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“Who the hell is Barbie?” the drunk woman said from behind them, and Allie pulled away from her mom to look at the woman. She had her hand braced on the wall and swayed slightly.
“I am,” Allie’s mother said.
The drunken woman blinked. “I thought you were Trixie.”
Allie looked at her mom, a brow lifted. Her mother shrugged and smiled.
“Barbie is my real name.”
The drunken lady nodded, still looked confused, and then turned and left.
“What are you doing here?” Allie’s mother asked.
She didn’t answer right away, didn’t want to admit that she’d allowed herself to get involved with an asshole that verbally abused her and slapped her around.
It was humiliating, because what stupid fucking woman—who knew better, which she did—allowed herself to be treated like that?
Allie’s mom had left because her father had been a prick to her, and she had her own issues. But there was still a part of Allie that was so angry with her mom for leaving her there, for abandoning her even if she sent money and called.
How many times had Allie asked her mother to come get her, to take her away?
Drugs, depression, and being bipolar will do that to a person.
But her mom looked clean and healthy. “You look good,” Allie said.
Her mother smiled. “Thanks, hun. I’ve been sober for a while now, and just got back on my meds. Things are going well.”
Yet you still only called me once a year unless I tracked you down.
Don’t go down that path.
You’re here now, need her help, and she looks well.
“As glad as I am to see you, I am surprised you’re here. Everything good?”
Allie wasn’t going to beat around the bush. She’d traveled too far and left what little she had in order to start new.
She shook her head, being honest. “No, things aren’t good.” Just then the sight of this massively huge man coming out of one of the rooms drew Allie’s attention. He had to be at least six and a half feet tall, weighing close to three hundred pounds of pure muscle.
He was huge, and her five-foot-seven frame seemed tiny compared to him. Allie couldn’t stop looking at him. He placed a joint to his mouth, lit the end, and inhaled deeply, the end flashing red.
He tipped his head to a few of the bikers that called out to him. But the music was so loud she couldn’t hear what they’d called him.
Allie was aware her mother was rambling on, but for whatever reason she just couldn’t look away from the man. And when he went up to the bar, sat down, and braced a hand on the counter, she felt her heart beat faster. There was something about him that drew her like a moth to a flame. It was such a clichéd saying.
And then he turned his head, scanning the club right before his focus landed on hers. Allie couldn’t stop looking, couldn’t turn away and not seem weird for gawking at him.
His dark hair was short and messy, like he didn’t give a shit about how it looked. He had tattoos covering both of his arms, and she even saw some coming up from under the collar of his shirt. How much of his body was inked up? Tattoos were one of her weaknesses on a man, for sure.
Maybe that’s why I get involved with the wrong guys, because their tatted-up bodies were ones bad boys sported?
The man straightened, his massive body looking like one she would see in a ring, taking down his opponents.
“You can’t stay here, Allie,” her mother said, and Allie snapped her head toward her mother’s direction.
“What?” she asked, shocked. “Why?”
“This isn’t a place where I want you to be. You’re better than this.”
