I think that’s why it was so easy for him to find me as a victim. For a long time I blamed myself for falling for it. Sometimes I’m strong enough to realize that’s what I am, but just like my parents, the way he said horrible things to me over and over, I started to believe I’m on the same level of twisted he is. I had no self-esteem growing up, and even working a good job while making ends meet, my mind was still stuck back in that place with them, hearing every nasty drunk thought yelled crudely without a memory of it the next day. I stayed on the straight and narrow, always too terrified to drink and end up like them. I didn’t want to be labeled the town’s drunkard’s kid anymore and I certainly didn’t want to repeat their behaviors.
But all those efforts didn’t matter anymore once I met him. By now I’m destined for a special place in hell next to him for the things I’ve seen him do to others. Things I couldn’t stop him from doing or I would be next. I’ve been in pure survival mode. I need to find a way to atone for it all, change my ways and get him caught. Right all the wrongs and fix my stupid mistakes, mistakes that led to the death of others. But how do I do that when I’ll be on the run for the rest of my life? I have no proof, no evidence, and if anything I might go down with him. If I walk in a police station spouting this off, they’re going to commit me and then he will find a way to get to me. My mind is filled with intrusive thoughts of him following me, with the ways he will punish me for leaving. I can’t let him find me. Not ever. I’m not sure I’ll survive it, if he drags me back.
Portland is the only place I can think of to go. I’m putting my cousin at risk if he finds me, but as long as I don’t keep my cellphone on and I keep a low profile, there’s no reason that he can actually follow me here. We don’t keep up much these days, but she has a husband, unlike most of his victims. She’s not a single woman living on her own. At least the last time I heard, she was still married. When I left, I didn’t really reach out. Sometimes I would, just for the nostalgia of having someone I loved talking to me, but even she’d have her moments where she would fight how we were raised and why we were close. Different kids, living in the same type of life, with the same trauma.
I know she hated seeing me. It would just kick up all the horrible memories. Especially after she got married. She never did get into the career of helping children or families with drug problems. She ended up being a teller at a bank. It’s not like we could afford school. While I saved, she spent. She bought useless possessions to show she wasn’t poor anymore. That’s why she ended up on her own property in a cabin. It’s flashy and expensive. Not everyone can afford to buy land with a house on it. Not that the land has come to any use. It’s just there as a reminder that she’s better off than her mother.
I’m sure she will be okay helping me. We’ve been through enough that we know not to ask certain questions. I can’t tell her what’s happened, what he’s done to me, but at least I will have a space to sleep without listening anxiously for his heavy footsteps, the freezer door slamming or anything else that would keep me up night after night. I can just sleep and go. That’s all I need to do. Get away from him. Don’t get caught. My heart anxiously flutters as I wonder if I can do that.
“Hey man, I’m gonna miss ya. I’ll send you pictures while I’m throwing hundreds at a bunch of hot strippers.” Ink says, throwing his arm around my shoulder. We are outside drinking coffee while everyone loads up their bikes and finishes stuff to get on the road.
“I appreciate it. I’m so damn torn up about not getting to see you shoot your shot and getting turned down… again.” I hold my chest like it actually hurts, giving him a serious look before the shit-eating grin. Leave it to Ink to lighten my mood.
“Hey, I just wasn’t her type, is all. Stop rubbing it in, man. I have feelings. Sometimes.” He walks off into the house as I laugh at him. I can’t help it.
He’s talking about the last time we were all in Vegas. Thrasher met up with Reaper on the last trek of our run to collect on a debt that he was owed from back in the day. While he was sneaking around seeing Delilah, the rest of us were partying it up on the Strip. Ink had his eye on a bottle blonde stripper named Candy, of all things. He kept throwing massive amounts of cash her way over the span of a few hours, thinking she was into him and that he was going to get a piece after she was off work. Little did he know she was only doing her job, batting her too-long, false eyelashes at him to get to his wallet, not his fucking dick. He thought he was in love until the end of her shift came, and she dipped out without even a second glance his way. We all howled in laughter when she never came back. We all held it over him for months, and still do, whenever he starts talking like he’s some modern day Rico Suave.
“Hey, Raven,” Delilah asks, coming out and sitting on the bench near me. “Are you going to be okay while we are gone?” Once she moved in, she almost took over, making sure all us guys are good, bringing a feminine touch to the house that we’d never had before.
All the guys have settled down a bit, respecting her enough to know she doesn’t need to see what a house full of bikers is really like. I mean, compared to some, we are pretty fucking mellow anyway, but Boss had to stop his nudist ways, randomly walking around butt naked on a whim. Fate ensured that Dexter stopped washing his knives in the sink and that Cash no longer helped Charm Eiffel Tower women in the living room. Fate isn’t a massive fan of having cut-sluts around, so it was already on the downhill side of things, but none of us wanted to scare her off. Even Thrasher isn’t such a prick with her around. I guess that’s what falling in love does to you.
“Do you mean staying here alone?” I quirk an eyebrow. I’m not the chatty Cathy type. I like her for Thrasher, and she’s been great with the guys, but I don’t go out of my way to open up like some of the others have with her. That’s just never been my thing. They all know me by my actions, what I’m willing to do for the club, following the Prez in every order he gives—but to say they really honestly know me? I can’t. My sister’s death has been a festering wound on my heart, and I’m not accepting help to make it go away, especially from one of the guys’ old ladies. Just seems strange and too touchy-feely for me.
“No, that’s not quite it. Should you stay and be stuck on this? I’ve seen your office.” She pauses for a second, looking sheepish like she shouldn’t have admitted that. “I don’t just want him found; I want this guy dead more than anyone. I just don’t know that it’s good for you to stay stuck on it. It’s not really healthy.” When I fully look at her, she just purses her lips like she’s regretting bringing it up.
“I have my reasons. I’m going to find him, and if Thrasher doesn’t take him out, then I will.” It comes out as more of a growl than I intended.
“Damn right I will,” Thrasher adds as he comes out, tossing bags into the pickup. Cash is driving his truck instead of the motorcycle to get their stuff down there since it’ll be a longer trip. He’s been driving a truck long before he got himself a motorcycle, so he was the first one to offer. He came from some small town in Georgia, where he ran a ranch before making his way north and finding his way to the club.