Saving Dancer (Savage Brothers MC Book 2) (7 page)

“Oh, poor little rich girl. Turning on the waterworks, get the fuck out of here!”

That sounds like a great idea. There’s so much I need to digest, so much pain, mine and his. Worse is the fact he called me Princess. It is more hurtful now. For a small space in time I had everything I wanted, when he called me Care Bear. Being called Princess now? A knife couldn’t cut sharper.

I turn and hobble from the room, my leg hurting and slowing me down. I don’t even care that my ass is hanging out. I just want away from him. I’ll get dressed when I am out of his sight.

Dancer

I
watch Carrie
run from me and the disgust curls and foams inside of me. I push my hand hard into my forehead wishing I could stop the memories and the words swimming in my head.

“FUCK!!!” I yell and start grabbing shit off the table by the chair, throwing it across the room.

I fall back into the chair holding my head, so fucking exhausted. I lied through my teeth. I want Carrie. I’ve always wanted Carrie in some form or another. She was always a cute little freckle faced girl that my sister adored. As she grew, she was a sweet kid who I looked out for. Then, she became the last real connection I had with Jazz. We helped each other grieve. When she told me at seventeen she loved me, I laughed it off and told her I didn’t think of her that way. Again, I was lying. I seem to do that to Carrie often.

I had noticed the changes in her body. I would have been a fool not too. She is beautiful and her beauty goes beneath the skin. She has this kindness and gentleness I’ve never found in life—except with her. I’ve always pushed her away because I’m fifteen years older. That’s too damn much and even before the shit of the last two years, I was a twisted fuck. I don’t deserve her. I don’t want any of my darkness to touch her, but I am weakening.

The night when she showed up at the nightclub I was pissed as hell. She shouldn’t have been there. The bouncer had no business letting her through the front door. She was wearing this sexy little green silk dress that moved with her body and turned every fucking man’s head in the place, something an eighteen year old shouldn’t do. When she stood in front of me asking me to dance, I followed like a lamb to its slaughter.

It’s been years. My brain is fucked up, I’m half drunk and yet I can still remember how it felt to hold her in my arms that night. How it felt inside when she told me she loved me…when she asked for my kiss. It took everything I had to tell her to go home.

The minute I saw the tears in her eyes and watched her run from the room, I had to follow her. I fought it for five minutes or so but in the end, I didn’t have a choice. I would rather try and be what she deserved, to ignore all the reasons why I wasn’t the man for her. I would rather try, than cause her pain.

I thought I missed her. I stood outside the main club doors, looked around and didn’t see her or her car anywhere. I was about to go back in when I heard her scream. I don’t know how I knew it was her, but I did. I ran, my heart filling with fear. I made it to the corner of the building in time to see that fucker backhand Carrie.

The blow was so hard her head jerked back and blood sprang from the corner of her lip. He ripped the strap of her dress and it separated, leaving her bare breast open to his assault. Before I could move, his hand covered her pale, small white breast. It seemed unreal and froze me in my tracks. She began screaming again and he slammed her against the brick, his hand around her throat, applying so much pressure her voice instantly stopped.

I lost it, completely and utterly lost it. I know what Dragon said was true because if it had been anyone other than Carrie, I would have done things differently. It was Carrie though. I knew how innocent she was. I knew how precious she was. Seeing someone abuse her, touch her… fucking put his hands on her? I completely lost it.

I charged in grabbing the knife from inside my cut and I don’t even remember ending the fucker, I just reacted.

I rub the back of my neck and walk into the living room. I feel strangely sober now, which is a shame because I would rather be lost in a haze of alcohol. It always seems like things are easier to deal with that way. Maybe there’s a bottle I’ve overlooked in the kitchen.

I was almost in front of the table when Bull throws the door open. It slams against the wall with a loud bang. He stands there glaring at me, catching the door as it comes back toward him. He takes a step in and gives it a push. The door slams behind him.

A lesser man would have been intimidated. I was probably still fucked up from the alcohol, because strangely I’m not.

“RED!” Bull calls out.

I give him a shit-eating grin that I would have gladly knocked off a motherfucker’s face, if I had been on the receiving end. Then, I lean back in the cockiest pose I can muster.

“RED!” Bull calls out again.

It is a few minutes before she walks into the living room. She is limping and I feel guilt hit me. I want to help her to the chair and see what’s wrong.

“What the fuck happened?” Bull barks going over to Carrie and doing that before I can get my alcohol soaked brain to function. He gets down on his knee to look at the damage. It annoys me how protective he is over her.

“I…I fell,” she says and she looks so innocent and frail sitting at the table. Her hair is mussed up, her lips are swollen from my kiss and my dick jerks in reaction. I can’t see her neck for her hair. It takes all I’ve got not to go over to her and see if I had marked that pale sweet skin. I want Bull to see it.

“How?” Bull asks, pushing his shirt up to look along her leg.

Carrie grabs the shirt and holds it tight to her thigh so Bull won’t show more skin and her eyes lock with mine. Bull looks up and he sees Carrie staring over his shoulder. He turns to follow her line of sight, which of course is me.

“You son of a bitch! I warned you!” Bull growls and drops Carrie’s leg, coming at me in one big movement.

“Bull!” Carrie yells, but my brother grabs my collar and then throws a punch. I feel the impact of his solid fist cover the top of my hand that I throw up in defense, twisting it away and then coming down to my jaw at an angle. The force is strong and my head jerks with the impact.

I immediately step back, and deliver a return hit to his gut. I feel him connect again, this time I drop down so he just hits my shoulder. I deliver another blow and he steps back to refocus. We trade a few more hits back and forth. I finally get a good one connecting under his chin. It sends his body backwards, making him fall against the sofa. I’m not even sure how we made it from the table area to the living room. I’m kind of shocked. I back up thinking that it is over. My brother may be mad at me, but I don’t really want to fight with him.

I don’t have time to say anything, because Bull recovers quickly and charges with his head down, aiming straight for my solar plexus. I’m pushed back a good five feet or better. We fall from the force of the hit. I slam against the kitchen table. It tilts under my weight and I hear a crash and feel a jarring, as the table tips over. Chairs fall in every direction around us as we land. I grab him in a head-lock while he’s trying to deliver a kidney punch.

We stop when a loud scream draws both our attention.

“STOP IT!”

We look up at the same time. Her auburn hair is gorgeous in waves around her face and those wide green eyes are filled with tears. I have the strangest urge to reach out and stop them before they have a chance to fall.

“Just stop it,” she cries. Bull shoots me another death glare and pulls away.

“Sit down, Red,” He orders softly and helps her to the chair in the living room. I lay against the upturned table watching them and I feel physically ill.

He cares about her. You can see it in everything he does and in the way he wants to take my head off. I can do nothing but watch as he sits her down. His large dark hand caresses her. It stands out against her milk white skin. It’s odd watching his large thumb wipe away the tears falling from her eyes. It makes the breath lodge in my throat. How could this happen? How can my brother fall for Carrie? She’s mine.

“Damn it Red, tell me what happened,” Bull demands, his hand moving along her calf muscle. There’s a bruise and obviously a good size cut that is no longer bleeding, but looks hateful and swollen. It’s ugly against her perfection. More guilt pummels me.

“It was an accident,” she whispers her hands twist together on her lap, her face down.

“Dance…”

“I fell Bull, Jacob didn’t do anything,” she whispers, looking at me. I expect to see hate or disgust. Heck, even mocking would have been preferable, yet all she does is spare a quick glance at me.

“I’m going to go back to bed,” she mumbles and Bull stands instantly. He bends down to lift Carrie up in his arms.

“Bull!” Carrie gasps.

“Red, hush. I’m going to doctor your leg and then you can rest.”

“But…”

“Stop arguing. I’m doing it.”

She looks over Bull’s shoulder, her eyes connect with mine. There’s so much sadness in her eyes. It shames me. This time, I’m the one who has to look away.

“Dragon wants you at the club. I suggest you don’t keep him waiting,” Bull calls out.

Well fuck a duck
.

Dancer

I
know I
should have gone back to the club and answered Dragon’s page. That would have been the smart thing to do. These days it seems, I don’t do smart. Hell, if you looked back on my life, maybe I never have.

The truth is, I’m reeling. Reeling from the fact that a man I truly like and respect has feelings for Carrie. Fuck, I’m not an expert, but I think it could easily be said that he is in love with her. I don’t know how to react to that. I’ve always labeled Carrie off limits because she was fifteen years younger than me. Damn, Bull is older than I am, not by much, but still.

It is enough to fuck me up even more. I am already dealing with the taste of Carrie, the feeling of her in my arms, the eager way she ground against me, silently begging for more. I have wanted Carrie for years, dreamed of her, and wished I could have just one taste of her. The reality of it was more than I imagined.

It has only been an hour, but I already want to charge back and claim her, just from that one taste. I can’t. The minute she touched me, those damn memories came back. Her sweet voice demanding I take her wasn’t what I heard. It had been replaced by a darker voice.

My hand shakes as I bring the bottle up to my mouth. Fuck. I can’t stand to be touched. I can’t. I don’t allow the whores I’ve been fucking to touch me. I make sure their hands are busy with a friend or I take them from behind. I don’t want their hands anywhere on me. I got nervous when Carrie touched my head, but I managed to drown out the memories with her taste, but fuck, she grabbed me. She said words that were burned into my brain. I lost it. I never meant to hurt her and I know she thinks I did. I didn’t. Hell, as much as I want her I’m not sure I can ever allow myself to actually have her. I’m so tired of living like this.

If I hear one more time about how what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I may scream. People who say that shit have never been so deep into a hole that they can’t find a way out. They’ve never sat by the window and prayed that the sun would hurry and go down because the night seemed safer. People didn’t move around so much in the nighttime, things weren’t done. The world was at rest. At night the fear that clenched around my heart and held on, eased up—never a lot, but enough so I could pretend to be normal on the outside.

You don’t go through shit and get stronger. That is a lie. You go through shit and lose parts of yourself. Whole fucking pieces, which leave holes so big, so mind-blowingly huge that for people to even say you’ll be stronger? It is complete and utter bullshit.

So that’s where I find myself tonight. Sitting in my car, perched on the edge of a dam. Letting the darkness surround me, letting it cover me and the only friend I have in the world. I look at the empty bottle in my hand. Well scratch that, just me. Seems I’ve drank the last of my friend.

If I were stronger, I would have driven off the edge of this concrete monster and sunk to the bottom of Laurel Lake. This is not the first time I’ve been here. It’s not the first time I’ve thought of ending it all, it’s more like the millionth time. This is something that I have faced every day since I stepped out of the doors of the Federal Prison in West Liberty.

It’s not something that ever leaves my brain. It’s always here. I’ll be driving down the road on my bike enjoying the feel of the cool air on my body when bam, a memory hits. A memory so dark it chokes me. Another vehicle, or even better a coal truck will go by and my hand shakes with the need to cut in front of it.

It would be deemed an accident. Everyone would write it off as if there was a vehicle malfunction or if I had fallen asleep…no one would know I was just another coward too tired to keep moving, too worn out to keep fighting against the current.

What has stopped me up to this point is fear. I am scared. Scared that I’d somehow fuck this up too. Somehow it wouldn’t kill me, I’d be stuck a vegetable and trapped with nothing but my memories for the rest of my life.

I lean back against the seat of the SUV I’m driving. How long have I been here now? An hour? Two? Time doesn’t really register when you’re this far down into hell and the Devil is calling your name. I keep seeing Carrie and her face when I pushed her away, when I hurt her. The fear, the pain and even worse than both of those, was the love. I could always see the love in her eyes. Even before she told me how she felt. It was fucked up that I wanted it, needed it. It was even more fucked up that I kept running away from it and every time I did, bad things happened.

It would be better for her if I wasn’t here. She’d be able to forget me and with the way my brother seems to care about her, they’d be happy. Bull would give her everything I wanted to, but couldn’t. She’d be happy. I want her happy. If I do this it’d give her peace.