Tori

 

Four months later…

 

     “Hey honey, are you planning to get my coffee today or tomorrow?” The obnoxious truck driver at the far end of the diner barked.

     “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, Joe. Keep your suspenders on!” I half-yelled to the robust older man, wiped my hands down the front of my apron and moved behind the old blue Formica countertop that was peeling in too many places to repair. He was all bark and no bite, and believe me, I knew the difference.

     Joe was a regular customer and a creature of habit, always taking the same booth in the back. The wobbly table with the overly worn seats, entirely too small to accommodate his hefty paunch. No matter though. Despite how absurd it looked, Joe managed to squeeze in the tight bench seat, every damn time, albeit grunting through the process that admittedly looked painful and surely must have cut off the blood supply to his lower extremities. His cross-country run brought him through town rather frequently, and as I came to learn, he liked it that way. Joe believed routine, structure, and a set pace were the ways to keep sane. He enjoyed his monotonous life and I had to admit, predictable was better than anything I’d had in the last several years. At least with Joe, I could be sure to get things right the first time, on account that he ordered the same thing every time he came in, a strong black mug of coffee and a country breakfast platter.

     You would never assume the man had obsessive-compulsive tendencies from just looking at him. Joe’s appearance was lacking as much luster as his people skills and the portly middle-aged man reminded me more of the vagrants that holed-up in the alley behind Birch and Main Street than a long-haul trucker. His beard was long, unkempt, and gray with a tinge of yellowing on the sides from years of chain smoking. Yet somehow, regardless of his outward appearance, I knew Joe was harmless. A man with more to say than do. It was a quality that made him good company, or at the very least, good for a laugh.

     I walked up to his table, flipped the brown ceramic mug over and poured his piping hot coffee, leaving the half-filled carafe in front of him. I knew full-well he would make fast work of the first cup, stubbornly ignoring the constant warnings from me that he would burn his mouth. Maybe, he’d accomplished that years ago and his nerve endings had been dulled to that initial contact. Who knew with the disagreeable man?

     “So, what’ll it be today, Joe?”

     Yep, I still had to take his order. Even though the grizzly bear of a man was going to order the same damn thing today as last week, and the week before that. It was a carefully choreographed dance between us. I asked the same questions and he always answered by pretending to flounder around his choices. Limited as they were. Sadie’s Diner was no International House of Pancakes. We had exactly five selections on the breakfast menu. If you weren’t in the mood for eggs, grits, toast, hashed potatoes or bacon, you were shit-out-of-luck.

     “I don’t know, Tori. I kind of had my heart set on some of those silver dollar pancakes.”

     Joe sucked at his top teeth and studied the menu as though he’d never seen it before and those little pancakes would magically appear on the list today.

     “Now, Joe, you know we don’t have silver dollar pancakes, or any pancakes for that matter. Why don’t you just tell me you want the country platter, eggs over medium, with a side of white toast, no crust, that we both know you’ll never even bother with, and call it a day?”

     I furrowed my brows and placed one hand on my hip, while the other held onto the order I had already written out in anticipation of our normal banter.

     “Hold onto your panties, woman. A man can change his damn mind if he wants. You just need to learn a little patience. Not sure I like your tone this mornin’ Tori,” he tried for offended, but it came out sounding only slightly annoyed, as he often was.

     “A man certainly can, but a woman can get tired of waiting on him to decide and move on to the next customer. And, I just so happen to know you run a tight schedule. So, I’ll ask you one more time, Joe, before I help the lady who came in behind you. What’ll it be?”

     “Oh, hell! If you’re gonna make me choose on the fly then I guess I’ll be having the country platter, eggs over medium, with a side of white toast, no crust. Happy now?”

     He held the laminated menu with the curled edges towards me and stared out the gritty window in irritation.

     “As a matter of fact, yes, I am. Was that really so difficult, Joe? I’ll be back with your food and more hot coffee in a few minutes.”

     I accepted the outstretched menu, smiled warmly to his back and turned on my heel to put his order in, chuckling as he mumbled something under his breath about not being able to find good service in these parts. It was the same argument we had every time. Our interaction was frustrating and yet somehow comforting to me. I guessed there was something to be said about routine after all. We didn’t have to be best friends to look forward to each other’s company or the playful banter.

     “That man is never going to change. Don’t know what in hell’s bells he’s carrying on about over there.” Sadie’s voice chimed in as I leaned over the back counter and placed Joe’s order on the rack for the cook.

     Sadie owned and operated the aging diner. I guessed her to be somewhere in her late fifties, but no way was I asking. One thing you learned quick about Sadie; she was no nonsense. She ran a clean café and had dealt with her fair share of drifters, truckers, and runaways over the years.  

     Though some people might get tired of waking at the crack of dawn and cleaning table tops until their hands were red and raw, Sadie never complained. Not about work anyway. Other people, well, that was open season all year-round I’d gathered from our short time working together. I listened closely, but usually nodded in response to whatever rant she was on that day, keeping myself in neutral territory and safely in her good grace.

     I enjoyed her company all the same. She kept me entertained when things were slow and worked me hard when a busload of travelers stopped in unexpectedly. Sadie and Joe were good people and there weren’t many that I could put in that category anymore.

     “Order up!” Stevie bellowed from the grill in the back as I wiped down the last two customers’ tables and found a whopping one dollar and forty-five cents in change between the two. It was shaping up to be a long shift if that was any indication of today’s earnings.

     I sighed, threw the dampened towel across my shoulder and pocketed the change in my apron. The reason I would never be able to leave this God-forsaken hell in sweltering bumfuck Georgia. I didn’t earn shit!

     My palms stung under the weight of the hot plates as I made my way to Joe’s booth, but I found that they hurt far less than those first few weeks here. My hands had become conditioned to the burn, much like my heart to men.

     Joe watched as I set the items in front of him and when he opened his mouth to ask the expected, I shocked him into silence when I produced the full bottle of ketchup for his potatoes, and set aside two, exactly two, extra napkins. He gave me a stiff chin nod. On anyone else, the gesture might seem mildly offensive, but from Joe, it was as close to a show of appreciation as you could get and still far more than I’d ever had.

     Sadie’s Diner was not much to look at, but then again, it was not the aesthetic appeal that brought people inside. The diner embodied comfort and respite. The atmosphere was therapeutic. The minimalistic, nostalgic ambiance made customers feel welcome, no matter what walk of life. Sadie opted to keep the original concept and the dining space still boasted ten retro tables. The diner’s location was even earmarked with the same thirty-year old neon sign nestled by the highway. It had grown dingy over the years of too much sun and road grime, judging by the pictures on the walls, but it offered a beacon of hope in the morning twilight, calling people towards Sparrow Creek with the promise of reprieve after a forty-mile stretch of highway that housed nothing and no one. Travelers and locals were lured in by the promise of hot coffee, a good stretch and decent restrooms, but ended up staying for any number of reasons, the greasy made-to-order comfort food, the surly owner and her crazy tales, or the atmosphere that reminded them of simpler times.  

     I rounded the empty tables again, checking that all the condiments were full, when the distant, familiar buzz of months ago sent tingles up my spine. I doubted the noise or the feel would ever bring me anything more than terror and unease. The rumble of motorcycles approaching grew in intensity, until the music humming through the diner became nothing more than a distant memory. The windows rattled a warning of their arrival and I tensed in place, my feet firmly rooted to the spot.

     The thought of riding a motorcycle was alluring to most people. It signified freedom and adventure on the open road, but for me, the very sight of the metal beasts was enough to paralyze.   

     Reluctantly, I watched out the front windows as the large group of leather-clad men rolled into the diner’s dirt lot. I counted at least twenty before my knees started to buckle. That was twenty more bikers than I wanted anywhere near me.

     It wasn’t unusual to serve bikers in the diner. In fact, it would have been odd if through the course of a week we did not serve at least a dozen. Yet, most times we only saw two or three drifting through at a time. Nothing like the group that were currently filtering into every free parking space they could find outside the small diner. The sheer number of riders made me suddenly uneasy, my anxieties only slightly relieved at seeing the club patch on their backs. Pandemonium.

     All this time I’d been searching for one of their own, debating my next move, and they find me. Unexpectedly and unknowingly delivered, and all I could do was freeze up. It was a knee-jerk reaction to panic whenever I saw motorcycles and even more when they were part of a club.

     My eyes shifted attention to Sadie, searching her face for a negative reaction. She offered none and simply waved them up to the counter like old friends, simultaneously signaling to me that she was starting a few fresh pots of coffee for our new arrivals. I took her cue. Sadie did not know my past and I planned to keep it that way. I had never hinted that I was looking for Pandemonium, but maybe I should have. If she was apprehensive of their sudden appearance, it never showed. In fact, several of the older men in the group were engaging her in conversation with gentle tones that hinted at their familiarity.

     The bell over the front door rattled in welcome as more men filed in and spread out in search of empty seats around the sparse dining room. It was not long before the previously quiet space was filled with the smell of leather and sweat and the buzz of loud conversation, making the space feel infinitely smaller and claustrophobic as I took in the scene. Sadie’s Diner now resembled a pub more than a mom and pop restaurant situated along Highway 21.

     I was about to turn and begin my rounds when the bell rang again. He walked in and my heart raced. Trench. The President of Pandemonium MC who’d been coming in every Saturday now for the last four weeks. The man I’d been trying desperately to build up the courage to speak with about my mother’s dying wish. Sadly, also the one I avoided like the plague.

     He was tall and muscular. Not in that arrogant way that suggested he spent more time at the gym than working a normal nine to five, but in a way that hinted at his darker side, as though staying in good form was necessary to his survival. Most Saturdays he came alone, spoke in hushed tones to Sadie at the counter while drinking a cup of black coffee, but every time he was here I felt his eyes stalking me curiously whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. I was always looking. In the reflection of the floor to ceiling windows as I refreshed customers’ coffee mugs, out of the corner of my eye as I dropped off another order for Stevie, from underneath my lashes as I rang out his order at the register. I had to be more than careful. I had to be paranoid. Extra attention from anyone, especially a member of a motorcycle club, was bad. Still, I knew I was a newcomer and he was very much aware.  

     Today was the first time he brought friends. Hell, it seemed he’d brought the entire family. That’s what a motorcycle club was, first and foremost. A brotherhood. The names might be different, but the purpose was the same. You could see it in the way they talked to one another, one minute crass and belligerent, the next minute deeply invested in the conversation of the man next to him.  

     Sadie tended to the men grazing at the counter while I fell into step and made quick work of drink orders at five of the occupied tables. From the corner of my eye I could just make him out a couple tables over. He ran a hand over his face as he sank back against the chair and I noticed how tired he looked.

     The room was bustling with larger than life men who were hungry and restless. What a shitty morning for our other waitress, April, to be running late. As I started the coffee machine to make another pot, I asked Sadie about her. She mentioned a sick kid and mumbled a few curses under her breath about deadbeat daddies. I decided not to pry further. Sadie already had a sore spot for the piece-of-shit she had so aptly named April’s ‘baby gravy.’ I hadn’t known April long and it was none of my concern anyway. From what I’d experienced of men in my short life, I would never be sitting on an advocate board for paternal rights. I didn’t exactly need convincing to promote swift and painful punitive damages to men who refused to live up to any decent standards in the department of co-parenting.

     I snickered beneath my breath as I imagined an appropriate punishment for bastards like April’s loose end and my own father as I spun around with another fresh carafe of caffeinated bean juice. Even with his back to me, my heart sped up as I got closer to Trench. I was serving the table next to his, my back turned as I shuffled between seats to fill mugs. My feet slid on auto-pilot until I took the last step and tripped over a large boot stretched across the floor, lost my balance and tumbled ass first into a very large, very warm denim lap. His lap.

     It was a miracle I managed to keep the sloshing contents of the carafe safely inside and not burn anyone in the process, myself included. I had a moment’s relief before conversations in the dining room ceased and all eyes trained on me and the man whose thick thighs I now occupied. A few of the guys chuckled and shook their heads, clearly amused, while the rest grinned and focused on the man’s face behind me.

     I swallowed hard, feeling his muscles jerk with his slight movement under my weight. The men quickly refocused their attention elsewhere. Stop stalling! Get up, Tori!

     “I’m so sor-,” I started to say, my legs pushing up to stand as though my ass were on fire. A rough hand grazed across my belly and settled there, stilling me for a moment. I was frozen to the spot with the simple gesture, a command to stay seated, and an order my traitorous body wanted to obey out of ignorant habit.

     “Don’t be,” the husky voice said next to my ear, his warm breath moving the few errant pieces of hair that had tumbled from my messy bun. “You good, babe,” he asked in a throaty whisper meant only for me. I was anything but good. The sound of genuine concern in his tone only made me feel more unbalanced, but I wasn’t about to vocalize that.  

     “Yeah,” I managed to respond in a breathy tone I did not recognize as my own before he placed a hand on either side of my hips and helped me stand on uneasy legs. His hands did not wander, another surprise. One that I appreciated more than I should. A man should enter the world with a few inherit traits about how to treat a lady.

     I steeled my breath and turned around to face him. The man’s legs weren’t the only thing on him that was firm. His black shirt and leather cut did nothing to hide the evidence of his well-toned body. I may have written off a large part of the male population after my experiences with Aaron, but I wasn’t blind. His eyes remained focused on me, reminding me of warm honey as they traveled across my face and lower still. He wasn’t shy about his appraisal and I could feel the blush blooming up my neck from his purposeful stare.

     His attention unsettled me like it always did, but the physical contact was a shock to my frayed nervous system. I’d seen him in here before and each time I had been struck by his rugged good looks, but still too afraid to approach him or make conversation. I’d often heard you should never judge a book by its cover, but I would argue that fact. The cover is usually your first experience. He must have known too and perfected it, because the way he carried himself begged to be noticed as much as the chiseled abs on the front cover of a romance novel on the shelf at the local bookstore. He was hard to ignore and harder to forget. 

     “Mind if we have some of that coffee, sweetheart, before it gets cold? You went through enough trouble saving it and all,” the man next to him spoke amusedly, momentarily breaking my hypnotic state. Four sets of eyes sat scrutinizing my actions. I had to do something before I risked a nervous breakdown in front of them, the type of unnecessary attention I had worked so hard to avoid.

     “Of course,” I replied shakily.

     This was it, the perfect opening to seek answers to questions that had been burning a hole in my brain for years, to find the man my mother spoke of, the man who she thought would save my life. Thank goodness, she was not around to see how terribly that plan failed. I spent three long years under the devil’s thumb, waiting, hoping, and failing to escape the abuse. Until recently.

     It seemed a small victory in comparison to what I now faced, a lonely life on the run. I couldn’t muster the courage to ask any of them a direct question, and if I did, would they answer me? I was nobody important in their circle and asking questions usually made their type uneasy and suspicious. I was already on the Disciples radar. I didn’t need to add enemies to a growing list.

     I breathed a quiet sigh of relief when they resumed their conversation and ignored me once again. As I rounded the table with the coffee, I overheard bits and pieces about some upcoming fights in town. I felt Trench’s soft brown eyes watching my every move, but I refused to meet his stare. His presence was intimidating enough without the added effect his gaze had on me. After everyone was served coffee, I pulled the small pad out of my front pocket and grabbed the pen from behind my ear. Each of the men ordered, returning their menus to the center of the table without so much as a further glance. All of them, except Trench. He was waiting for me to acknowledge him first. For me to give him my eyes. I straightened my shoulders a little more and steeled myself for the timbre of his voice.

     “And for you, sir?” I looked up from writing long enough to catch the small upturn of his bottom lip.

     “Surprise me,” he studied me for a second longer before turning his full attention back to the men around the table.

     That’s it? Surprise me. All the tense build-up and he had offered me two words. I left them to their conversation, dropped off the order and continued my rounds as quickly as possible, thankful that Stevie worked fast pushing the food out. Anything to forget the way those hands and eyes made me feel.

     I relaxed into my routine, grateful for the lack of complaints and out-of-the-way comments from the men. Some of the younger men flirted with me, but it was harmless enough. They were easy on the eyes and from everything I had learned while living with the Disciples I could tell which ones were Prospects even without the lack of a full three-piece rocker on the back of their vests. Every time I laughed with one of them, I felt Trench’s lethal eyes on me. He was watching and it made me more self-aware than I’d been in a long while. Most of these men could wink in any female’s direction and have her eating out of their palms, but the man I was drawn to remained silent and observant.

     Aside from an occasional giggle at one of their ridiculous come-ons, I gave the usual smile and nod reserved for Sadie’s customers, but I drew the line at physical contact. In my line of work, being ogled by lonely men was nothing new, but looking and touching were two completely different things. The ones that got handsy, a slap on the ass or a pinch on my bottom, were dealt with in the only way I knew how. It wasn’t my fault if their balls accidentally took a shower in steaming hot coffee. Okay, so it was, but there was no way I would feel remorseful for it.

     I shouldn’t have let my guard down so easily with any of them. I was getting complacent the longer I was away from Aaron. The customer’s move was juvenile at best. I knew what the jackass was doing the moment his fork hit the floor and the words left his mouth. The familiar clang of metal on tile gave me pause and I blew out a breath of frustration. Still, I tried to remain professional. Tips were all I had and I knew what these men could do. No point in provoking them.

     “Hey, honey. You mind getting that for me?” The smartass chuckled along with his friends.

     “Sure, sugar,” I replied with a saccharin tone that held just enough bite to let him know I was on to his little game and it was not amusing.

      I hated the uniforms Sadie made us wear, but I especially despised the short yellow dress today. If I bent over in front of him, his entire table would get a nice view of my backside. I tried my best to squat, but the material was too form fitting and didn’t flex that way. I even contemplated kicking the damn hunk of metal all the way back to the kitchen, but that would never fly with Sadie.  

     When I finally resigned myself to fate and bent forward to retrieve the lone utensil, his calloused hand was there to greet the underside of my ass. As in, full-on grab. Flesh to flesh. The intrusion made me straighten immediately, but lack of common sense mixed with my desire to rip his head off, had me spinning around, my open palm connecting with his rough, unshaven face.  

      The sound of the slap reverberated around the room, silencing all talk and giving me a moment to regret my decision. A red handprint already bloomed across his right cheek and his playful, albeit indecent smirk, was twice removed. In its place, pure anger. The man’s chair scraped loudly across the floor as he drew up to stand, easily towering over me. I was petrified, but determined to stand my ground. My body. My rules. A policy I wished I had the gumption to keep before. I stood in his shadow, desperately fighting against every instinct to recoil and withdraw from the mounting retribution he would surely inflict. I promised myself I would never allow a man to make me feel small again, but I had never put that promise into action.  

     “Five more for flinching, Tori,” Aaron’s voice taunted my mind as the guy took a step closer and I blinked against the hot tears that threatened to spill over. I had heard it a thousand times. It was etched into my fucking brain with Aaron’s personal hellish brand. Aaron’s vicious words and heavy hands were unforgiving and unyielding in his constant attempts to break me. I knew monsters didn’t make threats. They made promises with voices as cold as their hearts.

      No more flinching. My scars served as a permanent reminder of how little it would do to help my cause, yet I remained determined to stand my ground with this man, an equally brutal opponent from the looks of him. The simple movement would do nothing except grant my assailant more power. A part of me screamed that death would be better than the emotional wounds left behind from allowing another man to make me his victim. Instead of cowering, I stood as tall as my spine would allow in front of the giant man with tattoos littered across his arms and throat, ready for whatever punishment he felt fit to dole out. I hoped my strong defense would persuade him to reconsider, but my defiance only intrigued him more. His lip curled slowly along one side in a creepy way that made my pulse speed up.

      “That’s enough, Stryker,” a booming voice broke through our stare down, redirecting the attention of everyone in the diner.

     The man whose lap I filled not even a half hour before, the one who had watched me so carefully, now stood slowly. I never asked for his attention, not on purpose anyway, and it was even more unwanted at this moment. I looked over my shoulder and glared at him. I didn’t need him to save me, but as my eyes roamed to the patch above his heart, I read the one word that could keep me silent, ‘President’. How did I miss that earlier? Um, maybe it was because you were too busy ogling him back. Two more men from his table stood and I could just make out their titles as well, ‘Vice President’ and ‘Road Captain’. I was familiar with the ranks. Entirely too familiar. I knew the power those positions wielded within the Disciples MC and it seemed Pandemonium was no different. The influential show of force was enough to have Mr. Cop-A-Feel backing off with a laugh. The members of an outlaw motorcycle club would follow their leaders to an early grave or the gates of Hell, which in most of their cases was the same destination.

      “Sorry, Pres, but she offered it up on a fucking silver platter,” the man they called Stryker responded. “Can’t blame a brother for wanting a sample of something that sweet.” He licked his pierced bottom lip and toyed with the metal in his mouth as I turned my head in his direction once more, disgusted by his recount of events.

     “Don’t care if she shoved it in your face, wrapped in a bow. You don’t touch without consent. You know the fucking rules, brother.”

     I took the opportunity to look between the two men, admiring the relaxed authority of the Pandemonium President as he stared at Stryker. He was gorgeous, but not in the typical fashion most women would appreciate. His sandy blond hair was shaved close to the sides and left slightly longer at the top. The style suited him well. His face, well that was a work of art and one I wanted to see framed between my legs. Shit! Where the hell did that come from?

     The scruff along his jawline was minimal, not at all like the full beards many of the men with him wore. The stubble gave the impression that he had gone a week without shaving. His cut was worn, the black leather dulled and soft underneath the many colorful patches running down his chest. I could only guess as to what the patches represented. I knew every MC varied, but his stood out like medals of honor. These men weren’t the fucking Boy Scouts, to be sure.

     Dark blue denim hugged his thick thighs, revealing the strength beneath the material that extended all the way down to his heavy, black riding boots. I allowed my eyes to wander up once more, taking in the long sleeve black shirt that strained at the cuff from having been rolled halfway up his forearms. I couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at him as I’d served the tables around him. I even found myself daydreaming about the hints of colored ink along his arms. Tattoos had always fascinated me, but the bright hues of orange and red on him were taunting. I imagined the fierce pattern they must make beneath his shirt. Did the colors morph into flames? Were they part of a dragon? And, why did I want to know so badly?

     Stryker chose that moment to reach out and squeeze my shoulder, making me jump out of my skin. I quickly shrank away from his touch. His ability to catch me off-guard and make me appear weak pissed me off more than his playing grab ass. Stryker’s hands shot up, palms out, as he took a giant step backwards, realizing I was still on high-alert.

     “Damn, you’re a jumpy one. Look, I’m sorry about before,” he grunted. “I have a tough time keeping my hands off pretty things.”

      The men around him snorted in sick agreement and shook their heads as though I was missing out on an inside joke. Admittedly, I probably was.

      “Yeah, whatever. Not the first time some asshole felt privileged enough to put his hands on me. You probably won’t be the last,” I mumbled, loud enough that he could hear as I walked away. I tucked my hands in my front pockets so no one could see them tremble, but I still felt those piercing brown eyes on me like a second skin.

     I moved fast down the hall, making it to the Ladies Room before Stryker’s voice rang out through the diner, “What? I said I was sorry,” followed by a loud crash. I didn’t bother to look back. Let someone else clean it up this time. I needed a few minutes to clear my head.

     I let cold water run over my tired hands before I splashed my face and grabbed a couple paper towels. I couldn’t keep the demons at bay as I leaned against the concrete wall and finally sank to the floor.

     One touch. One simple, unwanted touch was all it took to transport me back to the day I met the Devil.  

 

     “Let her go, Paul. She’s just a child,” my mother sobbed from the kitchen chair. I could barely make out her profile through the tears that refused to stop.

     “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Carmen?” The man who claimed to be my father grabbed a fistful of my mother’s hair and pulled her head back violently, forcing her eyes on him. “You hid a child from me for sixteen years and now you want my mercy?” He released her head and began to stalk in my direction.

     I had been imprisoned in the same spot since the leather-clad men busted in and dragged me kicking and screaming from a peaceful slumber down the stairs and planted me here. I wanted to bury myself in the cushions of our fluffy sofa and disappear, but that wasn’t an option. I hiccupped on another sob and tried to straighten my back as he stood over me.

     “What did your lying mother tell you about me, Tori?” Paul crouched lower to look me in the eyes. I didn’t want to see him. Any beautiful fantasy I had built in my mind of a father figure had been incinerated in a matter of seconds after meeting the very real monster. I started to turn my head, seeking my mother’s comfort, but he gripped my chin roughly between his forefinger and thumb to prevent my movement. “Don’t look at her. Tell me what the bitch said to keep you away from me all these years.”

     “Stop it, Paul! Leave. Her. Alone. Please. She didn’t know. Tori, didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” My mother yelled frantically across the room. Paul nodded to the man standing closest to her and I watched helplessly as the bastard followed Paul’s silent orders and delivered another loud slap to her already bleeding lip.

     “I’m waiting, Tori.” Paul sneered. “Unless of course you want your mother to end up like Rick over there.” His head bent slightly, motioning to my step-father’s lifeless body near the stairs. I didn’t have to look again to confirm that Rick was unconscious. Anyone who had been beaten within an inch of their life would be. 

     “She said you were dead!” I screamed to stop the madness. “A motorcycle accident before I was born,” I choked on the words. They felt like fire and betrayal, my voice raspy from hours of crying and nothing to drink.  

     “Dead, huh? Well, your mother’s been a busy little liar.” Paul released my chin and I swallowed hard as he made his way over to my mom once more. All I could do was stare at his retreating back and the giant patch in the center of his leather vest. The image spoke volumes of the man who wore the hellish symbol. A snake slithering out of a skull. Death and deceit stared back at me, nestled between the club name that read ‘Dante’s Disciples’. I tried to commit every possible detail to memory in the event he let us live. Bits and pieces that I could give to the police after this nightmare was over so he could never hurt us again. “Do you remember the punishment for lying, Carmen?”

     “Fuck you, Paul. You don’t own me anymore,” she spat near his feet and I winced knowing that was exactly the wrong answer. “I’ve kept her safer and given her a better chance of survival than you could have given either of us. I didn’t want that life for her. She might be your biological daughter, but I raised her and…,” my mother’s words were abruptly halted from the force of Paul’s next blow.

     I gasped when her head lolled backwards like a rag doll. How much more could she take before the next strike killed her?  

     “No!” I screamed and jumped up from the couch, only to be stopped short as a pair of bulky, tattooed arms wrapped around my midsection and pulled me back into a solid chest. I clawed at the stranger’s scarred hands, but it was useless. I had never felt so weak and utterly helpless before.

     “Take her upstairs,” Paul commanded the goon behind me and I felt my feet being lifted off the ground as I was hoisted over the man’s shoulder and carried further away from my mother and Rick. I had the sinking feeling that I might never see either of them again.

     “Please, don’t hurt her anymore. I’ll do whatever you say. Please.”  

     I tried to raise my neck up and away from the man’s back as I begged Paul. It was a desperate plea that fell on deaf ears. My captor held tighter against my attempts to kick free. The man shouldered my weight easily enough and I watched as the hardwood floors beneath us quickly transitioned to beige carpet as we reached the top of the stairs. He carried me through a doorway on his left, which I knew to be my room, and stopped abruptly beside my bed.

     I cringed as his rough hand ran a leisurely trail up the backs of my bare calves and thighs, stopping just shy of the hemline on my boy shorts that barely covered my ass. I squirmed against his unwanted touch, but the arm gripping my legs only tightened while the man chuckled at my discomfort.

     “Such soft skin. Just makes me want to take a bite. If your daddy hadn’t warned me to stay off, I would already have you bent over this bed, sweet thang. You wouldn’t be thinking about anything except how good I make you feel.”

     “Let me go, asshole!” I screamed and beat my fists into his back. He slapped my ass hard once before he tossed me on the bed.

     My body bounced from the forceful impact and I quickly crab-walked backwards away from prying hands. I didn’t want him to touch me again. Later, I thought, when I woke from this nightmare, I would shower myself under scalding water to try and erase any trace of him on my skin.

     “Stay put, princess, and don’t do anything stupid. We have a guy posted outside your window in case you get any bright ideas.” The man sneered and walked out of the room, pulling my door hard behind him.

     I laid there for a few painful hours, listening to my mother’s screams downstairs, followed by longer even more painful minutes of silence. It seemed a terrible wish, but at least her screams gave me hope. They told me she was still alive. Whereas, the silence, felt like a funeral. I grew more and more anxious without any other sounds to let me know what was happening. The only noise left were the heavy footfalls of the men below and a few hushed mumbles in the upstairs hallway. I gave up laying on the bed and started pacing my room, looking for anything I might be able to use as a weapon when they returned. I was rummaging through my nightstand when the bedroom door flew open and banged into the wall, two men dragging my mother by her arms. Her body looked so fragile and broken from the short distance separating us. Her curtain of long brown curls I had always admired, now stained in sweat and blood, hung in front of her face like a curtain, as motionless as the woman. I rushed over and nearly toppled beneath her weight as the men eagerly passed her into my waiting arms.

     “Mom,” I choked back a sob as the door slammed closed once more.

     It took all my strength to support the woman who gave me life and pull her as carefully as possible to my bed. She was petite, but so was I, and carrying any kind of dead weight was not easy. Dead weight. I was sickened at the thought.

     Out of breath, I managed to lay my mother on her side and lift her feet and legs onto the bed. I tucked a pillow under her head to prevent choking if there were internal injuries I couldn’t see, something I vaguely remembered from health class my freshman year of high school, though it felt insignificant in helping. Her face was so swollen and bruised that I doubted she could open her eyes even if she was conscious.

     I was at a loss for what to do. I wanted to make her as comfortable as possible, but she needed medical attention I wasn’t equipped to give her. I ran into my ensuite bathroom and drenched two hand towels in warm water under the tap. I wrung them out and sat next to her on the bed, gently wiping away the dried blood around her mouth and nose and pushing the errant strands of hair away from her eyes. She moaned once and tried to speak, but I couldn’t make out the garbled words.

     “Hold on, mom. Let me get some water. Be still.”

     I grabbed the half-empty bottle of water from my bedside table and removed the lid. I was scared to move her head because her injuries were so extensive, but she needed to drink. I placed my hand under the pillow and raised her high enough to put the bottle to her mouth and coax her to take a sip. She felt the bottle touch her lips and tried to swallow a couple times before finally giving up and coughing most of the liquid back out in a stream of diluted blood.

     “Tori,” she whispered.

     “Mom, don’t talk. Just rest. I’ve got you.” I struggled to keep the fear from my voice for her sake, grateful at least that she could not see my tears.

     “Please, listen to me. I might not get another chance to tell you.”

     “Don’t say that. We’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” I stressed the last sentence.

     “You need to find him. He can help you.” She started coughing more and I feared she had at least a couple broken ribs, judging by her labored breathing.

     “Find who, Mom?”

     “Duke Hadden. Sparrow Creek. Find Pandemonium and you’ll find Duke. He can help you, Tori. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop him, baby. I should have told you the truth. Tell Duke, the Devil is due.”

     A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye and I squeezed her hand reassuringly. She was talking nonsense.

     “Promise me, baby. You’ll fight until you’re free and find Duke.”

     “Please, Mom. Stop talking like that. You’re not going anywhere. I love you. It’s going to be okay. I’ll find a…,” she reached her hand up and felt around until she put her trembling fingers to my lips to stop me from saying anything else.

     “Take this ring, Tori. Duke will understand.” She pulled the onyx ring from her pinky and pressed it into my palm, feeling around and folding my hand over it. I had never paid the simple jewelry much attention before. I always assumed it held sentimental value because she never took it off. It seemed rather plain and more like costume jewelry than anything of real value, but I wasn’t going to argue with her when she was in so much pain.

     “Enough. Just rest, Mom. Please.”

     “Promise me, sweetheart,” she pleaded and moaned again. The slight movement had her gripping her side in agony.

     “Okay. I promise, Mom. Duke Hadden. Pandemonium. The Devil is due.”

     Her shoulders sagged at my words and she passed out to find sweet relief once more. I went to the other side of the bed and lay there for a while longer, just needing to be close to my mother. I studied the small ring for a moment under the soft light of my lamp, staring at the nondescript black stone and simple inscription inside the band, “The Devil’s Due.” It was an odd thing to have engraved in a woman’s ring, but nothing about this situation was normal. It was one-hundred shades of fucked-up. I settled the ring onto my own pinky finger and held my mother’s hand as my eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion.

     It wasn’t long before her groans of pain woke me. The men had returned to pull her from my bed. Our combined screams were the last thing I remembered before Paul and the Disciples took her from me forever.