Just as I figured, trying on bridesmaids’ dresses blows chunks. It also seems to go on forever. I’d rather be anywhere but here. My mind is busy trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. My heart is hurting, and I’m trying to resist the urge to take the non-prescribed type medication that used to help me. I haven’t needed to touch the shit since I went to Ray’s. I’ve always had Zander beside me at night when the panic attacks threaten to hit. Now, with that damn note on my windshield, it feels like a panic attack is just around the corner. I need my head clear for this. I need to make sure Nicole and Zander are safe. So, I can’t be weak. I can’t. But my hands are shaking, my head is pounding, and I really just want to crawl in a bed and sleep. Michael almost destroyed me once before. If he gets his hands on me again, I won’t survive. Then again, he’s not going to let me live. I know it. The world thinks I’m dead. Michael has the green-light to do whatever he wants to me and he will. I know he will.

I can’t sit in this fancy ass store a minute longer. We’ve all had our fittings done except Nikki, and if I hear one more time how she’s had my man’s cock in her I’m going to blow a gasket. When Lips joins her, that’s it. That’s just it. Jesus! I know the man isn’t a choir boy, but I don’t want to hear about him giving it to women I like.

“I need a drink!” I call out, standing up and needing to get the fuck out of here.

Nikki and Lips are going on how they’d join me, but their men need them blah, blah, blah. If their men need them so much, they need to make sure they’re too busy to get around my man’s cock! If they join me I’d probably scratch and claw their eyeballs out like the jealous bitch I am right now. This is what Zander has made me into. Will he go back to fucking them when I’m no longer in the picture? Shit. I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to let go of him. The thought of him belonging to another woman besides me, feels like it’s ripping me apart from the inside out. It’s a deeper hurt than any I’ve ever had, and when I feel tears sting my eyes, and the breath in my lungs lodges in my throat, I know I need to get a grip.

“I’m out of here!” I yell out to everyone, not bothering to turn around, and doing my best not to sprint to the damn door, to get free. When I make it outside, I breathe deep. My eyes are closed, and I keep picturing Zander with Nikki and Lips, giving them the smile that should be mine. I know I’m not being logical. I know whatever he did with them was before we slept together, but it doesn’t fucking matter right now.

“Hold up, Dani!” Nicole calls out, and I turn to watch her come out of the shop. I stop, but only because it’s Nicole. I really want to take off running. She’s insisting on going with me, even when I try to discourage her by lying, and saying I’m going to a bar. There’s no way I can afford to get drunk right now. I finally give in when she threatens to order chocolate milk at a bar. She’d do it too; it’s one of the reasons I love her. So, we head off to Weaver’s, a local restaurant in town that’s supposed to have been here since the town was first created or some shit like that. I don’t know, I just know the food is good.

“Any more notes?”

I knew this was a mistake, she just confirms it with her first question. “No,” I answer, praying that will be the end of it. It’s not. We go back and forth over me telling Dragon, and I know that I’m putting her in a hard spot. I absolutely am, but I can’t. Dragon and his men go head long to protect the ones they care about. This means Zander would jump in with both feet and take off running. I believe that, because I know he loves me. Dragon might not care that much for me, but he does Nicole, and if he thought for one second that someone was threatening his woman or his child, he’d go in, guns blazing. Michael operates outside the law, much like the Savage MC, but (and this is a very big but) he owns the police. When I say he owns them, I’m not talking about the cops in a local town or surrounding areas, I’m talking, judges, senators, representatives, and every office in between. Hell, he’s even been invited to dinners at the freaking White House. I’ve tried fighting this and I know. I’m going to do everything in my power to deflect Michael away from the ones that I love, and if that fails I’ve left a packet of detailed information that goes to Dragon if I die. In it is every crooked politician and the information Michael holds on them all, along with detailed information on Michael. I’ve held it to myself all this time, thinking that I could use it to bargain with those on a higher food chain, if Michael ever found me again. Me surviving is no longer my goal, I’m going to die, and truthfully, if Michael gets his hands on me again, I’d rather die. My goal is only making sure that those I love are kept out of this. I can’t give the info to Zander. If something happens to me, he won’t control himself. He’ll act first and then think. Dragon will be more methodical. Doing this, giving Dragon the one card I have against the devil…it’s all I can do.

The arguing with Nic and I continues back and forth and my guilt from the whole shooting with Tiny gets involved, and I’m glad I haven’t ate. I feel like I want to hurl. Nicole will never understand how much I regret that day. She can’t. She doesn’t know what happened with Ms. Martens. She doesn’t have my memories. She doesn’t have visions of someone she likes being tortured. Not to mention, that she was tortured in much the same manner as Dragon was doing to one of his own. Sure, I understand why, now—maybe I did even then. Still…the past and the present meshed together and I just reacted, wanting to keep my best friend safe.

“Afternoon, ladies,” a voice says from my side.

A voice, I never wanted to hear again in my life. A voice that haunts me almost as much as Michael’s does. I count backwards in my head and steady my breathing, deliberately lowering it. I can’t show fear, I can’t let him see weakness. I slowly lower my hands to my lap and turn to face Michael’s lapdog. I hate the son of a bitch, and it would make me the happiest woman in the world to do nothing more than kill him slowly. I guess Dragon and I aren’t so unalike after all.

I do my best to appear like I barely give him a second notice. I try extra hard to make it appear as though I don’t even know who he is. I give what I hope is a tiring sigh, then respond. “Not interested buddy, move along.”

“Really, Mrs. Kavanagh, I assumed you would be most interested in what I have to say.”

“Sorry, you have the wrong person, buddy,” Nic answers, reaching under the table to grab my hand. I am pretty sure I cut off her circulation, squeezing it in answer. She and Donald go back and forth and it’s enough to let me know that Michael has indeed been checking out the Savage MC. The reality of that settles into my stomach. The only bright spot is that by sending Donald here first to give me a warning, means Michael is unsure of how to proceed around the Savage crew. I will have to use that to my advantage. Maybe I will be able to stay around a little longer.

“…I have a message for you, Melinda. It’s from your husband,” Donald says, dragging me back to the conversation at hand. Hearing Michael being referred to as my husband throws me for a loop. It causes my facade to slip.

“I…I don’t….”

“Save it, we both know that you would be lying. Mr. Kavanagh will be in town next week. He will expect you at this address on the day and time listed. Do not disappoint him,” he says, putting a piece of paper on the table.

Next week. I have one more week here. Well no, not really. If I want to try and get away, I need to leave soon. So really, I have mere days to say my goodbyes. Days to memorize everything about Zander and try to take a lifetime of memories with me to wherever I end up or into the next life, because I know that’s the only outcomes available to me. The thought that I have to leave Zander, that I won’t be allowed to love him and take care of him, grow old with him…the fact that I can’t even give him the daughters and sons he deserves all flood me at once. So, when I turn back to Donald, it is not fear I feel. It is anger. It’s rage. It’s hate.

“You can tell Mr. Kavanagh to go fuck himself—preferably with a sawed-off shotgun, and the safety in the off position.”

“I can see hiding in the hills with a bunch of uneducated Neanderthals has had an unfortunate effect on you, Mrs. Kavanagh. A shame but, hopefully, not an irrevocable change.”

“Being around real people has had a fucking great effect on me, douche bag. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here so I can enjoy my dinner? I got to tell you, your stink is starting to affect my appetite,” I respond, and yes, I’m trying to channel Zander and sound like him. I’m rather proud of myself really.

“Really, Mrs. Kavanagh, I do hope you remember who you are, before you meet with your husband.”

I flip him off with both hands, it feels like the only thing to do.

“I would suggest you remember your station, before coming to your husband.”

“I would suggest you go to hell.”

“Do not make Mr. Kavanagh come and get you. Rest assured your punishment will be much worse if you do. You have brought enough disgrace upon the Kavanagh name.”

I stay quiet until he’s out of sight.

“I’m going to have to leave, Nic.”

She nods, but immediately tries to tell me how she can help. We go back and forth, but I finally end it, distracting her. “…Here comes Crusher. Let’s just let it go for now. You need to get back to Dragon.”

“What about you? Where are you going?” she asks.

“Think I’ll head down to the Den and find someone to scratch an itch,” I lie with an easy smile.

“If you want company tonight, Hellcat, I’m free.”

“Hellcat?”

“It seems to fit,” he shrugs.

I get up from the table, part of me remembering the conversation we had before. Little does he know, I could never handle dragging him into hell with me.

“I don’t think so, stud.”

“Baby, I could scratch your itch so well, you’d purr for days.”

“From what I hear, your scratcher has been around so much, it’s liable to cause an itch a girl needs medicine for.”

“Didn’t realize I was dealing with Queen Elizabeth,” he replies, confusing me.

“What the hell are you talking about, Crusher?” she asks.

“The virgin queen?”

Asshole. Suddenly this little conversation doesn’t feel like an inside joke. It hurts, because in every way that should count Zander had my virginity. So, I decide to hit him with my new found knowledge of his extracurricular activities. “Long way from a virgin baby, I just don’t happen to want Nikki and Lips’ sloppy seconds.”

“I could make sure you liked it.”

“Bigger men than you have tried and failed—and I do mean bigger,” I tell him, before walking away.

“See? Pussy with claws. Hellcat,” Crusher yells back, and I flip him off, then continue walking away.