten and I've never—never—liked her father. Not only does he think he's better than everyone else, but I've always gotten this vibe off of him, like maybe he doesn't really practice what he preaches …
The sermon starts, but all I can do is sit there and stare at the man who leaves his drunken wife lying in puddles of her own vomit, who judges his daughter based on the length of her skirt, who had a bake sale to raise money for a local billboard so he could print Premarital Sex is Akin to Murder on the front of it.
There's nothing he could say that would inspire me. Nothing. I'm not completely opposed to getting involved in some sort of religious or spiritual something (most likely Buddhism because it sort of goes against everything my father's club stands for), but this church, this man, this isn't it.
Why did I agree to come here? I think, picking at the strap of my ribbed tank.
When he starts warning the congregation about the dangers of marijuana (it's the devil's lettuce, apparently), I lean over and whisper in Dena's ear, my lips almost touching the row of silver rose earrings lining her lobe. She reeks of perfume, almost as badly as the building itself does.
“We're in. But I can't use the front door. Is there another way out?”
Dena bites her lip and pushes my hair back to whisper.
“Head to the bathroom and then turn right, there's a storage room that nobody ever uses, and it's always unlocked. Go now, and we'll meet up at the Baby.”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to roll my eyes.
Dena's mom is a wealthy patent lawyer who lives in DC and never comes home, but who sends massive hordes of money back to Dena and her father. As a result, my bitchy little classmate drives a brand-new Mercedes convertible that she calls the Baby.
I have the strongest urge to slap her.
Instead, I squeeze Reba's hand and whisper, “let's bail.” She gives me a warning look, but I know that if I leave, she'll follow. I don't think Reba trusts me on my own. I don't blame her; look what happened after my sisters died.
I went full-on batshit.
I get up and head for the bathroom. As I pass by the entrance to the church, I can smell the sweet tobacco scent of Grainger's cigarette. For a second, I pause and consider heading out there to join him. If this was sophomore year, I might've. I might've gone out there and flirted, winked and tossed my hair, licked my lips.
Look where all of that got me, I think as I shiver and shove my way into the ladies room, this meticulously clean little four by four square of old orange tile and dried flowers. This is where that old lady perfume smell is coming from.
I decide to piss before making a run for it; there's no way in hell I'm using that shady outhouse at the lake. And peeing in the water? Let's not even go there.
I wash my hands real quick and let myself out into the hall.
Where, of course, I run straight into Grainger.
As soon as I close the bathroom door behind me, he's there, pinning me in against the faded wood with both hands.
“What do you want?” I ask, leaning back, feeling that dangerously seductive scent of his roll over me. Heat flashes through my body, sharp and sudden, like lightning bolts in a night sky. All of a sudden, I go from bored and apathetic to electrified.
“What are you up to?” he asks, his dark brown eyes simmering. It's the only part of him with any softness. The rest is just … hard. Including the shape of his cock behind his leather pants. That, and all the gloriously rippling muscles in his abs and chest, in those strong arms braced on either side of me. “I saw those bitchy little prom queens climb into their convertible. Your religious friend was right behind them.”
