Blood of Cupids (18 page)

My J,

This past year and a half has been absolutely thrilling.
The excitement of our secret love affair has made bearable all the days in
between. I wake up each day awaiting a new adventure. Without a doubt in my
mind, I can profess to you my love.

But my love for my child is something that cannot be
measured.

After our last rendezvous, I arrived at our farmhouse to
find my husband home early. He questioned my whereabouts, and I could not find
an excuse. With Grace still in my arms, I was thrown to the floor, splitting my
lip in two. I am not proud, or claiming his act to be his right, but I chose my
fate when I married him. I know you cannot truly understand this, but I wear
his patch, and therefore it is me who is in the wrong.

This time has to be it, J. I cannot risk leaving my
beautiful little girl motherless. I cannot allow her to make the same mistakes
as I have.

Goodbye, J. I will love you today, tomorrow, and past the
light.

Always,

E

I paced back and forth in my room. I had no idea when Grace
would be back or how I was supposed to reclaim my bike. In the hustle of
events, we hadn’t gotten that far. I wondered desperately what had happened
with her aunt and father. Did I have to be worried? Would they be coming after
me like my brothers suggested?

I kept checking out my window. I don’t know what I expected
to see, but it helped the time go by. I was fairly certain that within the next
few hours, Grace would be coming for me. And if she didn’t,
The Walking
Shadows MC
certainly would.

The worst part was that I couldn’t even talk to Pops about
it. He was so angry with me for losing my temper with Sean, but what did he
expect? Had someone attempted to kill the woman he’d planned to run away with,
I’m sure his reaction would have been fairly similar.

I started to pack. I wouldn’t need much, I didn’t need much,
but there were a few things that I still cared enough about that I would want
to take with me on my next journey. I grabbed a backpack and began to toss in
the staples. Clothes, bathroom supplies, a wad of cash I’d hidden away for a
rainy day, and a few pictures. I never put them in any sort of album, I really
wasn’t that type of guy, but I knew where they were, and always had them in
order. I flipped through the stack, reliving some happy moments in my
childhood.

My mom left us right about the time Pops joined the
Cupids.
The pictures before were so different, cleaner. We looked like a happy
little family. But then came the club years. Pops began his leather phase and
grew out his beard. As I grew taller, he grew older, grayer. His worry lines
deepened with each image.

I stopped at a picture from my sixteenth birthday. I really
did love those guys. I loved the parties, the alcohol, and the drugs. When with
the club, I felt invincible, which seemed pretty impossible for any other
teenager. Because I had the support of an outlaw motorcycle club, no one messed
with me. At an age where everyone else squirmed under the scrutiny of their
peers, I was the one people feared and respected.

Only two years later, when Pops moved from
treasurer-secretary to president, I was given my bottom rocker. I wore my new
cut with pride, begging for everyone in town to cower as I walked by. And they
did. I felt powerful.

Over the past seven years the pictures became less frequent.
Even with only the select few, I could watch my smile dissipate as the club
wore on me. Once you get over the excitement of crime life, you’re left with
only a family. I guess the family just stopped being enough for
me.     

I threw the pictures into my bag and secured the zipper, but
there was one thing I didn’t want to leave without. I lifted up my mattress and
pulled out a Jennings .22 semiautomatic pistol. This baby was staying inside my
jacket, just in case. I learned at an early age that you could never be too
careful.

That was it. That was all I needed from this life. Now I
could disappear. But I would have to wait for Grace’s return. Would she go back
to her apartment? It seemed the only logical place for a meet, but I feared the
questions we might face regarding the explosion. Neither of us had stayed long
enough for the police to arrive at the crime scene. There were a certain few
officers the
Cupids
had in our back pocket, but I couldn’t risk buying
them off. If I spoke with them, there was a good chance it would get back to
Sean that there were no casualties. I’d much rather the police come to their
own conclusions. The likelihood of them being able to tie the bomb to my family
was slim, to say the least.

I began to pace again. My body was refusing to remain calm.
I needed to get out. I decided I would wait outside Grace’s. I would grab a few
beers at the bar where this whole thing started. It seemed only fitting, a
perfect place to end our story.

I took one last look at my apartment, with my colors neatly
folded on my bed, before I turned off the lights forever. I skipped down the
stairs and began my long walk. I couldn’t believe it would be the last time I
would travel this path. One way or another, come morning, I would never see
these streets again.

I started toward the clubhouse, allowing myself to say
goodbye to the place I’d called home for so long. I walked along the water,
coming first upon the building that housed my 3,103 rounds as an amateur boxer.
No one said I couldn’t fight any longer; it just wouldn’t be here, among the
men who taught me everything I know.

I retraced my steps the night Grace was shot. The field
seemed worn, lifeless. I made my way toward the new clubhouse. It was bigger,
more intimidating than the last. This is where my family would continue their
fight against normalcy: a fight that I had chosen to walk away from.

I didn’t want to go inside; I didn’t want to be dragged in.
I came around the front, prepared to take off to the streets again, prepared to
face my new destiny. The windows were dark, and had it not been for the bike
out front, I would have assumed the place was empty.

But that bike caught me off guard. It was a Softail Springer
Classic, a custom 2005 fuel injected model whose vivid black paint job sparkled
in the moonlight. The only person in our club with that bike was Sean. What was
he doing at the clubhouse? Another glimmer caught my eye, and at the end of the
parking lot I saw another bike, backed in against the curb. It looked just like
mine, same model, same color, and same leather bags… no. It didn’t just look
like my bike; it was my bike.

Grace was here. And so was Sean.

“Wake up, cunt.”

I opened my eyes to a stinging pain across my face. My hands
were tied behind my back and to the chair I was now sitting in. My ankles were
bound to the wooden legs. I tried to squeeze my hands into fists, but I was so
weak. All the energy I had was now going into keeping my head up.

“What do you want?” I slowly questioned.

He began to circle me, taking his finger and tracing my
shoulders with his touch. He knelt in front of me, bringing his lips so close
to mine that I could taste his breath.

“I don’t know.” He smiled. He was enjoying this too much. “Are
you comfortable, Gracie?”

What kind of stupid question was that? Of course I wasn’t
comfortable. I was tied to a chair and had recently been strangled to
unconsciousness.

“How do you know my name?”

His laughter grew as he stood. “Oh, I know so much more
about you than that. Gracie.” He said my name slowly, allowing each syllable to
fall off his lips.

“Please,” I began, playing the only card I could, “I need to
speak to Ryan. I promise I’m not here acting on account of my family.”

“Well, see, speaking to Ryan might be interesting, because
he told me you had died in an explosion. So consequently, one of you is lying
to me. Either Ryan is trying to keep your survival a secret so he can use it
against me later, or he truly thinks you’re dead and you’re now gathering
information for the
Shadows
.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to do anything that
would cause him to go after Ryan, but if he thought I was working for my
family, there was no way he’d let me live.

“What’s wrong, little girl? You don’t have anything else
you’d like to say to me?”

“Please, just let me talk to Ryan.” I pleaded. Even if we
wouldn’t be able to keep our lies straight, I didn’t want to be alone with this
guy any longer.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” His laughter was menacing.

He stepped closer to me, running the back of his hand
against my bruised cheek. “Does that hurt?”

“Please stop.” I was trying to stay strong, but I didn’t
have the energy to hide my tears.

His smile widened as he straddled me and pulled a knife from
his back pocket. “Stop what?” He touched the cool blade against my skin, and I
bit my lip to keep from screaming with fear. He took the blade down, off my
face, and to the collar of my shirt.

“What… what are you doing?” I managed to ask.

He lifted his eyebrow and gave me a look as if I was stupid.
“Don’t play innocent with me. You know full well what I’m doing.”

At the culmination of his little speech, he flicked his
wrist and my shirt split open. My pulse spiked, and my chest began to rise and
fall quickly. “No. Please. No.” It was pathetic, but pleading was all I could
do.

“You should know this better than anyone. You fucked one of
ours, and you’re not his ol’ lady. That makes you fair game.”

I had no comeback. According to the MC code, he was right.
Me telling him that I was trying to live outside the life would mean nothing to
him. He was playing by his rules, and I couldn’t fight him on it. But that
didn’t mean I wouldn’t put up a fight.

His scarred face attacked, and his lips slammed against
mine. His hand was at my breast, squeezing as hard as he could. I screamed. I
couldn’t help it. I pushed all my force back, and together we crashed backwards
against the floor. The chair shattered under our weight, freeing my ankles and
wrists from their confines. I wasn’t fast enough though. He pushed me my
shoulders to the ground and weighed down my hips with his.

His hands were at my throat. “You fucking cunt. You asked
for this!”

“
You asked for this
.”
I repeated, staring
straight at him.

It all came rushing back to me. I stopped fighting and
stared at him. “
You
.” It was all I could say in that moment, but he knew
exactly what I was talking about.

“So you were there?” It was disgusting how much he was enjoying
himself. His hand moved to my bare stomach. “You were quite the pretty little
thing. I’m sorry I couldn’t find you.”

“Why?” Little words were all I could handle.

He lowered his body, crushing mine beneath his weight, and
whispered in my ear. “Because she was messing with my club, and no one messes
with my club.”

“You didn’t have to kill her.”

“Yes, I did. And now it’s your turn.” He pushed hard into my
throat. I held my breath, trying not to exert energy until I needed it.

He grabbed me overtop my jeans, fondling. He was forceful,
trying to push his knuckles and the denim inside of me. “Are you giving up? I
really thought this would be more fun. Your mother certainly was.”

I held it in. I knew I was no match for him.

“And you know, I really should’ve thanked her.” His hand
plummeted beneath the rim of my pants and took in my nakedness, causing me to
scream with fright. I instantly became nauseated by his touch. “I was actually
after you that night, but she wouldn’t let me at you.” He wriggled his fingers,
knowing I hated every second of his torment. “The club doesn’t take too kindly
to child molesters, so had she given you up, I might not be alive right now.”
He leaned in closer to me, whispering in my ear. “Lucky for me, you’re not a
child anymore.”

He freed his hand, reclaimed his knife, and skimmed my body,
slicing lightly into my skin. The torture was excruciating. The knife found the
button on my jeans, and swiftly sawed through the stitching. I couldn’t hold it
in any longer. I mustered as much energy as my breathless, bleeding body would
allow, and bucked him off of me with my hips. He was paralyzed by shock,
allowing me to twist the knife from his hand. I held it at his throat as I
regained my breath.

“Whoa, girlie, calm down. It was all in good fun.”

Fun? He thought this was fun? I couldn’t stop screaming. My
restraint flew from my body and I sliced him across the cheek.

“Fuck!” He screamed as his hand moved to his face.

That’s when I started punching. I kept swinging left and
right, no aim, just pure adrenaline. I was making up for years of nightmares in
those blows. I had no idea from where my strength had come, but I was winning.
Blood was flying, and I was covered, but it didn’t matter. Every ounce of
hatred that I had been carrying with me for almost twenty years was finally
being released.

“You fucker! How dare you? I hope you die!” With my last
threat, I was lifted off of the bastard by a large set of arms.

“Grace!”

I kept swinging.

“Grace! Calm down!” Ryan turned me around, finally seeing
the side of me that I had hidden for so long. “Oh my God,” his fingers were on
my chest and down my belly, tracing the trail made by my attacker’s knife, “is
this your blood?”

“Let go of me, Ryan. I’m going to kill him.”

“No, no, no.” He pulled me close to him, trying to calm me
down.

I maneuvered from his embrace pointing the blood-soaked
knife at the man still lying on the ground.

“Ryan,” I cried, “I watched this man kill my mother!”