Chapter 4
Prettyboy knew that eavesdropping was probably not the best way to get on Rayna Claire’s good side.
Shit, he knew that he didn't have to do anything to get on her ‘good’ side, but listening in on Rayna Claire and Esmerelda Quinn go at it in the great room of the clubhouse was too good a temptation to pass up.
Especially when he realized that Green, Slayer, and Limit were all privy to the show.
He was just leaving church when he heard her voice- Esmerelda’s- and he’d stopped in his tracks to listen to her.
Of course he knew Chris Wilder; everyone in the Seven Deadlies either knew him personally, or knew of him. He was a good man. At least he had been before he got into the accident that took his life. Prettyboy remembered him as someone who smiled big and laughed often, and he’d always liked that about him. When Chris died, every club in North Carolina had been shocked; a freak motorcycle accident wasn’t the cause of death for most outlaw bikers.
The saddest part about it had been witnessing Esmerelda’s breakdown at his wake.
Yeah, Prettyboy remembered that day. Not every member of the Seven Deadlies could make it, so Ox sent him and Limit out of respect. While Limit had remained in one place for most of the evening, Prettyboy had wandered through the clubhouse, drink in hand.
That’s when he'd first seen her.
Esmerelda Quinn.
Long black hair, honey colored skin, and the sexiest body he’d ever laid eyes on.
And, like the fucked up bastard he was, he’d wanted her right then and there.
Her sad blue eyes and the way she watched the dark room that held Chris Wilder’s body were the only indications that she knew him.
She wasn’t wearing a ring, and he didn't remember her having any visible brands that night.
He’d watched her from a dark corner until she finally made it to the casket before it registered that she was Chris’s old lady. His wife.
Prettyboy had done a lot of fucked up things in his life, but lusting after another man’s wife before he was even cold and buried was definitely within the realm of the top five worst things.
It wasn’t like he’d ever make his…appreciation of her known, either.
She wouldn't want someone who looked like him, anyways.
If and when she decided to move on with someone new, she’d want someone whole.
A man who would take care of her and give her everything a sweet woman like her deserved.
Sure, she wasn’t in the best state of mind right now; her little encounter with the dangerous Rayna Claire was proof enough of that.
But, he knew she was soft-hearted.
He remembered the way she’d cried in Axel’s arms that night; anyone who fell apart at the seams so smoothly had to be soft.
Didn’t that just prove he was a monster?
The poor woman was out of her head with grief, and all he could think about was how plush her mouth looked, or how mesmerizing and miserable her eyes were.
He wanted to wipe away her tears and just maybe make her smile.
When he realized that Rayna and Esmerelda were headed his way, he quickly ducked into the bathroom to avoid both of them.
He sucked in a deep breath when his green eyes met his reflection in the mirror; monster was right.
Prettyboy knew he wasn’t a handsome man anymore; he didn't have much to offer anyone, not even his looks. He could turn a regular bike into a masterpiece, he could tear apart an engine and stick it all back together, and truthfully he could hold his own in a fight…
But, that was about it.
Like a creep, he waited until Rayna left before he turned to leave the bathroom; and stopped cold.
His hand was wrapped around the doorknob when he heard the muffled sounds coming from Rayna’s old room.
Weeping.
She’s fucking weeping…
Through the thin walls of the bathroom he could hear her heart-wrenching cries.
He winced at the sound, because he knew how badly it hurt; he’d cried like that himself for the first few months after his accident.
Truthfully, he’d wanted to die, and why wouldn't he?
He’d gone from living a normal life to living the life of a beast with a slight limp that would never heal.
Half of his body, including his face, was practically burned away, and there was nothing he could to change that. No makeup, tattoo, or beard could cover the destruction his accident had left in its wake. He’d grown a short, patchy beard in an effort to hide some of his scars, but that too was hidden beneath the bandana covering the lower half of his face.
Some days he tried to accept the fact that he, as Tasha put it, was hideous.
Some days he almost made it too, and then something would happen; some tiny moment would remind him of the fact that he was deformed, hollow, a poor excuse of a man…and the bandana would once again find it’s way onto his face.
He thought about burning them.
Prettyboy often imagined how freeing it would be to pile all of his bandanas in the fire pit and set them ablaze.
It would be poetic, to see his crutch burning much the same way he had.
Yet, he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He needed the mask to cover what even he couldn't stomach to look at.
Yeah, the sounds of Chris Wilder’s widow sobbing through the thin walls had him stuck in his feelings; he wasn't ashamed to admit that.
Much like her, he too had once had it all.
Now, he had nothing.
No woman, no family.
Fuck, all he had was the club, and some days even that didn't feel like enough…
The volume of Esmerelda’s cries softened slightly, and he heard what sounded like breaking glass.
Instantly, he had the bathroom door open as he hauled ass towards her room.
Her door opened easily, and there she was, kneeling on the floor still crying.
She was scooping piles of glass into her hands, and Prettyboy just knew she was going to cut herself if she wasn’t careful.
“Here, let me help,” He rasped.
He had to clear his throat twice because of the pain speaking sometimes caused him.
He didn't speak often, even though he knew he was supposed to.
He didn't have much to say anymore, anyways.
“I don’t need help,” She choked out.
Her black hair was falling into her flushed face, and Prettyboy admitted to himself that maybe she didn't need his help.
But, he wanted to help her anyways.
“Here, you’ll cut yourself,” He said as he pushed her hands away from the broken picture frame lying facedown on the floor.
As he flipped the picture over he was surprised to see a picture of her and Chris on what appeared to be their wedding day; she looked so damn happy, and so did Chris.
Prettyboy felt a pang of jealousy even though it was crazy to be jealous of a man long since dead.
“I didn't mean to make so much noise,” She whispered.
He glanced up at her and was surprised to see her staring directly at him.
Her big blue eyes practically drew him in, called to him like a siren song, but the turbulent agony in their depths he knew all too well.
“You were quiet. I heard the glass break,” He lied.
She only nodded, but she didn't look away.
“What's with the bandana?”
The words were like a bullet to the gut, but he didn't even flinch.
Answering that question was the easiest part of his story.
“It's a fashion accessory.”
Her bottom lip trembled slightly before she blinked and more tears escaped from between her thick lashes.
She obviously knew that wasn't the truth, that the bandana was used for something else, but she didn't mention it again. She tried her hardest not to even look at it, from what Prettyboy could tell.
“I’m sorry."
Prettyboy didn't have to wonder if she was sincere.
He could see it all over her expressive face, how upset she was that she'd made such a ruckus. How the idea of annoying him by prying filled her with a familiar anxiety.
For some reason, he didn't want her sympathy.
“Thanks,” He said.
As he moved to stand, he put too much pressure on his bad leg, and he hissed between his teeth when a searing pain zinged through his knee cap.
“Here, let me,” She said as she moved to her feet lithely.
He watched her, fascinated by the play of emotions on her face.
Esmerelda tucked one arm under his arm pit and hefted him all the way to his feet, causing a blush to paint his cheeks.
“I didn't want you to fall with all that glass in your hands,” She explained when he glared at her.
“I can handle my own.”
She smiled, but just barely. The quirk of her mouth was so subtle he would have missed it if he hadn't been watching her so closely.
“I know ya can,” She said.
Prettyboy didn't know what to say to that, and it didn't seem as if she had any more she wanted to say.
Instead, she watched him as closely as he watched her.
“Are you okay?,” He finally murmured.
She tucked the hair hanging low in her face back behind her ears and bared her features to him.
Pert little nose, high cheek bones, cupid’s bow mouth. She was perfection.
He wasn’t even sure he could have conjured her beauty himself if he’d put his mind to it.
“Are you?”
Her words surprised the hell out of him.
Can she tell that I’m not normal?
Can she see through my bandana?
Esmerelda’s gaze wandered over every inch of him as she waited for him to respond; she didn't look like she was judging him, simply curious, but even her slight perusal had him on edge in a heartbeat.
He didn't want her to know.
“I’ll have the prospect sweep your room. Watch your bare feet,” He said over his shoulder as he hastily exited her room.
As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Rayna Claire stepped into his path.
She had a smile perched on her lips that made him want to scream.
“She was nice to you.”
“Why wouldn't she be?,” He asked.
Rayna narrowed her eyes at him.
“What did she break?”
“One of her pictures,” Prettyboy supplied.
He moved to step around her, but again, she stopped him.
“Why are you so flustered?,” Rayna asked.
“Because I’m fuckin’ tired, Rayna.”
She held her hands up in surrender, seeming to realize he wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“Okay, sorry.”
He did step around her then, and he made his way to the bar before he stopped Torch just as he was getting ready to leave. He tossed the glass in his hands into the nearest trash bin before he spoke.
“Go sweep Esmerelda’s room,” He ordered.
Torch started to roll his eyes, but when Prettyboy slammed his palms onto the bar top, he instantly straightened and picked up the broom.
“You got it,” Torch said.
Prettyboy waited until he was completely out of sight before he headed outside in search of Ox.
When he stepped out into the sunlight, he saw that Ox and Axel were still talking near the garage.
Casually, he moved towards them, only pausing to lift his bandana so he could smoke a cigarette.
“Hey, brother. What’s up?,” Axel asked as he wrapped one arm around Prettyboy.
“Not much, how goes your end of things?”
Axel scoffed and gestured towards the clubhouse.
“Dropping off one problem so I can go home to another. I’ve got a rebellious younger sister to contend with and some heat headed my way from the Silver Bullets. Esme hasn't been right for months now, and I was hoping that if she spent some time here, she’d…find whatever it is she’s missing,” Axel said.
Prettyboy glanced at the clubhouse and caught sight of her moving in her room; even her shadow intrigued him.
Why is she so fucking interesting?
“What’s the story with her?,” Prettyboy heard himself ask.
He waited with bated breath for Axel to answer him.
Don’t act like a fucking weirdo, Prettyboy.
She’s just a woman and you don't have a shot in hell of getting with her.
“After Wilder died, she just…lost it. They were newlyweds, if you remember. Barely even married when he got into an accident and died. Tragic, really. Chris was a good man, and Esme’s a good fuckin’ woman. I hope she can find a way to get back to her old self,” Axel said.
Prettyboy could hear how much the Lone Rangers president cared about her, and the way he kept looking up at the clubhouse told Prettyboy that he didn't actually want to leave her behind.
“She’ll be well taken care of here, Axel.”
Axel shook Ox’s hand and pulled him in for a hug before he headed towards his bike.
“I know she will be. I’ll be by soon to check up on her. Thank you again.”
Ox only smiled in Axel’s direction as the man started his bike and drove away.
“We’re plannin’ a fucking wedding, and Axel drops off a bereaved widow? Shit just got real.”
Prettyboy hadn’t even thought about that, and suddenly her tears made perfect sense; why wouldn’t she be hysterical at the sight of all the wedding shit laying around the clubhouse?
It wasn't as if anyone in the clubhouse was quiet about planning Fury and Rayna’s wedding. They didn't have any reason to be, and Esmerelda even said she wasn’t trying to rain on anyone’s parade…
But, Ox was right.
“This is gonna be interesting,” Prettyboy said quietly.
Ox slapped him on the back as he too turned to face the clubhouse.
“You fuckin’ bet it is.”