Ruining Me: The Insidious Seven MC, Book Two, page 15
“Oh, Jimmy, my man, I don’t like being lied to. So I’ll try one more time before you force me to do something that neither of us wants to happen.” I pull him as close to me as possible, letting him see the death that lingers behind my violet eyes. “Where are you hiding him?”
And just like that, our little rat throws away any chance he had of walking out of here unscathed. But to be fair, that likelihood was lost the moment I saw what was on his computer.
Jimmy’s face turns beet red as he blusters. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but you need to get your goddamn hands off me. I know people, my man. Lots of people who can fuck you up,” he spits. I gnash my teeth as a droplet of spittle lands on my cheek.
“You mean people like the Morellis?” Rome says calmly from somewhere behind me. At the mention of our famous name, Jimmy stops struggling in my grasp and looks at Romeo. I’m not sure what he sees waiting there, but whatever it is, it intensifies his struggle.
Without another word, I let go of him before grabbing his shoulder and sending my clenched fist into his gut. He gasps for breath and doubles over before I grab the back of his shirt. Fuck it. If this is the route we’re taking, I might as well make an example out of this chump.
I pull him until he’s stumbling over himself to catch up. Dragging him behind me, I walk past my smirking brother and out of the office. Mere seconds tick by before I’m rounding the corner to the kitchen. The twenty-something-year-old short-order cook glances at me before his glazed eyes widen. I say nothing, but convey my threat with one look. One look that says, “Try anything and you’re next.” Without a fight, he holds his hands up and runs toward the front but not out of sight. From back here, I’m able to see the entire cafe through the serving window. Even now, I see the waitresses peering back at the commotion I’ve caused.
Ignoring them all, I drag my new plaything to the filthy prep station. Jimmy nearly falls to his knees as I jerk him roughly toward the high countertop. I pull him upright before slamming him face-first into the hard metal. His head bounces in a way that has me smothering a chuckle. He grunts before his body slumps slightly.
“Don’t you go passing out on me now, Jimmy boy.” I shake him.
“Careful, little brother. You’re going to render him useless before he can tell you anything,” Rome says from behind me. He’s eyeing the bubbling hot oil next to the grill with his nose curled up and nostrils flared.
I roll my eyes. “He’s fine,” I say as I shake Jimmy, who has started whimpering like a motherless puppy. “Aren’t you, Jimbo?” I pinch his cheek hard enough to make him flinch away from me.
“I swear, I don’t know where he is,” he cries, as I eye a dirty butcher knife still covered in the remains of old tomatoes.
“Oh, now see, you’re lying again,” I taunt him as I grab the discarded knife by the handle. “You said you’ve seen everyone's dirty laundry. How did he put it again, Rome?” I ask my brother as I turn the blade over, hoping to find it dull enough to hurt.
“I believe the words 'dirt' and 'bucket' were thrown around,” Rome says as he tilts the basket sitting inside the bubbling oil to the side, peering at the quickly burning fries within. His upper lip curls as he quirks a regal eyebrow at the crispy potato slices.
“You said that you had dirt if I had the bucket, Jimmy. Well, consider this your shovel,” I threaten as I show him the pointed tip of the butcher knife, holding it a breath away from his left eyeball. He cringes and tries to wiggle away, but I’m holding him too firmly. “Don’t make me ask again,” I growl.
Jimmy shakes his head and clamps his mouth shut—a bold move from someone facing certain dismemberment, a fact he’s about to learn very quickly.
“Oh, Jimbo,” I sigh as I pull the knife away from his face. I watch his features start to relax slightly, as though he thinks this is over. But I prove him wrong as I bring the knife back and slam it down just as hard.
Jimmy screams and sobs below me as blood flows out of the new hole in the middle of his face. With one quick move, I’ve managed to slice the tip of his nose completely off. I throw the bloody knife to the side, right next to the useless hunk of flesh that used to be my new play toy's sniffer. Looks like Jimmy will be forced to give up snorting the disco glitter for a while; he can thank me later for his forced sobriety.
Jerking him away from the table, he flails his arms, pulling condiments and half-prepped meals from the counter and sending them to the dirt-stained tile below. Blood and greasy food splatter all over the floor as I pull him over to the grill and slam his head against the prep board, mere inches away from the flaming grill. A stack of raw hamburger patties sits a breath away from his chin as he starts screaming bloody murder, drawing every eye in the building in our direction. I’m sure someone has already notified the authorities, but it doesn’t matter. Rome and I will be long gone before any cops show up.
I look up at my brother as I lean my elbow into the back of Jimmy's neck. Holding out my hand, I ask for my next instrument of torture without so much as a word. Rome smiles before gripping the handle of the fryer basket and pulling the burnt fries out of the scalding hot oil.
“He’ll fucking kill me!” Jimmy screams, fear oozing from every sweaty pore as he eyes the scorching wire basket. I snatch the basket from my brother and dump the fries onto the blood-drenched floor.
I lean down right over his face, barely recognizable past all his blood, and whisper. “And what makes you think I won’t beat him to it?” Standing upright, I press the scorching metal basket against the side of his face.
His screams of agony reverberate throughout the entire cafe, prompting a mass exodus of people toward the doors. I hold the basket tightly against his cheek, witnessing it melt his skin. Wrinkling my nose at the stench, I glance up to see the cook and a few waitresses gathered outside the serving window. Some appear fearful, while others have a glint in their eyes that suggests Jimmy deserves every second of this.
“Please! Please stop!” he screams as piss starts running down his legs and puddles around his feet. “I’ll tell you!” he sobs. I pull the basket away from his face, some melted flesh coming with it as it sticks to the basket. I have to hold back a gag as I look over the blistered, bleeding skin of his face. I don’t care how long you’ve been in this life, this part is always fucking disgusting.
“Sing for me, my little fried birdie,” I taunt.
“H–he might not even be there. It's probably a waste of your time,” he spits out in a rush, saliva flinging all over the hot grill in front of him, sizzling on contact. I push his head closer to the burners and shake him.
“I’ll decide what’s a waste of my fucking time, not you. Talk now or today’s new special will be grilled Jimmy,” I snarl.
“Okay!” He holds his arms up in surrender as best as he can. “He made me give him the location of Antonio’s hideout when he was in town. It's an old abandoned hotel on West Riverside. It was condemned two years ago, but Antonio thought it had potential. That’s all I fucking know, I swear,” he sobs.
I toss the basket to the ground and release the back of his neck. He crumples to the ground and scrambles away from me, cowering like the vermin he is. His hands shake uncontrollably as he touches his mutilated face.
“Well that was fun,” Romeo says as he starts to back away toward the exit.
I stand over the sniveling, bleeding, sack of shit blubbering on the soiled tile. Squatting down so I’m at eye level with him, I deliver my final warning. “Don’t make me come back here, Jimmy.” I maintain eye contact, ensuring he understands my threat for what it is, a life sentence. To emphasize my point, I squeeze what remains of his nose between my knuckles. Dark red blood spurts onto my palm as he howls in agony. When I let go, he nods vigorously, and I rise to my full height.
Glancing out the serving window, I pick up the discarded piece of nose on the bloody countertop. I stare at the waitresses looking at me like I’m the Grim Reaper before glancing down at the little hunk of flesh between my fingers and smiling. Tossing the bloody piece of cartilage into the fryer, I nod at the remaining staff.
“Have a wonderful day,” I say with a grin as I turn away from them. But I quickly turn back with one last thought. “Oh, and Jimmy boy here has some cameras set up in the ladies' restroom,” I reveal Jimmy’s dirty little secret. “I’d take those down if I were you,” I advise, and at their shocked intake of breath, I turn toward my brother still lingering in the doorway.
“How was that for style?” I ask as I walk past him, feeling like this is truly the first time I’ve seen the brother I’ve missed all these years. He chuckles behind me and follows me through the back door and out into the early afternoon.
“You’re right,” Rome says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. In the distance, I can hear police sirens, the sounds making me grin. We’ve rounded the building and are opening the doors of his car as he speaks again. “You have style. Although, I’ve never seen style quite like yours, Fratellino.”
TWELVE
SOFEE
Multiple voices sound from the bar as I step down the last stair and enter the room. Li is sitting with Tatum and Max at one of the tables, laughing at some story Max is telling. Glancing around the room, I see that nearly everyone is here this evening. Tanner is hovering close to Max, like always. Ace and Owen are sitting at the bar, while Cooper stands on the other side, playing bartender this evening. A few locals, who use this place as their regular watering hole, are scattered throughout the bar as well. The only absentees are Hayden and Declan. I assume Hayden is probably still in the shop tinkering with my car. As for Declan, his absence doesn't surprise me.
The way he avoided me after what happened behind the bar, I think it’s safe to say he’ll be avoiding me for the rest of my life after what happened earlier this morning. Which is just as well, I don’t really care to see him either.
The same feeling of shame I’ve had all day washes over me anew, and I try to shove it back down. I keep telling myself what I did wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Tempting a man who seems to hate me to the point of breaking was supposed to make me feel powerful. For once in my life, I’d felt desirable as I stripped into nothing but his vest while the door was wide open. I was trying to take my sexuality into my own hands by letting him see me in that way. Allowing him to degrade and dominate me the way I’ve always craved was supposed to be freeing. Cleansing.
So why do I feel so fucking dirty now?
The logical part of me says it’s because I let a man I hate touch me in such an intimate way without so much as a first date. That societal voice that has been drilled into my skull from a young age tells me I’m disgusting for letting a man who holds no respect for me see me completely exposed. It's the collective voices of those who have sexually repressed women for thousands of years. They’re calling me a slut for not only enjoying what happened this morning but also begging for more. They call me a dirty whore, but not in the way Declan did.
When Declan did it, I liked the way it felt, as if it was some kind of dark praise I hadn’t realized I needed until he uttered the words. Somehow, when he called me a slut, it made pride expand in my chest, not shame. In truth, I know I'm far from being the epitome of sexual prowess, but when he used those words that suggested otherwise, it felt like he was laying claim to his slut.
But he made his intentions very clear that I am not now, nor will I ever be, his anything. And I think no matter what those infernal inner voices scream at me, my feeling of being dirty and used up has nothing to do with how I tried to embrace my own sexuality, and everything to do with Declan's actions after it was over.
The way he ran out of my room after giving me the best orgasm of my life will forever be etched in my memory. He left me there, ravaged and used up, practically begging him to claim me as his. But without so much as a second fucking glance, he bolted from the room, slamming the door on any possibility of a future between us, shattering the notion that he ever felt anything but animosity toward me.
When he first entered the room, I could have sworn I saw all my emotions reflected in his violet eyes. But I must have been mistaken. Perhaps my brain played a cruel trick on me, leading me to believe I saw a man just as far lost in lust as I was. But in reality, I was seeing a man who wanted to do nothing more than humiliate me. And mortify me he did.
Even though there was no one around to witness my humiliation, I still felt every second of it. This morning was the first time in my entire life that I took the reins of my own sexuality, and Declan proved in less than twenty minutes that I should have never taken the risk. He walked into that room and made me believe that I was feminine sexual beauty incarnate, only to run out when I was at my most vulnerable. And now I’m posed with the question of whether he did it all on purpose.
Was the way he spoke to me, how he bent me to his will, all a ploy to affirm his hatred of me? I never really assumed that bad people in this world were one hundred percent compassionless. I’ve always believed there is both good and bad in everyone, even Declan. I thought he was a dick on the outside but I held onto the hope that there was still some goodness deep down within him. But now? After what happened, I’m leaning more toward the side that pegs him as nothing but cruel.
But even as I think about the savagery he’s shown me, there’s a small part of me that whispers to keep searching. Keep looking for that kernel of light that resides within everyone. That small ember of goodness I’ve only seen in his eyes the day of the fire. The day he ran into my blazing inferno of a house in search of me. That spark of flame just needs tending to; I know it’s there within him. I just can't seem to figure out why he feels the need to hide it the way he does.
Working in the medical field, I have witnessed people at their lowest points. Some are so downtrodden they believe there is only one way out. Therefore, I can recognize a broken man when I see one, and the more I think about it, the more I see Declan fitting that description. It doesn’t take a psychologist to see that there’s more to this man than meets the eye.
Something from his past must have made him this way toward me. But the likelihood of me ever figuring it out is slim to none. I can’t have a single conversation with him that doesn’t end in a fight. And even if he were open to talking to me about it, the way I feel right now has me wanting to hide far away from him. I know running into him now will only serve to mortify me further, so I think avoiding him is the best course of action.
Tonight is my last shift of the week, and I’ll have the next three days off. This will be the perfect opportunity to look for a new place to live. I can’t stand the shame that washes over me every time I think about the man who lives across the hall. My conflicting feelings are becoming harder and harder to ignore. Do I despise him, or do I want him to use me in every carnal way one person could use another? It’s all too much, and I need to leave before it becomes more than I can bear.
I glance at my brother. He sits surrounded by his family, laughing and drinking. It’s easy to see how well he fits into this corner of the world he’s created for himself. It is glaringly obvious that this is his place and not mine. Not that I ever wanted it to be mine; I was always content with the way things were. Back when I had my life and he had his.
But now it’s all mixed up, and with every passing day, it gets harder and harder to separate the two. I’m forced to watch his happily ever after and then question why I don’t have mine yet.
We’re told to do the right thing, follow the correct path, act for the greater good, and all good things will return to us. Well, I call bullshit. I’ve been on the right path my whole fucking life and I’ve done all the things that I was supposed to do. Get a good education, work a job that makes a difference, and be responsible for yourself and others. And where has it all gotten me?
All I have to show for a lifetime of standing firmly on the correct side of morality is a pile of burnt rubble and a heart that aches for the wrong man.
Ripping my gaze away from Liam and his family, I step away from the stairs and walk toward the front door. I have to be at work in less than an hour, so I need to see if Hayden has made any progress with my car. I just have my hand on the door handle when I hear my name being called.
“Hey, Sof, wait up.”
I turn my head to see Max standing up from her seat and stepping away from the table. Furrowing my brows, I pause and wait for her to catch up to me. She has an easy smile on her lips today. I smother a snort as I look at her bright outfit of the day. Neon yellow tank top, hot pink short shorts, and mint green flip-flops. Coupled with her dark pixie cut and vibrant eyeshadow, she looks more like she belongs at a rave than a biker bar.
Max and I met after I moved into the clubhouse. She and Tatum just showed up on my doorstep one evening with arms full of girly shit proclaiming we were friends now. Even after I protested, they still pushed past me and forced that friendship onto me. Since then, both of them have become tentative friends of mine, even though I’ve tried to keep them at a distance.
I don’t know why I do it, but I’ve always kept people at arm's length. If it weren't for Miles forcing his friendship on me as well, I probably wouldn’t even be able to call him my friend. On some level, I think it’s easier not to let people get too close. That way, when they get tired of me, it’s not so hard when they eventually leave.
Honestly, I could probably attribute it to the abandonment issues my loving father left me with. He up and left my mother high and dry one day with four kids to raise and not a penny to do it with. Even though I understand that I can’t blame all my issues on the deadbeat, it feels nice to be able to point a finger at someone.
When Max catches up to me, we push out the front doors together. The hot June sun pelts me as soon as we step out, almost taking my breath away. A thin sheen of sweat coats my skin instantly, making me dread the drive to work with no A/C. I glance toward my walking partner as she tilts her head up toward the sky. Her porcelain skin almost seems to glow under the sun’s harsh rays. She says nothing as she keeps her eyes closed with a small smile creasing her lips.
