Page 15 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
I lean my forehead into Grainger's warm chest, listen to his heartbeat. But he's not anything close to comforting, and he grabs my hair with his hand, yanks my head back, and kisses me so hard and fierce and fast that I feel dizzy. My own fingers keep moving, working him up, encouraging his hips to thrust as I work the cum right from his balls and into my hand.
“Fuck,” he snarls, as he comes hard and fast and messy against me.
As soon as he's done, he pulls back and keeps cursing.
“This is … goddamn it, Gidget.”
“Fuck you,” I say, standing up and pausing as he reaches out and grabs my arm with a rough hand.
“You're not fucking skipping out on me,” he snarls, still panting, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. His cum is all over my hand, and my pants are undone, my panties soaked, my lips swollen. And here he is … doing his club-ly duties.
“I just want to wash this,” I say, lifting up sticky fingers, “off in the bathroom.”
Grainger lets me go, his dick hanging out of his leather pants, and watches as I open the door and head straight into the restroom.
As soon as the door's closed and locked behind me, I wash my hands, use the toilet, wash them again.
And then I fucking climb out the window.
“What the hell took you so long?” Chardou asks, putting on a pair of shades and grinning at me. “Get lost in the toilet?”
I hop into the back of the convertible next to Reba and notice her eyes immediately lock onto the missing button on my jeans.
“Gidget …” she warns in a quiet whisper.
I ignore her and reach over Chardou's shoulder, stealing her shades and slipping them onto my own face.
“Let's get the fuck out of here,” I say, watching over my shoulder as Dena revs up the car and peels out of the dusty parking lot. The two girls in the front seat laugh as the wind steals our hair and makes it dance around our faces like autumn leaves.
Reba glares at me; I breathe a sigh of relief.
And this is exactly why I hate Grainger.Two and a half years ago …Cat thinks moving us into a new house will fix things, will make this broken unit of ours into a family again.
I don't think it'll do a damn thing. After all, we've never really been a family.
“Have you seen my bathroom?” Posey asks, standing in the doorway to my new bedroom and beaming like crazy. Her blonde hair is messy, random pieces sticking out of her bun in every which way, but she's still pretty. Her and Queenie both, gorgeous. I don't look anything like them. I'm too pale and my hair is too dark, my eyes too red.
One of dad's asshole officers said I looked like a vampire the other day.
I think his name's Cade Grainger.
“I'm sure it's palatial,” I say as I flop down on my new mattress and take a deep breath of fresh paint and cardboard. Everything in this house feels forced, like it's trying too hard to be nice. I miss our old place already.
“Gidget,” Posey says, popping out a hip and tilting her head to the side. I can see from her facial expression that she wants to comfort me, ask me what's wrong, do what Queenie does as easily as breathing. But that's not her job. Queenie takes care of us; Posey makes us laugh; I point out flaws.
“This is a really nice house for a guy whose only job is being president of an MC,” I say, but we all know that dad's dirty, that the club's dirty, that drugs and hookers and guns paid for the nice bathroom and the new wood floors and the canopy bed that I hate.
Mom picked that one out.
“No matter what you do,” Posey says, dropping her hands to her sides and sighing. “No matter how much you complain, it won't change what or who Dad is. You might as well enjoy this, kid.”
She gives me a bitchy look, lifts her brows, and then spins on her heel, walking down the hall in heels as tall as mom wears. Big and red and shiny. Posey is like a mini-Nellie, right down to the flirting and the fucking and the occasional hit of whatever-the-hell's-on-hand.
“Fuck you,” I murmur, curling up onto my side and looking at the sea of cardboard boxes around me. As soon as I identified that my life was a fucked-up, disturbing warp of reality, I started hating it. I don't understand how that can happen, how a person can be happy and content with what they have and then just … not.
I sit up with a huff, shove my hair back from my forehead, and stand up.
When I pad down the stairs for a drink, I find that the fancy kitchen is full of bikers.
