And I am.
A pissing mission.
I throw the grocery bag into the sink and dig around inside for the box.
Beast moves up to the doorway, and I decide that I don’t care. This is his fault, too. He’s a part of this, too. When I take the pregnancy test out, I turn around and lift the box up for his inspection. He looks at it, then at me, and my heart stutters.
No, Gidget, it’s all shit. They are all full of shit, and you know that.
“This is what I wanted to talk to you about,” he suggests, inclining his chin slightly. He leans his big shoulder against the doorjamb. “I figured you might come to me; I wanted to give you space. Thing is, these sorts of things are time sensitive.”
“You wanted me to come to you?” I say, and I don’t mean to laugh, but his honeyed Southern drawl is making me feel crazy, making me relive that night, making me remember the feel of his tongue between my thighs. It’s an impossible feeling, this craving for people you can’t have. At best, I could pick one of them and ask Cat for permission to be their old lady. He’d never allow it. It would just tick him off and cause drama inside the club. Even then, I’m not sure any of them would want me. Lastly, and most importantly, I’m not sure that I want any of them.
Because marrying into the club means sealing yourself to it—permanently.
After that, the only way out is death. The only way out now might still be death, but at least there’s some distant flicker of chance, some possibility of escape.
I’m tired of being treated like an object, tired of being ordered around, mostly tired of being left out of every important aspect that affects my life. My sisters died because of club bullshit; I almost died because of club bullshit. Yet, I’m not included in any of the decision making, the risk assessment, the revenge.
“Before you take that test,” Beast begins, and I shudder at the sound of his voice. It reminds me of how he felt when he was inside of me, and I hate that. I don’t want to remember it because then I’ll want to repeat it. “Know that I’m on your side. Period.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask, sending a stricken look his way. “You can never be on my side because you’ll always be on the club’s side. Always.” Without bothering to ask him to leave, I shove my panties down and sit on the toilet, peeing on the stupid stick and then setting it on the counter with a shaking hand.
Beast does not look away for any of it. Bastard.
I stand up and fix my panties, washing my hands before putting my palms on the countertop and staring at myself in the mirror. I look into my own eyes, and I don’t see a teenager, I see a woman trapped in a world she doesn’t want any part of. It doesn’t want her, so why should she?
When I look over at Beast, I see that he’s still watching me.
I ignore him, setting a timer on my phone for three minutes, and pretending to be interested in a text from Reba. She knows all about that night. I told her the very next day because there are no secrets between us. Because she’s the only person in the world that loves me without ulterior motives, who doesn’t judge me, but also isn’t afraid to give real, hard advice.
“Gidget, honey, you run from those men, and you don’t look back; they’re like a slow poison.”
I know she’s right. I do. And yet somehow, someway, I crave more.
The timer goes off, and I snatch the test in my hands.
Not Pregnant.
A sigh of relief escapes me before I turn and offer the pee-soaked stick to the man in charge of murdering people for the club. He takes it from me, our fingers brushing in a way that sends hot thrills spiraling through me.
The expression on his face is … well, it’s weird. I don’t understand it. Like, at all.
“Gidge,” he purrs, but whatever it is that he’s going to say, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to be hurt anymore.
“There you go. No kid to deal with. No need to tell Cat anything.” I point in the direction of the bedroom door around the corner. “Now go. Get out of here and leave me alone.” He just keeps staring at me, still holding the pregnancy test, and I feel this unbearable fury just rise up within me. “Please,” I beg, because I can’t stand here and look at him and feel nothing.
I’ve tried.
I’ve tried to look each and every one of these men in the face and tell myself they mean nothing, that they were just dark fun, an experiment in rebellion, a test.
