Page 27 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
Cigarette smoke drifts up from down below, and I pause, noticing Beast standing at the edge of the driveway, watching the sun come up.
I curse when he glances back at me, ducking low into my pillows so he won't see the outfit and the makeup. Digging into my jacket pocket, I get out a cigarette and light up, blowing smoke through the window.
I need a valid fucking excuse for opening the window.
After I finish my smoke, I check to see if he's still out there.
He's gone.
“Okay, boy, this is our chance,” I whisper to Fem, grabbing his harness and slipping it over his head. I tie a rope to the back clasp and then hook it to the leg of my heavy wooden desk. Using the rope like a pulley, I lower the husky down to the ground and then cut the line.
I've been doing this with Fem since he was a puppy, so he doesn't freak out, just lets me lower him a whole twenty feet, and then stands there, waiting patiently. I didn't originally plan on taking him, but after what happened with Gaz, I refuse to leave him here.
I wait a few quiet minutes, watching Fem's body language, seeing if he takes note of anything or anyone, if he growls. When all he does is sit there, I decide to go for it.
Using a separate line, I slip into one of Posey's old rock climbing harnesses and literally rappel down the side of the house, snipping the line at the bottom with a hunting knife. Leaving proof of my escape on purpose (as much as I dislike Nellie, I don't want to cause her undue worry either), I head to the left, down the small slope and past the empty lot that my dad purchased and purposefully left undeveloped, over to a small side street where Reba's waiting with her mother's van.
“I was wondering when you were gonna show up,” she says, studying me as I first let Fem hop in, and them climb up behind him.
“Get out of here,” I tell her as I glance back at the house.
If I'm lucky, I'll have a five minute head start before Beast notices I'm missing.
I'm just hoping that he'll have a hard time tracking me down.
“This place is remote?” I ask again, and Reba nods, starting the engine and heading down the street toward the highway.
“It's not on any maps, church-owned land,” she assures me for the millionth time.
But even if all that's true, the boys might still find me there.
I feel like I can run … but I can't hide.
The Beast … he'll track me wherever I go.“Do you think your dad would throw holy water on me if I showed up wearing an upside down cross?” I ask Reba as she parks in the hard-packed dirt lot and pulls the emergency break.
“Now, don't you get started antagonizing him on day one,” she warns me, pushing some red hair behind one ear and looking like she always does, like some fifties pin-up. “And no upside down crosses. You want to invite the devil inside o' you?”
Reba pauses as I raise both brows at her.
“You know I've already invited the devil inside of me—four of them actually.” Another dramatic pause. “At the same time.”
“Don't get started on that,” she says, throwing up her hands like she's sixty-seven instead of seventeen. Reba opens the driver's side door, props a white kitten heel on the step and then turns back to me. “At the same time? Is that physically possible?”
“Wouldn't you like to know?” I respond coyly, swinging out of the van and wondering which camp counselor I'll manage to piss off today. I've been to a lot of Christian camps with Reba in my life, and not once has it ever gone well.
“I do not want to know,” Reba says, slinging her white sequined purse over one shoulder and giving me a look. Dappled sunlight peeks through the trees and paints designs across her pale face. “I'm waiting until marriage to find out.”
She starts off across the grass with me and Fem jogging to catch up.
“Daddy is going to flip his lid when he sees you here …” she murmurs, pulling her sunglasses off the top of her head and parking them on the scooped bridge of her nose. “But you need this, Gidget.” She casts another look at me that I'm glad I can't see through the shades. “Especially after you and Grainger defiled our church.”
I purse my lips, but I don't really have much to say to that, do I?
His hand was in my pants; mine was on his cock.
Pure poison.
That's what Grainger is. Reba's right—we tainted that poor church.
At least I know I'll have plenty of company in hell.
“Please tell me we're making bird cages out of popsicle sticks?” I ask, bumping her with my shoulder and watching her lips twitch at the corner. See, even though I'm a filthy heathen, I have the power to do that, to make Reba smile. And believe me—it's a lot more difficult than it sounds. You know how everyone and their grandmother says they have a good sense of humor? Reba's one of the few people in this world that will freely admit to not having one.
