Do I think about him? Yes. Every single fucking day because I’m equal parts terrified of him and at the same time I’d like nothing better than to take his swiss army knife and cut him into tiny pieces. That would take a long time but I’m willing to get the job done to satisfy my thirst for revenge. My father was right though, men do rule the world. The thing about that is when a woman hurts so deeply, she always gets her vengeance and one day I will too, even if I die trying.
“Of course, I think about it every night, Cruz. How could I forget?” I say with an almost bored tone and keep my expression blank but my nails leave marks in the palm of my hands from squeezing my fist tightly.
Like I could ever forget, all I feel is rage coursing through my blood. They say blood is thicker than water but I call bullshit. My own blood causes me to live in fear day in and day out, turning me into someone who has a taste for sweet retaliation pooling in the back of my throat that I almost choke on daily.
“That’s a good thing about memories, you always have a reminder of them to look back on. I have to go, meeting with Payne about a special subject that I can’t wait to get my hands on. I’ll be seeing you, Tillie.” He crooks his head, watching my pulse jump in my neck before leaning forward and placing a kiss there.
Those two seconds seem to last for a lifetime, but it’s easier to breathe when he steps back from me.
He straightens his leather Joker vest with the prospect patch missing in its usual spot, his rings gleaming in the dim lighting. He winks at me before turning around and walking away without the fear of me stabbing him in the back.
The second he’s out of sight, my legs collapse beneath me with my breathing shallow as the fear and memories resurface. I live in a bubble where I pretend it never happened, but every time I stare into the Joker members’ faces, it’s like they stick a needle into my bubbled world until it explodes and I’m out in the open just to be hurt again.
My head bangs against the locker behind me as I stare up at the ceiling through my tears that won’t fall. How can a person heal when it’s a constant reminder that you’ve been violated and passed around like a rag doll? When you see those people daily? Sometimes I think death is a better way, just take a small blade to my wrists and drift away but my body would be left alone as a hard shell that my soul was just keeping as a bodysuit. I think that pain would travel with me no matter where I go and it won’t end with me leaving for good. I’d rather see this to the end where the compound goes up in lights, in a fire of explosion as it reflects back in my eyes.
One day.
Running my trembling hands through my hair, I sigh in frustrated defeat just before standing up and grabbing my bag off the floor when I head to the back of the building to leave. The need for an adrenaline rush grips me tight, making my skin itch. I need to have control and racing sounds like the perfect opportunity to ground me.
The exit sign ahead is like a beacon and I’m jogging down the hallway to get out of the strip club, my eyes dart to every hidden dark corner just in case I need to break into a sprint before hands can grab me. Slamming open the back door, the parking lot is lit with one lamp post, and my baby is parked right under the spotlight in all its glory. Shiny black and purple accents make my bike stand out but also blend in just like me. The only freeing moment I have in my life is when I’m riding down the streets with her between my legs. We live for that daring moment where all possibilities are endless and it’s the danger I can control as I speed with my knees almost kissing the pavement. My crotch rocket is the only thing that gives me the illusion that all is going to be okay.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m pulling onto a long stretch of a deserted road with cars parked on the sides, their headbeams acting as a runway on either side of the pavement. My eyes scan behind the tinted visor of my helmet for Manny, the one and only money holder for the races, the guy you want to know when a race is happening. I met him a year ago when he followed behind me one night when I was feeling extremely daring on my bike and he hopped out of his car, dropping to his knees begging for me to race into the night. So here I am, waiting for a thrill and wanting to challenge a fucker to feel something.
Spotting Manny crowded by girls in tiny shorts and tube tops while he counts hundreds in his hands, he nods his head at me and points over to the other two cars lined up at a starting line. A tingle starts at the base of my spine and I pull out two hundred dollars from my bra so he sees that I’m in before tucking the money away again. I’m lucky enough to have this much on me, each earning is mine from crossing that finish line and somehow no one has found out about my addiction to racing or the money.
Easing up between a Mitsubishi and a Mustang, the two guys look over at the same time as the rumble of my engine rolls up. Easy grins light up their faces because they think I’m just a silly girl playing with the big guys but this is what I’m good at. Taking chances when every little aspect of my life is controlled, I make them eat the asphalt. I don’t look the part of racing, a girl alone at night only dressed in a sweater and skinny jeans but what they don’t know is I have nothing to lose. I’m all in.
“I think you're in the wrong playground, little girl!” Douche number one shouts out his window, slithering his gaze up and down my body. “But don’t worry, baby, I got just the right jungle gym for you to play on.” He gestures to his body, patting his lap which only causes me to roll my eyes.
“No, baby. Papi will take good care of you. Hop on off that bike and onto my cock,” douche number two says, revving his engine while he laughs and grabs his dick through his pants.
I return my attention back to the road, twisting my bike handles to rev my own engine, shutting their mocking voices out. Manny swaggers out to the side while pulling out a bandana from his back pocket, winking my way and shaking his head at the two idiots mouthing off on either side of me. My tires squeal, kicking asphalt up and leaving a skid mark just as the bandana touches the ground.
This is all I have so I’m here for this, to win and show that I’m still breathing even when I’m being held under water.
* * *
Parking in the back of the compound, I shut my bike off and listen to the overly loud music coming from inside. The gate slams closed, my cage squeaking shut of rusty chains, causing the ground to vibrate from my toes and up to settle in my heart. I’ll always park in the back near the junkyard and close to the garage because at least if I’m ambushed I can play in the maze of cars to hide even though it doesn’t do me good in the long run. The garage holds special memories for me with Uncle Rig, he’s the reason for my love of cars and anything that goes fast. The grizzle grump loved his bike like it was his own child but there was just something about tuning up an engine under a hood of a classic beauty or the excitement of seeing a vehicle you never thought you’d be standing next to.
Nothing like feeling the engine underneath you, the vibrations making your heart race just before you drop the clutch and take off like the devils hot on your heels. If Payne found out I’ve been street racing late into the night after my shifts, he’d most definitely take away my bike and lock me away in a room without windows to see the light of day again or starve me for a week straight. It could be a lot worse for me. He doesn’t question why it takes me longer to make it home but maybe he doesn’t care or notice because he’s high on drugs or with his latest whore. I guess I can count myself lucky for that small miracle. Doesn’t matter if I’m the best, the fastest, the most determined because I’m just a girl with heat between her legs.
I won tonight with extra cash in my bra and I won’t give up doing this because I’m still feeling alive even if it’s going to fade away soon. It’s the only risk I’m willing to take and I’ve won money but not enough to stay off the streets when I decide to make a run for it. I just have to keep going until it is enough.
The real question is when will it be enough? There's only so much a person can take before they shatter like a bullet through a windshield. I haven’t yet but I’ve been pretty close over the years. When the darkness creeps in like a lost lover, it kind of sticks to you like glue until you peel it off in each slow strip. I just haven’t found a way to cope with everything, maybe I never will.
Taking off my black helmet, I swing my leg over the bike while grabbing my bag before heading inside. Opening the back door, hard rock music blasts my ears, and the loud laughter of drunk or high members gets louder the more I walk down the hallway towards the main bar area. I keep my head down, hoping to go unnoticed until I can reach my room upstairs above the bar area.
“Slut,” a sweetbutt mutters as she passes me with a tray of drinks, bumping my shoulder.
“Little Whore, why don’t you get over here and join our party on your knees?” Whiskey shouts from his spot in the corner, his cock out and his hand in a club whore’s hair as he shoves her down on him while she gags.
This is a typical night, the drinks flowing, cocaine lined on trays passed around and open fucking. Just seeing his dick plagues me with memories of him shoving inside me with his drunken laughter while he smacked my face around. I look away quickly which only causes him to bark out a laugh at my expense. Maybe his dick will fall off from a slow, painful disease.
My feet skid over the wooden floor, trying to bypass the bodies without touching anyone and I can see the doorway leading upstairs. Just a few more feet. It’s been like this for two fucking years. The fear every second of every night, trying to live without giving in to death that creeps to my door or the way out of collapsing into the drugs that are passed around like candy here. Just as my foot touches the stairs, my name is being called by the devil himself from across the room. I wonder if ignoring him, he’ll go found someone else to torment?
“Tillie.” The warning is clear in his voice. “Come.”
My grip tightens on my helmet, wondering if I swing hard enough if I can bash his brains out but he’s too much stronger.
