Nowhere (Crimson Outlaws MC #1) Page 4

  That very night when Nash was making out with Jessica Simmons on the couch, I snuck out the back door and walked to Jenny’s house, which was only three blocks away. From there, she drove us in her blue, souped up Mustang to Charlotteton’s infamous college campus where the fraternities were housed.

  I can remember that moment like it was yesterday. We cut the engine and parked down the block, at the butt end of about fifteen rich-kid cars. Stepping onto the curb, I smoothed my hand over my skirt and followed Jenny to the two-story, white Victorian that looked larger than life as music pulsed from the inside, rattling the tall windows.

  Up the broad front steps, a set of college students were making out against the banister. Higher, on the wraparound porch, a group of guys played quarters. Walking too slow for her taste, Jenny grabbed my hand and hauled me into the massive house. It was flooded wall-to-wall with people of all shapes and sizes. I could almost taste the sexual energy floating in the air. It was sweet and tangy.

  Forever the outgoing one, Jenny tugged me behind her, hand-in-hand, through a throng of gyrating bodies, until we stopped in the kitchen by a row of kegs. Without missing a beat, she poured two cups of the tart trash and handed me one.

  “Drink up!” she hollered over the crazy music, and that was how the rest of the night went.

  We danced, drank, and she flirted with as many college men that’d give her attention. Being a curvy blonde had its merits because the men ate her up as I watched with green envy, wishing I had those luscious curves, her petite frame, and bright blonde hair. Which was natural; not from a bottle. Not only was she adorable, but she also had a great smile and flirted without an ounce of teenage awkwardness.

  Pressed against the far wall, next to a window, I intently watched Jenny as I drank my fifth cup of disgusting beer. Suddenly, a shoulder bumped into mine, startling to me so much that the beer sloshed out of my cup and onto my white top. I cursed, and the man chuckled. It was a deep, sensuous baritone that went straight to my virginal nether regions.

  “Be careful, little one!” he cooed loudly, pinching my chin and lifting it to garner eye contact.

  The jolt of his touch did funny things to my insides, and for the first time in my life I was genuinely attracted to a man. A man with green eyes and short black hair, who stood a good foot taller than me. He was gorgeous in every sense of the word, striking me speechless with his simple presence. My tongue felt too big for my mouth. Which he didn’t seem to mind as he talked nonstop and I attempted to listen, barely catching a word thanks to the ear-splitting tunes.

  Guys I didn’t know kept passing us, and slapping him on the back like they were good friends. They seemed to admire him, which I found even more attractive. Not to mention his designer duds that I would have never been able to afford. My parents were middle class, and he was obviously not. But all that mattered was that he was there, talking to lowly ole me, his hand brushing over my shoulder from time to time. I couldn’t have been giddier.

  As the night wore on, he kept refilling my drink, shifting from beer to liquor, until my head began to spin. That was the moment he guided my stumbling frame up the wooden staircase and into his blue and white bedroom, where he locked the door—turning a night of fun into the scariest pits of hell.

  The rest of the evening became a blur of horrific events. With my brain incapacitated, my body fell at his mercy, and he gave none. Not wasting any time, I was thrown onto a twin sized bed, and my skirt was lifted, panties torn from my body. I remember trying to cover myself with my hands, telling him, “No. Stop.” But he shoved a pillow over my face, and that was when the panic set in. I screamed into the dense cotton, kicking and thrashing on his mattress. Something tight restrained my wrists in the darkness of my worst fears. I wouldn’t stop fighting as something hard and painful penetrated the most intimate of places. Twisting my head side to side in agony, I wailed, trying to make him stop. But he didn’t. He just kept going, thrusting himself into me, hard and fast, with no remorse. My insides were on fire, and everything hurt. My wrists burned from being restrained. My throat ached from screaming through my wails of desperation. It seemed to drag on and on, lasting forever. I thought I was going to die. That the pain would consume me, turning me inside out. I nearly begged for him to knock me unconscious at one point. Then, it suddenly ended; a liquid heat flooded my channel, and the room went eerily quiet.

  Over the next day and a half, the man I came to learn was Josiah Bower continued to rape me repeatedly until I was raw like fresh hamburger meat. Blood stained his sheets. My eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying. He’d decided to gag me after the first time, and held a bowl under me so I was able to pee. The one instance that I couldn’t hold it, I wet the bed and his fist met my face. Then a second hit broke my nose when I kicked him. A third smashed into my stomach when I tried to untie myself from the bedposts as he left me to go hang with his buddies. For hours that felt like years, I continued to fight for my life, my sanity, as he ripped it away bit by bit. My ass was the next to become violated. My breasts sucked raw. Everything was taken from me to feed his sick, sadistic pleasure.

  Fifty-two hours after walking into that party, my life changed forever. I woke up in a dumpster behind The Diner, a restaurant over thirty minutes away, in a neighboring town called Carolina Rose. A woman named Teena found me there, battered and bruised. My skin was burned in the spots where Josiah had dumped an entire jug of bleach on me, to try and mask his DNA. The empty container was tossed beside me on top of the rancid pile of black garbage bags.

  People from all over the small town came to my rescue. A tall, lean, Native American man named Sniper was the first to climb into the dumpster.

  Cops came, taking my brief statement to clear a missing person’s case that had been filed twenty-four hours prior. They even told me they’d began interviewing those who were at the party that night, but nothing came of it. An ambulance arrived and took me to the hospital. For the very first time in my life, I begged not to see my parents. All I wanted was Nathaniel. I needed him. By the grace of God, I was given that small gift, as my parents waited anxiously in the waiting room, allowing him to see me first.

  Throwing the white curtain back in the ER bay, Nash’s eyes rounded as he took in my weak, colorless, condition. A heartbeat later, he saw every ounce of me shatter into a million pieces when my glassy eyes met his. It was like a tiny string was holding me together, and when my rock was there, it snapped. Emotions poured from me as I lifted my arms, begging to be held.

  Nash rushed to my bedside, sitting on the edge, and crushed me to his chest, where I sobbed until my eyes burned and my throat nearly swelled shut. In the most painful moment I’d ever experienced, he comforted me, as he kissed the top of my head, telling me that everything was going to be alright. Even if I didn’t believe him.

  Soft lips caressing my jaw tears me from my horrid past, and I try to refocus on the here and now. My sight slowly scans the expanse of the room before me, or the portion that I can see with a massive man still locked in my arms. This is my parent’s spare bedroom, where I’m safe. There’s my old, full sized bed now draped in a cream duvet. Pictures of Nash and I as kids are scattered in gold picture frames atop an oversized dresser. Centering myself further, my fingers comb through Nash’s hair. I inhale sharply, getting a heady burst of his scent invading my nostrils, which serves to further comfort my rampant emotions.

  “You okay?” Nash mutters, stroking the same spot on my jaw once more.

  Clearing my throat, I keep it from wavering. “Yeah, I'm okay. But, Nash, if Joshua is a nice guy, which I’m sure he is or Trish wouldn’t give him the time of day, then I think you need to stop going all,” I drop my voice to a low manly grumble, “I’m a macho biker on her, and let us meet him first. Then you can decide for yourself.”

  Nash grunts his potent disapproval, teeth scraping gently along my neck. “I’m not gonna like him. I don’t give a fuck if he’s a bible-toting, good ole’ boy. It’s not gonna fuck
in’ happen.”

  Damn, he’s stubborn.

  “Maybe not. But she’s got you to protect her regardless of the kinda boy he is. You can’t expect her to be single forever.” Once again, this is case in point as to why Trish is nothing like me. She actually wants to date.

  Nash groans. “I know. But, fuck, this is too soon.”

  “For who? You or her?”

  “Me!” he yells, ripping out of our embrace to stand. With his expression sullen, he rakes his hands through his hair, tugging it a bit. “It’s way too soon. That’s my girl out there.” Nash nods toward the door at my back. “I took care of the fucker who did that shit to you, and I’m gettin’ way too damn old to worry about that again. If she’s single, and you’re single, I don’t have to worry all the goddamn time. But now I have to. She’s got a boyfriend. A stupid, little, measly boy fucktard. I don’t wanna do those things again, Gwen. Not unless I have to.” He begins pacing the room, lost in thought.

  I reach out to him, grabbing his bicep to yank him back into my embrace. Thankfully, he doesn’t fight and willingly falls against my chest, arms around my center, anchoring us together. My fingers lift once again to sift through his locks, just like he needs. “I know ya don’t, Nash,” I coo. “And I don’t think you’ll have to go through all of that again, either.”

  That very night in the hospital, when I had been found, Nash laid awake in the bed next to me as my parents slept in chairs. Sometime before morning, after I’d finally passed out, he disappeared, and none of us saw him again for six months. Six months for me to grow bigger and bigger each day as the baby implanted inside of me sucked nutrients from my body. I wanted to hate being pregnant. To hate the baby because it was a constant reminder of what I’d gone through. But I couldn’t seem to allow myself to feel that way. Even at fifteen, I loved my bump, regardless of what I knew would happen when she came into the world. That I’d give her up for adoption, to have a better life without a teenage mother.

  It was a chilly February morning when Nash returned home. I can remember the shock I felt when I woke up to see him seated at the foot of my bed, a newspaper rolled in his grasp. “Good morning, Gwennie.” He smiled cheerfully, slapping the paper atop my comforter-clad legs.

  Securing my bump with my hand, I shuffled upward until my back rested against the headboard. Nash’s eyes rounded as he took in the size of it. “You’re gettin’ big.” He reached out to pat the top affectionately.

  Swallowing hard, I nodded, dumbstruck, unable to believe my brother was seated on my mattress, looking like himself, yet not. He was gruffer. His arms tattooed, face unshaven, hair longer. His eyes were wiser than I last saw him, and at twenty, he looked nearly thirty. It was as if the past six months had aged him an entire decade.

  “Not sure if that face means you’re happy to see me, or not.” He grinned, sliding that damn paper against my stomach. “Read it,” he added, flicking those beautiful eyes from the paper to my face and back again.

  I wanted to comply, I truly did, but I couldn’t stop staring. Nash had gone from attractive boy to hot man overnight. It took me a moment to realize even his clothing was different. He was wearing a leather vest with patches on it, as worn jeans encased his long legs.

  Minutes later, when I was finally able to compose myself, and Nash and I stopped staring at one another, I picked up the paper. On the front page in bold letters, it read Josiah Bower injured in a car crash. My heart lodged itself in my throat as my fingers shook, making the paper rattle loudly in my grasp. Josiah had been hurt, and I wasn’t sure how to take the news. Mostly, I was thrilled to hear what had happened, because Josiah was never convicted of raping me. Evidence came up missing. My statement forged. It was a cluster fuck. But that was the treatment I should have expected when we found out that his father was a judge and his brothers were sheriff’s deputies. I didn’t matter to them. They just wanted the mess cleaned up. So they power washed the entire situation, making me look like the lying whore who got off on some serious kink.

  As I read further down the detailed and somewhat gruesome article, the words traumatic brain injury, fractured femurs, spinal cord injury and a list of about ten other things made me smile victoriously. I shouldn’t have found pleasure in his unfortunate pain, but I did. And when I looked into Nash’s eyes with that permanent smile on my face, those green orbs shone with pride, love, and a whole lot more I couldn’t decipher.

  Reaching into my lap, he folded his fingers through mine. “All for you, Gwennie. And I’d do it again.” That was all he said, gaze delving into mine, speaking truths I couldn’t yet comprehend. Then my door was thrown open, and our parents stood there in just as much shock as I had been, holding a newspaper in their hands. Tears shone in my mother’s eyes.

  “Mom. Dad. I’m home,” Nash announced, and for the rest of the day we celebrated his return, as we silently rejoiced in Josiah’s karmic justice.

  In the end, they removed him from football, and he now lives his days as a paraplegic, here in Charlotteton. Three years after Patricia was born and Nash talked me into keeping her, Josiah’s father was tragically murdered. When Patricia was five, one of Josiah’s brothers was killed in the line of duty. And just last year, his other brother was imprisoned for being a dirty cop. Justice has been served, even if it’s taken me eighteen years to get it.

  Turning my head to kiss the side of Nash’s, I mutter, “We’re gonna get through this together like we always do.”

  Nodding, he nuzzles his nose to my neck. “I know. But I’ve taken care of that little girl since she was born. Treated her like my own. Was there the first day she walked, talked, and peed in that stupid princess potty.” We both chuckle at that memory. Trish was so proud of herself that day. And so were we, as we clapped from the bathroom door.

  “You’ve been good to us.” I hug him a little tighter to convey how much he truly means to our family. It warms me from the inside out to know he’s always been there to have my back. Even if that meant living with me for five years in the apartment above Mom and Dad’s garage, to help raise Trish.

  “You’re good to me, too, Gwennie-bee. I’d be lost without you. Anytime I’m in a dangerous place you pull me back. Just like today.”

  He’s right. I have.

  “Yes. That’s what family does. We love each other and forgive each other. Just like I hope you’ll do for me.”

  Expelling a grunt, Nash pulls away, standing upright as he meets my gaze with a strange expression. “For what?” he growls.

  Reaching out, I dust the tips of my fingers over his damaged neck. He groans sensuously as a shiver visibly passes through him. It does something funny to my belly as the presence of butterflies make their strange appearance.

  “This is not a problem,” he says, wrapping his hand around mine, holding it to his bruised flesh. Stepping closer, until we’re flush, body to body, heat to heat, he tips his head down to brush his lips softly over mine. “No problem at all,” he whispers.

  Pausing a moment, I inhale a shaky breath.

  “What about Kelly? I’m sure it bothers her,” I rasp, feeling the warmth of his skin under my palm, and the way his pulse thumps against it.

  My thighs tremble, making me weak in the knees. Not wanting to fall, I grab hold of his thick bicep, and he takes it as an invitation to step even closer. Skating his hand behind me, he rests his searing palm against the curve of my back, just above my butt. The air in my lungs seizes in my throat as his fingers begin to dance there, stroking me in tiny, heart-thumping circles.

  “And do you see me giving a flying fuck?” he mutters against my mouth.

  “No?” I shudder, goosebumps rippling down my arms and legs.

  In reply, his tongue runs along the seam of my lips, making me dizzy. On its own accord, my pussy clenches, aching for affection.

  “Nash…” I breathe.

  “Open for me … I need in that mouth.”

  Giving in to my innermost desires, I comply by parting my lips wi
th a tiny moan.

  “That’s it,” Nash praises, before he slips inside, languidly caressing the top of my tongue with teasing strokes. It sets my blood on fire as his hand on my back slides lower, palming my ass. Boldly squeezing my tender flesh with his digits, my bruises scream in protest while my body begs like a greedy whore, seeking more pain, more touch, more of anything that he’ll give.

  Some part of me knows that I shouldn’t revel in this. That I should push him away. But my brain has misfired and is now forcing my body to navigate on autopilot—in the most basic of ways; my pussy is giving my mind a big F.U.

  Clashing his thick tongue with mine, Nash releases a ravenous groan, rendering me helpless. Every cell in my quivering body burns with unspent desire. I become a slave to my needs, as Nash’s onslaught invades my senses, persuading all of the walls I’ve masterfully built to come tumbling down. I cling to him, my hands fisting in his hair, holding him to my lips. He grabs my thigh, wrapping it around his hip. A thickness I’ve never felt before prods my stomach through his jeans. Just the feeling of it grinding against me, unfurls this coiled knot of pleasure in my belly. Making me want to come, to give in to temptation, to shatter into a billion pieces of sated rapture.

  Cuffing his hand around the back of my neck, Nash deepens our blazing battle. His tongue lavishes mine, hard and impatient. My toes curl as I melt into a ball of breathless goo. Desperately, I try to keep pace, to let him guide the moment, but I can’t. I get lost, falling deeper into ecstasy that I vaguely remember I shouldn’t be feeling. Moans are passed into each other’s mouths, swallowed by one another. He lifts my other leg, so I’m forced to wrap myself around him. My pussy settles on his thickness and Nash bucks his hips, slamming my back into the door. The noise echoes in the room as he does it again, trying to fuck me through our clothes. My clit pleads for him to continue, as my mind focuses on those big lips. That hot mouth sinfully moving over mine. Those hands dominating me. The way he smells. Everything is deliriously perfect.