Page 21 of The Obsession
The scent of leather and sweat hits me full force as I enter, and I’m already regretting agreeing to come. The music pounds so hard my chest vibrates, and the crowd presses in from all sides. It’s a full house tonight.
I stand just inside the entrance and scan the room looking for my boyfriend, and bile rises to the back of my throat the second I spot him.
Some bitch wearing nothing but a sparkly red G-string is sitting on his lap, and if he turns his head just slightly, one of those perky nipples that sit on her enormous chest is likely to take out one of his eyes. Mick’s hand rests casually on her hip, and he has a beer in the other as he talks with one of the bikies beside him.
My first instinct is to turn around and walk right back out, but instead, I find myself storming straight towards them. The music thunders in my ears, lights flashing over bodies pressed too close together, and every laugh or moan from down the hall twists something in my gut.
Seeing it firsthand always makes me wonder what Mick gets up to when I’m not around. I’ve seen some of the bikies—men I know for a fact have old ladies at home—slipping into those back rooms with a skank in tow without a hint of shame or remorse.
Does my boyfriend do that, too? The thought makes my stomach twist as a sour burn rises in my throat. I push forward, needing answers I’m not sure I want.
When I come to a stop beside them, I reach for the woman’s ponytail, tugging her head back until our eyes meet. “I believe you’re in my seat,” I say, keeping my voice low despite the anger raging inside me.
My eyes flicker to Mick, and I see that his full attention is now on me, with that easy smile I’ve come to love, curving his lips.
“She was just keeping my lap warm until you got here, babe,” he states, like it’s no big issue. “Isn’t that right, Amber?”
She bites the corner of her lip and gives him a look I can’t quite decipher.
When he gets no audible reply from her, he bounces his leg once, in an attempt to buck her off, then juts his chin, silently ordering her to leave. When she pouts her lip and stands, he slaps his hand against her bare arse, and I see red.
His gaze moves back to me as he taps his open palm against his thigh, gesturing for me to sit where that bitch just was. Is he fucking kidding me right now?
I remain rooted to the spot as I reach for his beer, like I’m going to take a swig, but instead, I turn the bottle upside down and dump the liquid all over his sleezy head.
The guy beside him roars with laughter, but the scowl twisting Mick’s face has a chill running down my spine. I should’ve known not to poke the bear when he’s been drinking, because that’s when his ugly side emerges.
Turning abruptly, I place the bottle down on the filthy makeshift bar as I pass, then push through the crush of bodies, heading for the exit. My pulse pounds in my ears, louder than the music, louder than the shouts behind me.
I know I’m going to pay for what I just did, but it was worth it. Every damn drop. He’s lucky I didn’t smash the bottle over his head.
The second I shove open the heavy metal door, the cold night air hits me like a slap. I gulp it down, my chest feels tight, and my heart is racing. The sounds of the club fade behind me as I move towards the front gate.
Warm tears streak down my cheeks before I even realise they’re there. I swipe at them, furious with myself, with him, with the whole damn thing. I glance back at the door, half expecting it to burst open and half praying it doesn’t.
I call a taxi with shaky fingers, glancing over myshoulder every few seconds, as I wait for Mick to come after me, but he never does.
I should feel relieved, but I don’t. I know I haven’t heard the end of this. I embarrassed him in front of his men, but in all fairness, he disrespected me, too. How would he feel if I did something like that to him?
I know for a fact he’d lose his shit. I still remember the first time I came to the clubhouse and one of his mates slapped my arse. Mick didn’t even think; he just swung and knocked the guy out before anyone could react.
I’m standing on the corner, further down the street, when the taxi finally arrives. I feel instant relief when I climb in without a word.
I’ve never been one for confrontation, which is probably why I’ve gotten so good at faking it. I’ve learned how to smile when I want to scream, how to keep my tone steady when everything inside me is falling apart. But something in me broke tonight, and I don’t recognise the person who grabbed that woman’s ponytail, or the one who poured beer over Mick’s head, or the rage that came with it.
By the time I get home, the quiet feels heavier than the noise in my head. I slip inside, lock the door, and head straight for my room. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, and all I want to do is curl into a ball and cry, but I have way more important things to deal with right now.
My hands are trembling again, but not from fear; it’s from the realisation of knowing what I have to do.
I drop to my knees beside the bed, reach under it, to pull out the old shoebox I’ve been hiding there for over a year. It is the money I’ve been saving for a car, but now it’s going to be my escape plan.
My safety net.
My way out.
Deep down, this money has given me some peace. Mick hasn’t left a mark on me since the first time he manhandled me, but there’ve been times when he lost his cool and came close.
I lift the lid on the shoebox, already picturing the piles of bills stashed inside, but I audibly gasp when I find it empty.
