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“All you bitches think you're better than us?” Marcie bravely answers back to Rogue, who laughs darkly.
“We don't think it. We know it. If you were that good at what you did, honey, they wouldn't share you around, would they?”
“I was just giving the girl some facts. We both know Screwy wouldn’t have left if he cared about her. And I wonder if she’ll still be your friend when she’s sleeping in a trailer with us down at Sluts Sanctuary. Admit it. You despise us because you see us as a threat. You’re all just waiting for the time your man is gonna bore of you and come looking to us.” Marcie looks pleased with her little dig. That’s until Rogue pulls a lighter out of her overall pocket and sparks it. Then the game changes. Marcie’s eyes stretch wider as the naked flame in Rogue's hand nears her, and she lifts a strand of vodka-soaked hair up from the girl's shoulder.
“What do you get if you mix alcohol with a cheap synthetic weave and a naked flame?” Rogue asks, clearly getting some sick sense of satisfaction from the girl’s fear.
Marcie shakes her head, her eyes switching between the lighter in Rogue's hand and me.
“A face that no one wants to fuck.” Rogue answers her own question in a smooth, strangely sexual tone, then laughs psychotically. She blows between her hot pink lips and kills the flame, and Marcie lets go of the breath she's been clinging to.
“I trust you won’t be making any nasty swipes at my friend in the future. Come on, Vipe, our men will be home soon. We should be ready.” Rogue spins around and I quickly follow her out of the door.
“You're a fucking psycho!” Marcie shouts after us.
“Keep that in mind, bitch,” Rogue calls out at her without looking back.
It’s a few hours later when I’ve finished helping Marilyn and some of the other girls in the kitchen, and the low rumble of bike engines that come from outside has my stomach in knots.
“They’re back,” Marilyn claps her hands together excitedly, and bursts through the kitchen doors toward the staircase. I follow closely behind Alex and Maddy, not really knowing how I’m supposed to react. I don’t know how I’m gonna feel when I see Screwy, or worse, how he’s going to be toward me. All I know is that I’ve missed him, and I haven’t felt complete since he’s been gone.
I can’t find the courage to go downstairs. Instead, I lean my head just enough over the banister to see the club doors open and the men step through. Tac comes first with a wide smile on his face that suggests he’s happy to be home. He’s followed closely by Thorne, who always looks so serious, and then Tawk, who has his long black hair braided down his back. I start to feel excited at the thought of seeing Screwy, my heart beating so hard in my chest I fear it might break out. And when the fourth pair of boots step into the foyer, and I trace my eyes up over the long thick legs and wide, muscular torso, a feeling of dread pools into my stomach. This man isn't Screwy, it’s Skid. The man’s so quiet it’s easy to forget about him, and of course, it made sense for him to take the trip. I’ve heard what happened to his wife. It’s tragic and cruel and only emphasizes how nasty the world can be.
Within seconds, the bar is crowded by the rest of the club, everyone so happy to see them home that they forget who's missing. I take my steps slowly, scanning through all the heads in the foyer in case I might have missed him. But he’s not here, and when I look to the opposite side of the room, I notice Squealer staring back at me with the same worrying expression as my own.
“Where’s Screw?” he asks, and for the first time since I’ve met him, I hear a trace of fear in his voice.
“He’s good, left us on the state border, said he had something to take care of,” Thorne explains, but it’s not enough. I need to know more. Where he’s going, what does he have to take care of? Is this another attempt to avoid me? The room and all the chaos around me becomes too overwhelming, and I manage to push through the sea of bodies out into the yard. I look at the bikes lined up side by side, wishing his was one of them.
“Don’t worry about him.” I spin around when I hear a voice and see Squealer standing a few paces behind me. “He can take care of himself.” He offers me a half-smile.
“Do you think he’s trying to avoid me?” I ask the only person who might just understand him.
“I don't know what the fuck's going on in his head right now, and I’ll be honest, it scares me.” I appreciate Squealer's honesty, even if it does nothing at all to make me feel better.
“I want to stay in his cabin tonight, in case he comes home,” I tell him, trying to make my voice authoritative like Rogue’s. I admire how she never seems to doubt herself.
“Whatever you need to do,” Squealer pulls his hand through his hair the same way Screwy does when he’s anxious. “You know where we are if you need us.” He smiles sadly before turning to go back inside.
“Squealer, what happened?” I blurt out before he can head back inside, and he pauses for a few seconds before he turns back around to face me. “What happened to him to make him hate himself so much?” I rephrase my question, hoping it will get me an answer.
“We lost the person who mattered most to us.” Squealer’s eyes turn to stone, and he moves on before I can question him any more.
AGE 13
I hear the floorboard creak outside my room, and when I check the alarm clock next to Cody’s bed, I realize it’s too early to be Mama.
I’ll bet it’s Beth. Since Mama told her Foxy had to sleep out in the shed, she’s been getting up to sneak him in at night. I smile to myself when I think about how attached she’s got to that thing, re-fluffing my pillow and finding a new position.
It’s a few minutes later when I hear the hushed voices and more shuffling around coming from outside.
It’s probably Rick stumbling out to his shed to fetch more beers from the cooler he keeps out there. When the outside light under my bedroom clicks on, I move over to the window to check it out. I don’t want him to get mad at Beth for breaking the rules if he catches her out there. He’s nasty to everyone when he’s been drinking, even her these days.
I see the door of the shed shut and an unnerving feeling I get in my stomach has me pulling on some shorts and creeping out of our room, being careful not to wake Cody.
I head down the stairs and outside. The air is sticky and humid, and I got nothing on my feet, but I follow the sounds of voices that come from the shed, anyway. Rick better not be screwing around on Mama again. She got real sick last time that happened.
“Shhhh, that’s a good girl.” Rick’s voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck up, and when I creep closer and peer through the dirty window, I’m not prepared for what I see.
