Biker's Bride (Demons MC)

I put my phone away and ran through my options again. Calling the police was definitely out. That would only make things worse. I could try and go to Rex’s apartment, but they were probably watching it, and plus, I knew he wasn’t there. I could go to the bar, but that would only put me right back into Michael’s path. I had to minimize their attention, not flaunt myself in front of them. I felt like I was trapped, caged in my tiny apartment. I rifled through my dresser and threw on clean clothes, put on my beat up sneakers, and then went out into the street.

There was nobody hanging around outside my apartment, and nobody looked like they were following me as I made my way up toward the Art Museum. I kept my head down, lost in thought. I could call Amy and tell her about what happened, but she would insist I get the police involved. I could go straight to Shane, but I had no idea what his reaction would be. Of everyone I knew, Shane Green had the most power to protect me, but he was also Amy’s fiancé. He had more allegiance to Amy, and would probably do whatever she wanted him to do. I couldn’t trust that he would stay away from the police.

Then again, I wasn’t sure I needed protection. Michael had already played his hand with me. They showed up, they searched my place, they questioned me, and now it was over. Rex had said they wouldn’t hurt me if I stuck to my story. All I had to do was keep acting like nothing was wrong. But how would I do that when I was so deeply terrified of every dark corner and shadow?

I made a right onto Kelly Drive and found myself heading toward Fisherman’s Wharf. I walked up behind the Art Museum, trying to keep my head down, ignoring the people around me. I stood at the edge of the spiral staircase, but couldn’t bring myself to walk down its length. For some reason, that spot was tainted by the memory of Michael and his goons. I looked out across the water for a while, thinking about Rex and the way he had made my body feel. I couldn’t help but mix up the image of Michael holding a knife, threatening me in my own apartment, with Rex laying out on the rock. I thought I understood what I was getting myself into, but seeing those men in front of me, and knowing they would do anything if it meant getting what they wanted, made it all more real. Along with the fear coursing through my spine was another emotion, still faint, but growing more powerful with every passing moment. It was anger.

I realized I had never been that angry before. I was angry Michael and his goons violated my space. I was angry they opened my drawers and tore through my things just because they felt like it. I was angry Michael thought he would intimidate me into betraying someone I cared about. But above all else, I was angry Rex was forced into the position he found himself in. I was angry at the world for giving him a terrible lot in life, for letting him get mixed up with horrible people, for forcing him to risk his life and body in order to get out of debt. I wasn’t angry at Rex for putting me into a dangerous position, because I had all but forced him to. I was angry at the world itself for failing to live up to my expectations and for letting someone I cared about suffer.

I knew I shouldn’t excuse the things Rex had done. Part of me knew he didn’t forgive himself, and that his fighting and violence were a way to punish his past sins. I couldn’t say that for sure, but there was something gentle about him, something kind and funny, something almost opposite of violent. And yet he fought. He fought for his life, and he fought to free himself. He fought to be rid of his past and to continue forward. Maybe I was projecting my own feelings onto Rex, but at that moment, standing at the top of the black spiral staircase, breathing the air wafting off the Schuylkill River, and looking out over the rundown buildings of West Philadelphia, I felt like I knew him. I stood still for a long time trying to imagine the pain and frustration Rex had suffered for years before finally turning and heading back toward home.

With every new step away from the river, the anger abated and the fear intensified. Instinctively, I pulled out my phone and called Amy. Before I realized what I was doing, she picked up on the third ring.