Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Drink some water, Julianna.” His deep, gravelly voice wakes me. I see nothing but blackness and Ryder moving away, taking off his vest.
“What time is it?” I say groggily. God, whatever I drank is already giving me a terrible headache.
“3 AM” He sounds tired.
I try to focus better and notice he’s opening the nightstand, putting his Glock and I think a knife in the drawer. When I sit up on my elbows, my head is slightly spinning.
“You gonna puke?” He looks down at me.
“I hope not.” Reaching for the water he left for me, I hear the shower turn on. A soft glow of light peeks through the bottom of the bathroom door. I drink the entire glass and decide that water is, without a doubt, the best-tasting thing in the world.
The light blinks off and Ryder comes to the bed. “Here.” He takes my hand and places two pills in it. “I’ll get you more water.”
“Thank you.” I lie back and throw my arm over my forehead.
“Why would you drink Mezcal?” From the tone of his voice, he’s not happy, but I don’t care. He’s here giving me water. That’s got to be positive, right?
“Is that what that was? I hate it.” I pop the pills, assuming it’s Advil, whatever, as long as it makes me feel better.
“Scoot over, baby. I need to be by the door.” I kind of crawl to my side as Ryder slips in and pulls me tightly to his warm, clean chest.
“Everything okay?” My voice is raspy.
He stays silent but tightens his arms around me. Taking a deep breath, I let my body relax into him as the world quiets and it’s only us.
“My name is Leo.” Keeping his voice calm, he rests his chin on top of my head. My eyes blink open. “Leonardo DeLucca. My mom was full Sicilian, and my dad was half-Italian, half-Irish. You can breathe, babe.” I feel his grin as his hand tugs me closer to his warmth.
“I had a brother, two years older, named Paul. We lived in Reseda, and my dad was a plumber. My mom stayed at home, and other than church and walking to the grocery store, she rarely left the house.
I bite my lip. He’s right. I don’t want to move, breathe, anything for fear he’s gonna stop talking.
“My brother was the favorite. I was shy and big. They called me fat. I can’t remember what age I started having the dreams, but I do remember being scared. It’s the one thing that I remember so vividly: always being scared.”
I try turning to look at him, but he holds me tight and continues, “My parents beat me, saying I was bad. Kids made fun of me, saying I was dirty, when it was really bruises.” He pauses, then goes on.
“My head hurt constantly. My brother used to kick me in the head with his shoes on, saying I was evil. And I believed them. I got bigger. Paul did not. He was like my mother, had a small frame. One day when he went to kick me in the head, I hit him, and he cried. It was then that I knew I wasn’t afraid anymore, that nothing anyone could do could hurt me.”
I nod, my eyes filling with tears.
“So I did warn them. They laughed and didn’t listen, and they died. My mom went crazy, and I found that life was easier on the streets. Until I met Chuckie, Blade’s brother. Both of us were doing community service. He was my best friend. Took me to his dad and the club, and I knew I was home.”
“Which one is Chuckie?”
“Chuckie’s dead.”
This time I do turn to look at him. He peers down at me, brushing my hair off my shoulder.
“And I didn’t dream it. The first time I didn’t have a clue. I was in Afghanistan with Blade and Axel, got the news that one of our drug labs blew up killing Chuckie the Prez, Poet’s ex-girlfriend, and Poet’s two-year-old baby girl. And I didn’t see it coming.”
“Ryder, you’re not t—”
“I’m tired.” He stops me, which is fine. My mind’s enveloped in his past—a past that’s littered with pain.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper fiercely.
His warm hand tightens on my stomach, and he inhales my scent. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Silence. I close my eyes against his words. He doesn’t trust me, but that can wait, I let my breathing match his and follow his lead.
RYDER
Present
Disciples’ clubhouse
Burbank, CA
I take a deep drag off my cigarette and look out at the morning sky, one of my favorite things to do. Watching that big orange ball rise makes you feel like all your sins can be absorbed into it and burned away.
I open and close my fists, almost as if I know I’m gonna need them today. My mind again goes over the missing pieces that are slowly filling in.