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Fucking pervert.
“I’m sorry, Cassi. Really, I am. I don’t know what came over me. I promise I won’t do it again.”
Just the sound of his voice made me want to puke. And how the hell was I ever going to get the image of him jerking off with my panties out of my head?
It was hard not to gag.
“Cassi?”
I hated anyone calling me Cassi.
“What, Craig?”
There was a pause before he asked, “Are you going to tell Missy?”
I suddenly felt exhausted. Traveling from town to town was finally catching up with me. I was ready to leave Destiny, but a tiny part of me longed to put down some roots somewhere and just relax for once in my life.
“Well, are you, Cassi?” Craig pressed.
I exhaled heavily. Telling Missy could work against me. She was protective of her brother. If I mentioned this to her, there was a good chance she would turn it all around and make it my fault. As much as I loved her, sometimes she could be moody and unpredictable. Since coming to Destiny, a gap had started to form in our friendship, and I didn’t know why. She’d been acting strange lately, even becoming secretive. And in the last few weeks she’d spent less and less time at home.
While things were a little strained, I wasn’t going to mention this.
“Do you promise to never do that or anything like that again?” I asked.
His voice sounded meek through the door. “I promise.”
“Then I won’t tell her. But if it happens again—”
“It won’t. You have my word.”
At least he sounded apologetic.
I closed my eyes at the thought of living in the house with Craig, knowing what a fucking creep he was. But after tonight I wouldn’t have to worry about it. I would play at the clubhouse, get the two hundred dollars, and then Missy and I would be on a bus out of town.
“Ok, then. We’ll keep it between us.”
“Thanks.” There was a pause. “Cassi?”
“Yeah, Craig?”
“Do you want your panties back?”
Another urge to gag hit me.
I didn’t want to see those panties ever again.
But I didn’t want him keeping them either. He’d fuck them until they were threadbare.
“Just leave them by the door.”
I would burn them. I would douse them in gasoline and burn them in the fire pit out in the backyard until they were nothing but ash.
“Ok, I will,” he said.
I heard him crouch down and then straighten again.
“And, Craig …”
“Yeah?”
“If you ever touch anything of mine again, I’ll cut your fucking balls off. Do you understand?”
His voice was barely audible through the door. “Ok.”
I heard the floorboards creak as he walked away, and I let out a deep breath despite the knot of pain tightening in my chest. I bit back the tears.
Then for some strange reason, I thought of Chance and a peaceful warmth spread through me, instantly filling me with endorphins and calming my wildly thumping heart.
I was able to catch a breath, and I relaxed.
Drawing in a deep breath, I climbed off the floor.
Everything was going to be okay.
It had to be.
CASSIDY
I called a cab to take me to the gig. When I told the cab driver the address, he looked me up and down and raised his brows but said nothing. I didn’t know what that meant, but whatever it was it didn’t feel positive. So, I reminded myself why I was doing this for the billionth time that afternoon. Two hundred dollars for six songs.
And nothing to do with an overly confident biker called Chance.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up out the front of the Kings of Mayhem clubhouse. It was a large single-story building on a massive compound protected by six-foot gates. Paying for my fare, I climbed out and cautiously approached a man in a Kings of Mayhem cut who was on guard duty.
Through the gate, he called for a guy named Vader, who appeared a few minutes later and escorted me to the clubhouse.
So far so good.
I was still alive.
Nervously, I glanced around me. At the rear of the property, shops backed onto a shared parking lot, and to the left of the clubhouse was a small playground. By day I imagined it looked like an innocent industrial area but by night it was party central. String lights and fully-lit gallon drums threw off enough light to see across the compound to the far end of the property.
I followed Vader inside the clubhouse, where the smell of beer and tobacco smoke collided with the scent of sweat and perfume. Immediately to my left, a young woman was making out with a skinny biker, and further along, two girls in bikinis were sitting on the lap of an older biker, kissing.
Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I started to realize I had made a mistake accepting the gig. My music wasn’t going to cut it here. Especially considering Stone Temple Pilots’ “Unglued” was blasting through the speakers.
