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“Get in the cage,” he repeats, breathing through his nostrils like he’s about to lose control.
“Fine.” I wriggle myself out of his hold. “But only because I trust you. But you should know, you're really scaring me right now.”
He lets me go, slamming the door closed once I’m in the passenger seat and pacing around the front of the van to get inside beside me. He slams my duffel bag between us and reaches over my body to pull at the seat belt and fasten it onto the buckle.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I ask as he starts the engine.
He looks at me, his dark blue eyes searing into mine as if I’m a torture he’s choosing to inflict upon himself.
“I’m taking you home,” he tells me in a low, calm voice that sounds like it’s been rehearsed a hundred times over.
The words crash into me like a wave of fire, stealing all my oxygen and making me choke. And I don’t even argue with him because I’m speechless. I’m heartbroken, and worst of all, I feel betrayed.
Screwy starts up the engine and reverses the truck so fast I slide across the seat before the belt securing me wrenches me back. Then the tires send dust and dirt into clouds as he skids away from the Dirty Souls’ clubhouse.
“Screwy, what is this?” I ask, tears streaming down my face, the pain in my heart so cold that I feel my bones begin to freeze. This can’t be happening. It has to be a bad dream. Screwy would never do this to me.
He doesn’t answer my question, keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead and clutching the steering wheel.
“Do I not deserve some kind of explanation? Tell me. What did I do wrong?” The roads are narrow, and I can tell Screwy knows them well by the way he meanders through them.
“Please,” I beg him again, my voice a shrilling shriek that he still somehow manages to ignore.
“Screwy, I demand you tell me what I’ve done,” I speak firmly, hoping it’ll snatch him out of whatever trance is taking him further and further away from me.
He pulls into a lay-by, the tires bumping over rough terrain until we come to an abrupt standstill.
“I didn’t want to do this,” he sighs, finally turning his body to face mine. “None of this is your fault. Stop blaming yourself,” he snaps angrily, slamming his palm hard into the steering wheel. I hold in my breath, trying to figure out what all this means.
Screwy closes his eyes, inhaling through his nostrils, and slowly releases through his mouth like he’s stopping himself from having a panic attack.
“Then what is it, Screwy?” My lips tremble, and my heart thumps while I await his answer.
“The club are riding out to Gunnison. Verretti is there. We’re gonna kill him and shut his organization down. Then you’ll be safe. I just can’t keep you anymore.” He swallows heavily, and his jaw tenses tight beneath his beard.
“You're not making any sense.” I reach my hand out to cover his, but he quickly snatches it away from me.
“You think I’m a good person, but I’m a monster,” he croaks weakly, his eyes closing again and relieving me from the pain in them for a few seconds.
“No, you are not,” I argue back. I won’t have his self-loathing be the reason we’re apart.
“If you knew the things I’ve done, Lydia, you wouldn’t say that. You wouldn’t be sitting beside me. You’d be running as fast as you could to get away from me.”
“Then tell me. Tell me all these hideous things you’ve done and try to help me understand.” I attempt to touch him again, my hand sliding onto his thigh so slowly and gently that I hope he won’t notice. I need a connection. Maybe if he feels it too, he’ll stop this nonsense. His huge hand covers mine, but he doesn’t force it away like I expect him to.
“Can you not just let this be it, Lyd? I want you to remember me, the way you perceive me.” His eyes plead with mine.
“No. If you want me to believe you're a monster, you’ll need to tell me what you’ve done. Let me be the judge.”
“You're the one good thing I’ve ever had and the closest thing to happiness. Please.” He scoops up my hand and brings it to his mouth, his hands trembling around it. “Let me protect you from it.”
“If you love me, you’ll turn this van around and take me back home. My home isn’t with my parents–it’s with you and your club.” I tug my hand out of his and wait for his response. Screwy has never told me he loves me. Not after I’ve spoken the words to him or while he’s been inside me, worshiping me like I’m the most precious thing he ever held.
Never has he said those three words, and I didn’t think I’d ever need to hear them until right this second.
“It’s because I love you that I’ve got to take you back to them. Once that’s done, you can hate me if you need to, wish me dead and damn me to hell. But never question if I loved you or not.” His words knock everything out of me, and when tears start forming in his eyes, I feel his pain stabbing at my heart. I want to understand him, but how can I when he won’t give me any explanation?
“I could never hate you. So if you leave me, you're condemning me to misery. The least you could do is tell me about this monster inside you. Make me fear you, make this pain you’re causing me worth it, Screwy,” I tell him angrily.
