Ride (Bayonet Scars) (15 page)

Chapter 17

Men seldom, or rather never for a length of time and deliberately,

rebel against anything that does not deserve rebelling against.

- Thomas Carlyle

“DO YOU REALLY
want to head back to the house and watch a movie?” she asks. She’s calming down some, which is good. I rest my head on the headrest and close my eyes.

“Not really,” I say. I try to keep Jim’s harsh words from infiltrating my mind, but it’s tough. I want to be shocked, and maybe even appalled, at the way he approached the situation. But I’m not. My father may have said everything with thinly-veiled code words and under the guise of concern, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t ever mean. Because he was. And Jim’s mean, too. Ryan isn’t any better. And I guess all women like me, stuck in their world, can do about it is to learn how to play along.

“Do you ever get sick of it?” I ask, allowing myself to vent for the first time in months. The last time I really let it out was with Adriana right before Sal’s wake.

“Sick of what?” Nic asks, turning her head just slightly. She drives into town and turns before she hits Main Street. I’ve no idea where we’re going, nor do I care.

“Everything,” I say a little louder than I intend to. “People bossing you around, people being mean, people being selfish. Just all of it. I kind of just want to forget.”

“I’m pretty much always sick of people,” she says flatly. She swings the car around the corner and parks on the side of the road. Everything is mostly quiet, with the exception of a well-lit, two-story house up ahead that has a large, loud crowd assembled in front of it. Turning off the car, she twists in her seat to look me in the eye.

“Listen, I don’t want to piss you off, but I think you need to hear this whether you want to or not. The club seems cool and all, but it’s not. The guys may be okay on their own, but the patch owns them. I know you’re kind of here by default, but just don’t forget this, okay? The club destroys people.”

I fight the urge to tell her she’s wrong and that they saved me from a life of misery—or worse, no life at all. Had Ruby and the club not shown up, I might be like Sal right now—with a bullet in the center of my throat, my dead body on display in the center of my father’s front parlor. That would be good for business. Nobody would be stiffing him on their protection money.

“Is this about your dad?” I ask. Before I can say anything else, she turns and opens the driver’s side door and gets out. I follow suit and fight to catch up to her as she hurries down the street toward the party up ahead.

“Sorry,” I say. I feel like I can’t get anything right lately—not with Jim, not with Ryan, not with Nic. The only ones who I don’t seem to be pissing off are Ruby, PJ, and Tegan. Even then it’s spotty with Tegan. She’s kind of a grouch late at night.

“I’ll be ready to talk about my shit when you’re ready to talk about your shit. Until then, let’s just get too fucked up to think about everything that’s wrong with the universe, okay?”

The closer we get to the house, the more intimidated I become by the prospect of walking inside and being amongst all of these people. Michael’s told me about every single party he’s ever went to in varying degrees. He’s always been most fond of regaling the debauchery that goes on—and he’s often a part of. Why he thinks his sister would want to hear about him getting laid, I’ll never know.

The heavy thumping bass rattles everything around me as we near the house. We pass by similar houses, all simple two-stories that show their age, sitting center on narrow lots fenced off in chain-link. People, mostly college-aged, stand around in the front yard drinking beers and talking in small groups. As the crowd thickens, Nic takes my hand and pulls me through the sea of people until we reach the front steps.

Stopping, she looks around, bites her bottom lip, and leans in. Her brows draw together as she says, “Go on in. I have to make a call.” I just nod my head and make my way up the steps on shaky legs. Where in the hell is she going? She brings me to this house with no one I know, in a part of town I’m unfamiliar with, and she takes off less than a minute later?

At the top of the steps, I turn and survey the people around me. For the first time since I left New York, I’m in a crowd of people where not a single one of them seems to be wearing a leather vest, nor do I hear any Harleys in the distance. Despite being a little nervous about the fact that Nic left me here, a bubble of excitement starts in my chest and begins to spread. I’ve never been to a house party before, at least not outside of the fourth of July party that Ruby and Jim threw, but I don’t count that. Everyone in attendance was affiliated with the club in one way or another. But here, it looks like I’m out from under the watchful eye of the club. A grin slowly creeps up on my face, and I can’t control it.

“You look way too happy to be here,” a masculine voice says from beside me. Slightly startled by the intrusion into my thoughts, I jerk away and shoot the perpetrator a dirty look. He’s a young man, close to my age, if not a bit younger. He has broad shoulders and a firm jaw, both of which I’m sure he’ll grow into. His brown eyes look almost black under the dull porch light. Giving me a sheepish smile, he shoves his dark hair off his forehead and blows out a breath.

“Sorry,” I say, waving at the crowd before me. “I was just thinking.”

“About,” he prompts.

Without even considering it, I say, “This is the first time since I got to town that I’m not entirely surrounded by leather vests.” I give him an encouraging smile, but it falls flat. His face drops, his lips forming a line.

“You’re with the club.” It’s more of an accusation than anything. I bite back a snide remark and opt for remaining silent. I expect some kind of vindication of how awful the club is—something along the lines of what Nic said in the car—but instead, he just walks off, leaving me in my place. My first meeting having gone over so well, I decide it’s best just to keep to myself while I wait for Nic to return, just a moment later.

“Okay, let’s get this party started,” she says, rushing up the stairs while shoving her cell phone into her back pocket. She leads the way through the front door and into the living room. Much like Ruby and Jim’s party at the house, here people are sprawled out on furniture, making out, drinking beer, and someone in the corner is sucking on a large glass bong. It’s not until we’ve walked through the living room and into the kitchen that the crowd thins out.

On the kitchen table, Nic finds a bottle of tequila, and while tequila and I have never been good friends, I don’t argue. I just want to forget everything Jim said. All of his words hit me right in the heart. I try to remind myself that it’s just the way these guys speak, but it’s hard.

“Come on,” Nic says. She crosses the house, clearly knowing exactly where we’re going. We walk down a long hallway that dead-ends in a room that looks near identical to the living room. There are fewer people back here, but the ones that are appear to be close to passed out. Nic finds us a spot on one of the three couches randomly scattered in the room. Taking a swig of the tequila, she coughs, nearly choking on the vile liquid. She hands the bottle off to me. Tilting my head back, I take a hearty drink as fast as I can, trying not to breathe while doing so. As I suspected, it’s horrible. My throat constricts, and my stomach churns at the taste, but I keep it down. I hand the bottle back to her and focus on regulating my breaths. If I don’t keep myself calm, the tequila is going to come back up.

We sit here in silent as the minutes pass, and I begin to wonder if this is the typical college experience. Every time Adriana would talk about some ”killer” party she’d been to, or a frat house, or a bar that she’s too young to legally be in—I wonder if this is what it was like. If they’re at all similar, I don’t see the appeal. A woman stumbles into the room, her eyes glassy, and her makeup a total disaster. She grips the wall to keep herself upright. To the right of the room, there’s a door that leads outside, into the backyard most likely. It takes her what feels like forever until she finally makes it there. Swinging the door open, she bends at her waist and expels her stomach’s contents into the unknown. Immediately, I cover my mouth, close my eyes, and try to block out the sound of her heaving.

Nic hasn’t slowed down any on the tequila, and I can tell just by looking at her that she’s three sheets to the wind. Her elbows rest on her knees, and her left hand holds the bottle loosely, letting it dangle close to the floor. Her right arm is bent, propping her face up as she sits there, hunched over and swaying slightly. If she drinks any more, she’s going to be like the woman across the room, and that’s not a very pleasant thought. I reach over and grab the bottle from her hand and take a small sip. I didn’t prepare myself for the strength of the liquor. It knocks me back, sending the room spinning for just a moment. When everything stops spinning, I realize that maybe Nic isn’t the only one who shouldn’t be drinking any more, and I set the bottle on the floor.

“You’re drunk,” I say, smiling at her. She gives me a goofy, carefree grin. It’s the first time she’s ever looked so relaxed. The other times I’ve seen her, she’s been so pensive.

“I am, and I don’t care.” Her voice is lighter than normal. She continues to sway lightly while smacking her lips. Her eyelids close for a second before flying open and then fluttering closed. I give her a light shove to keep her coherent. She’s definitely in that blissful place where nothing matters.

Pulling my cell phone out of my back pocket, I realize we’ve been here longer than I thought. No wonder she’s wasted.

“Who did you call earlier?” I ask. Nic isn’t much for sharing when she’s sober, so I’m hoping she’s a little chattier when she’s been drinking.

“My brother,” she says, letting out a sigh. “He’s got to meet with the principal tomorrow morning. I was making sure he knew that.” I try to remember what Ruby had said about Nic’s family, but I’m drawing a blank. There was something in there about taking care of her brother.

“Where are your parents?”

“Dad’s in San Quentin, and mom’s probably out there somewhere sucking dick,” she says, as casual as can be. I can feel the shock register on my face. The more information she gives up, the more I like Nic after she’s had a bit too much to drink. She gives me a sideways glance and blows out a breath. “Well, she probably is.”

Going back to her happy place, Nic lays back into the couch and curls in, trying to get comfortable. My muscles tense as I realize she’s probably trying to take a nap. I really don’t want to be stuck in this shithole all night, and neither of us is in any condition to drive anywhere. Looking at my phone in my hand, I bite the bullet and find Ryan’s name in my contacts list. Thankfully I listened when Ruby insisted I program each of the guy’s numbers into my phone.

HI, I text. It’s lame, but I don’t know what else to say. I just, kind of, want to talk to him. Before I can even focus my attention elsewhere, my phone chimes.

WHERE ARE YOU, the text reads.

HOUSE PARTY DOWNTOWN, I respond. Now that I’ve texted him, I’m not sure I should have. Sticking my phone back in my pocket, I pick up the bottle of tequila and take a few sips. My stomach rolls with each drink, but I don’t stop. Everything in my life feels like a rollercoaster out of control. From the fact that I’m even here instead of back in Brooklyn to the thing with Ryan and whatever the fuck went down with Duke, I just don’t know which end is up anymore.

ON MY WAY, he texts back. I don’t even try to pretend I don’t want Ryan here right now. I’m working my way to being buzzed enough to do as I’d like without concern over the consequences.

Looking around the room, I decide that I’m not much for house parties. At least not the non-Forsaken kind. This is lame. I could be sitting in my bedroom drinking to my heart’s content, and that would be a lot more comfortable than this is. Beside me, Nic’s soft snores fill the mostly empty space. In the time since we sat down to now, the crowd has thinned, leaving us alone on the couch. Giving Nic a shove, she wakes immediately.

“You’re such a lightweight,” I say. She nods and blinks away the sleep. Bringing her right hand up in front of her face, she distances her index finger half an inch from her thumb.

“Just a little,” she says with a slight slur. “It’s just been a hard life. I wanted to forget. Like you said, I just want to forget.” Her voice is so small as she repeats my words from earlier. She looks so fragile, all curled up there on the couch. Her thin frame folded in on itself, her dark makeup somehow still intact, and her dyed blonde hair something the state of Texas could be proud of, she gives me a heartwarming smile.

In the distance, I can hear the rumble of a motorcycle, maybe two. Through the slightly muffled, but still loud, music, I listen to their approach. Nic doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does, she thinks nothing of it. Now that I can hear Ryan coming, I’m not quite certain what Nic is going to think of it. She’s been adamant about keeping the club at arm’s length, and as much as I want to respect that, it’s going to be hard to maintain a friendship with somebody who wants absolutely nothing to do with my family.

I can’t hear the bikes anymore even though the music has been turned down. Conversation has largely stopped in the other rooms. Heavy footfalls sound from the hallway beyond us. I cast Nic a nervous glance, only to find her eyes are on mine. She slowly shakes her head and says, “What did you do?”

Before I can answer the question, Ryan and Duke round the corner, leaving a trail of silence in their wake. Neither wear particularly joyful expressions. If the guy on the porch’s reaction to my association with the club is anything to go by, I’m guessing the people here aren’t exactly fans of Forsaken. But none of that matters.