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Which was near impossible to get when your boyfriend was on one of his fucking rampages, thinking I was sleeping with one of the club guys. And trust me, the thought had crossed my mind since I had seen the way they fucked and knew they’d be good at it. They fucked like savages and had their women screaming like porn stars.
Unlike my jackass of a boyfriend who couldn’t find the clit even when I fucking pointed it out to him. He was the “get my nut and fall asleep” kind of guy. My sex life fuckingsucked. I didn’t know what it was like to get off with a dick. The only orgasms I’d gotten had come from my own toys or my fingers.
I wouldn’t even still be with him if I didn’t fucking need somewhere to stay. He was a grade-A asshole who thought his shit didn’t stink.
News flash, it did.
“Dirk, I’m trying to sleep,” I groaned.
He grabbed the blanket and flung it back. I snapped my eyes open, glaring up at him. “Resting up from being a fucking slut last night?” he seethed down at me. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed before standing up to my full height. Like fuck was he talking down to me.
“I wasworking—pouring fucking drinks, restocking liquor, and cleaning fucking dishes, Dirk. How many times do we have to fucking go through this?”
It was a constant argument with us, but my earnings paid most of the bills here. Dirk couldn’t hold a steady job to save his fucking life. Even now, he was working for a temp service in the city that was an hour away from where we lived because no one around here would hire him.
He gripped my arm tight enough that I knew it would leave bruises, but I didn’t even flinch. I was used to his shit by now. I just kept my eyes steady on his, not showing a hint of fear. Even my heart rate was calm as could be.
He had stopped scaring me long ago. Now, I was just numb to his bullshit.
“You’re an ungrateful fucking whore,” he snarled down at me, his spit coating my face. I grimaced and reached up to wipe it away. He smacked my arm away, leering down at me. “What—you’ll allow those biker fucks to spit on your face but not me?” He shoved me down onto my knees. I barely bit back a sigh—already knowing what was coming.
“Maybe you want to be treated like they treat their women,” he taunted, yanking down his zipper and pulling out his dick. I barely refrained from rolling my eyes as he began jacking himself off.
“They treat their women better than you do me,” I told him, sounding bored. “At least they can find the clit and get their women off.” It was the first time I’d ever said that to him, but I was beyond dealing with his shit today.
He gripped my hair hard enough to make it smart and yanked my head back, glaring down at me. “Get the fuck out,” he seethed. “Get your shit, andget the fuck out.”
I rose from my knees and walked to the closet, grabbing my duffel. I threw what I could into it while he stormed outside, most likely going to his friend’s house to get high and wasted. It was his usual routine once I’d pissed him off enough.
Once I had what I could fit in the duffel, I jogged down the stairs, not wanting to be here a second longer. I just had to figure out where to go from here.
I gritted my teeth at the sight of my busted, passenger-side window. A tire iron lay on the ground by the door, a clear indication that my fucker of a now ex-boyfriend had busted it before he left.
What a dick.
It was cold as shit outside, and the ride to the clubhouse was going to be even colder with the wind blowing into the fucking car. Muttering under my breath about the jackass, I stowed my bag in the backseat and slammed the door shut before stalking around to the driver’s side, preparing myself for the cold as fuck ride.
Probably should have changed out of my pajamas first and maybe put a bra on, but too fucking late now. I wasn’t going back in that goddamn house.
I just hoped the MC might be able to take me in until I could figure something else out.
I pushed my foot on the accelerator when I hit the highway, my slippered foot almost slipping off the gas pedal. I sighed. I hated driving in these things, yet more often than not, I always forgot I was wearing them until I got on the fucking road.
How many times had I shown up to the clubhouse in my house slippers? Too many damn times to count, enough that Johnston had taken it upon himself to keep a pair of boots in his office for me.
Johnston… if that man wasn’t married, I’d be trying my luck with him. But thing was, hewasmarried—and apparently, happily at that. They got married at eighteen—some young love kind of shit that I didn’t believe in.
In fact, I didn’t really believe love existed at all. I thought it was a load of horse shit. I mean, look at me and Dirk. We’d been together since high school. I thought he wasthe one. Until he rented the house I just left, moved me in with him when I aged out of foster care, and then started treating me like dirt.
Love was nothing but a pile of shit that people made up so they could believe in something they thought was good. Truth was though, love didn’t exist, and believing in it only got you hurt.
I frowned when I pulled through the clubhouse gates, seeing the number of motorcycles on the lot. Looked like the Texas charter had ridden in early. I even glanced down at the dim clock on my dashboard to make sure it wasn’t later in the day, but nope. It was only lunchtime.
Scorpion worked fast, apparently.
I slipped out of my car and headed for the clubhouse doors. Lawson, the road captain, looked up when I walked in, a frown pulling at his lips. “Girly, you’re still in your PJs,” he commented, looking hella confused.
I snorted. “No shit, Law,” I said, calling him by his nickname. “Where’s the prez? I need to talk to him.”
