Page 11 of Tormented
“He looks pretty messed up.”
Callum nods, taking a swig of his drink. “Yeah. Hooch said he barely made it out of that shithole alive.”
“Why did he come back to us?” I ask, setting the dishcloth in my hand down. “I mean, the Aces traded him back there, so why would he come back to the people who betrayed him?”
“He betrayed himself,” Callum answers sternly. “We did what was best for the club as a whole, and he knows that.”
“What now, then?”
He shrugs. “I guess we find out tomorrow.”
I nod, picking up the cloth and going back to wiping down the surfaces. It baffles me how a man who’s brought so much strife on this club can be accepted back inside our walls so easily. If it weren’t for him, the Aces probably wouldn’t be on Carlos’ radar. At least not to this extent.
Why is it we can have the literal spawn of the devil walking our halls, and everybody loves him without question? He’s a legend among the young members, a trophy for the whores, and a problem the officers seem to tolerate.
And yet, here I am, minding my own business and not hurting a soul, and I get mocked, ridiculed, and cast out by the majority of the club members.
Why?
What the fuck is it about him that lets him literally get away with murder, while I can’t even shed a tear without being questioned for it?
I want nothing more than to pick Sawyer’s brain and find that piece that makes him acceptable to others so I can mirror it, have it too. He’s psychotic, unhinged, and a social outcast. And yet he appears happy. He’s comfortable in his ill-fitting skin, relaxed in his rocky ride. I want that.
Knowing I’m broken isn’t enough. I want to love that I’m broken.
I want him to tell me how he does it. Holding on to the hope he has the answer is the only thing that keeps me going some days; the thought there is an end to my self-loathing and misery.
“You need anything?” our newest member to be patched in—Dog—asks as he slides to a stop beside Callum. “I’ve got to do a meat run for Ramona, so I’m heading out now.”
Of course. I glance over at her as she laughs with an ol’ lady about something—always the apple of everyone’s eye.
“Let it go,” Callum murmurs under his breath.
I shoot him daggers, and smile at Dog. “Let me check.”
King asked me all those years ago when he saw what was going on who had been pressuring me to sleep with the men. I should have called Ramona out, named her for the bully she was, but the naïve little girl I was wanted nothing more than to be loved and accepted by everyone, so I kept quiet, hoping it would make her like me.
Did anything but. And let’s just say I’m not so kind anymore.
“Can you get a few cases of Bud,” I ask Dog, “and probably another half dozen bottles of Jack?” If Sawyer’s in the mood to drink, he’ll clean up an extra two himself.
“Sure thing.” He raps his knuckles on the bar and gives me a smile before heading off.
I like the guy. He’s one of the few who doesn’t treat me as a freak. Yeah, he’s joined in taking the mickey out of me on more than one occasion, but he’s never asked me to do anything I didn’t want to. He’s a good sort—even if he does work his way through the property girls like they’re going to expire at the end of the month.
“Cheers for the drink,” Callum says, setting the empty tumbler down on my side of the bar. He hesitates, looking me square in the eye.
I don’t like it.
“If you need help when it gets busy, round up Dog for a hand, okay?”
“Sure.”
He places his palm to the bar and gives me a tight-lipped smile before turning away and heading out the back. Ramona watches the whole interaction from across the common room, sweeping over as soon as I’m alone.
“Abbey,” she word-vomits. “Do you need help getting organized?”
She’s not asking to be kind.