Page 17 of Tormented

SIX

Abbey

Over the course of the afternoon, the sister chapters begin to filter into the club. Officers, ol’ ladies, and their kids crowd the common room, the noise level inching up as conversations strike between friends old and new. It’s a right family affair, this revenge business.

Women aren’t supposed to be privy to the goings-on of the club, but the men aren’t all that great at keeping the conversation behind closed doors, so with a set of keen ears a girl can learn plenty about what’s going down between Carlos and our club. Lips have a habit of becoming even looser when there’s liquor involved, and I’m supplying that in spades.

“You’re too good to us ugly sons o’ bitches,” Crackers, the Fort Worth VP, drawls as I pass him his favorite drink.

“Got be good for something, right?”

He raises his bottle in toast, and then spins to rejoin the rest of his crew. Hooch catches my eye from across the room, and I shy away, busying myself topping up the sodas for the kids. I know what he’ll want, and I don’t know if I can give that tonight.

My head’s been a mess since Sawyer pulled whatever that was on me at the top of the stairs. For a guy who enjoys mocking the hell out of my shortcomings, he sure seemed pretty damn interested in everything else I’ve got to offer.

I’m not so sure how I feel about that.

After all, no matter how nice a man is, no matter how sweet they appear to be, underneath the layers is the same primal animal that just wants one thing out of women—somewhere to stick it when he feels the urge. And Sawyer? He’s the most primal man of them all. Probably thought he was in for an easy ride with me being out to it and all.

Not as though I’d get a heart-to-heart anytime soon, now, is it.

Especially not when he’s stalking across the room, zeroed in on Ramona like that. Bitch. She doesn’t deserve him. Yes, he put her through hell, but the woman was fucking another one of the brothers behind his back. How’s that for loyalty?

I’m so focused on their interaction as he shepherds her through the kitchen door, away from prying eyes, that I don’t realize one of the prospects from Cali is calling my name until he reaches out and catches my arm. I jerk back with a hiss between my teeth and scowl at him.

“Settle down, babe.” His smile is easy, his demeanor anything but. “How about a top-up?” He waggles his empty tumbler at me.

The way he smirks after he’s said it. The casual way he has one elbow propped on the bar as he clearly checks the length of me out. The color of his hair. Fuck, even the way his ears fold in toward his head at the middle of the shell. Everything about him sends me screaming back fifteen years to a time I’d rather forget.

“How about a top-up, Abbey?” Evan holds his glass out to me, jerking his chin toward the bottle of dark stuff on the side table.

I take the cup in both hands and cross the room to where he wants me to go. But the bottle is big and I don’t know if I can pour his drink okay. Momma’s only just started letting me get my own juice, but only when the bottle is mostly empty.

I wish Momma were here. She’d be able to get his drink. She could pour it for me, and then I could carry it over to Evan so he’d be happy with me still.

I like it when he’s happy with me.

“Hurry up, girl. I’m getting mighty thirsty over here.”

I set the cup down, take the lid off the dark drink he likes so much, and curl my nose at the smell as I tip the bottle over, using both my hands to be super careful. But I’m clumsy, and I can’t help it—the bottle tips too fast and his drink spills over the side.

“What you fuckin’ doin’, Abbey?”

He’s out of his chair, unbuckling his belt as he walks my way. I drop the bottle on the floor, drink splashing over my toes as I step back into the wall and lift my hands.

“I’m sorry, Evan. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“Jesus, girl. How many times do I have to tell your retarded fuckin’ ass to call me Daddy?”

I don’t though. I don’t call him anything as he lashes that belt over me again and again. Because why would I when he ain’t my daddy and I hope he never really is? Momma told me my daddy is a brave man, that my daddy was a hero when he died.

This man ain’t a hero. Hers or mine.

He’s just plain old mean.

“I don’t know what happened,” the prospect hollers as I come around. “One minute the slut is fuckin’ around gettin’ me a drink, and the next she’s just starin’ off into nothin’.”

“You best be headin’ outside to cool off, son.” Hooch. “If I so much as hear you whisper anythin’ like that about Abbey again, I’ll personally rearrange your face.”