It has been so nice being with the girls tonight, but I wish Mom and Cindy could have made it, it’s not quite the same without them, although I don’t let it ruin my night.
My parent’s and sister will be arriving first thing in the morning. Willow can’t wait to see Cindy again, and I know Cindy is dying to spend time with Willow after all these years. My dad will walk me down the aisle, my mother and sister in the congregation watching proudly as I marry the man I love.
We’re getting married in a church. My mother insisted. I knew Stryker didn’t want that, but he’s doing it for me. I love him even more for it, but I was so worried it wouldn’t be the day he wanted it to be. I felt like I was forcing him to do everything my way.
I brought this up with him because I won’t keep things from Stryker, we’re better than secrets. He smiled, kissed me, and told me that he wants me to have the wedding of my dreams, but he’d like us to have our reception at the clubhouse. Of course, I didn’t mind! So, that’s what we’re doing. We’re having a massive party at the clubhouse. This whole thing is about give and take. It’s his day too, after all.
The front door suddenly swings open, each one of us is silent as my man yells my name. There’s so much urgency in his voice that it scares the hell out of me.
I jump out of my seat and rush towards him as he comes bounding into the living room. “What’s wrong?” I’m panicking, and he seems panicked also.
He looks around the room frantically. “Sorry about this, girls, I just need to speak with Coral for a moment. She’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t wait for anyone to answer, he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room and up the stairs to his old bedroom. My feet haven’t even touched the ground! He slams the door behind him, letting go of my hand at the same time. He flicks on the light, and I take a seat on the edge of his bed.
His room is nothing special, but it’s his. A double bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe, lamp, trash can, etcetera. He has a framed picture of the two of us next to his bed. It makes me smile every time I see it. Because he brought that picture here so he could look at it during the nights he spends here, which will be few and far between once we're married.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” I look up at him. He’s pacing the floor, biting the pad of his thumb thoughtfully. “I can’t marry you until you know this stuff about me.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Mark?!” I yell as I jump out of my seat. He can’t marry me? My stomach sinks to my feet, my heart is pounding with fear, and I feel like I’m about to throw up. I want to grab him and shake the hell out of him!
“Shh.” He grabs my flagging arms. “Baby, please just listen to me. I have to tell you about my past, just as you had to tell me about yours. It’s eating me up keeping it from you.”
The look of despair on his face, in his eyes, cuts me up. I cup his cheek and gently stroke my thumb over his jaw. “Okay, baby. Okay. I’m listening.”
He nods his head and pulls away from me, turns his back on me and rakes his fingers through his hair.
I sink back down on the bed as he lets out a huge breath.
“I don’t really remember much before the age of seven.” He begins, and I’m sitting here already feeling his hurt. “I suppose not many people do, but I remember little things like how my mother would yell at me, hit me.”
He rubs both hands over his face in defeat.
“She hated me, and I mean, really hated the sight of me. She told me often enough how she wished I’d never been born, couldn’t wait until the day I either left home or dropped dead. She used to beat me so badly sometimes that I prayed I would just die.
“She walked out on the old man and me when I was seven, and I never saw her again. Ken, my old man, he never should have kept me. Should have given me to someone else. God knows who because we didn’t have any other family. It was just him and me. Don’t even know if my mother had any family. If she did, I never met any of them. Ken should have cared about me, but he didn’t, he hated me as much as my mother did. Actually, he was worse.”
I can feel the tears clouding my eyes already. I know where this is going and it’s breaking my heart.
“I was nothin’ but a punching bag to him. No matter what I did, it was never good enough. I was never good enough. I had more bruises and broken bones when I was a kid than any man is ever likely to have, never mind a kid.”
I wipe a fallen tear from my cheek. I don’t want to imagine the man I love as a child being beaten and abused by his father, but it’s hard not to.
As if he knows how upset I am by this, he says, “I ain’t tellin’ you any of this to make you feel sorry for me. I don’t want your pity, Coral.” He’s not harsh in the way he says that and I totally understand why he’s saying it, but I love him, how can I not feel bad for what he went through?
“You once asked me how I got those scars on my back.”
I nod.
I did ask him, and I asked him, and I asked him because I’d felt the scars under my fingertips a few tips and because once I did see them, I couldn’t believe my eyes. His entire back is covered in scars, some so very deep and angry. I was in no way disgusted with what I saw, but I was heartbroken to think something bad had happened to him. I had thought he’d had an accident with the club, no I know I was wrong and why he told me not to ask because he wouldn’t tell me. It was because something bad happened to him as a child.
“I was fourteen, late home from school. I had detention because I’d been fightin’. I got sick of being picked on because my daddy was an alcoholic who never bought his kid new clothes, never did laundry, never even fuckin’ fed me.
“Ken was piss drunk that day and attacked me the second I walked through the door. He attacked me with an iron bar, and screamed at me, ‘You’re nothin’, boy, you’ll never be nothin’!’ When I was on the ground, he kicked the shit outta me before dragging me to the basement and chaining me to the wall.”
I clasp my hand over my mouth to stop myself from sobbing.
Oh, god, my poor baby. How the hell did he survive the hell he went through?
“He locked me down there with his dogs. Three huge pit bull’s that he fed now and again to keep ‘em aggressive.” Oh, fuck no. “They weren’t chained up; they were roaming around the basement, snarling at me, circling me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was fuckin’ terrified of those dogs. They were vicious, massive, foaming at the mouth. They were also starving because Ken hadn’t fed them for two days. He told me before he shut the door and locked it, that I shouldn’t move if I wanted to stay alive long enough to get out of there. I looked at him, and he laughed, then told his dogs to enjoy. I knew then he’d left me down there to be ripped apart by his dogs.
“They left me alone for a while. The dogs circled me, kept their eyes on me, but for the most part, they stayed on their side of the basement. For a while, at least. I don’t know, I didn’t even see it coming, but one of them went for me. I kicked out at it, but it kept coming. It’d been days down there, and I was weak, so fuckin’ weak, the dogs were starving. Yeah, Ken had been down a few days before and fed the dogs, but he didn’t feed me. He laughed while the dogs ate and I watched them. The bastard hadn’t even given me water. He just threw a bucket down there and told me to use it as a toilet. Ain’t no need for a toilet when you’re starving and dehydrated.
“Anyway, I thought the dog was gonna rip me apart. I tried to get away from him, I crawled on my hands and fuckin’ knees to get away. It tore its claws down my back like some huge fuckin’ wolf. It was agony, but I didn’t scream, no one would have helped me even if I had.”
I feel my stomach twist and roll, I have never heard anything so disgusting in all my life. His own father chained him up and left him down there so his damn dogs could tear him apart? Jesus Christ!
“I don’t remember what happened, I was dizzy, in pain, and I thought I was about to die, so I just lay there waiting for it to happen. However, there wa
s suddenly this huge growl, and the dog was ripped away from me. Literally ripped away from my body, it took half my back with it. I turned my head and the largest dog, West, a pit bull, boxer mixed with a wide stance and huge frame, he was tearing into the dog who attacked me. He saved me that day. He tore the other dog’s throat out, and the remaining dog just slunk off to the corner of the room.
“After that, West lay beside me, licking my hand as if to say, everything will be okay, don't give up, Mark. This massive, vicious dog took care of me. I lay with that dog protecting me for another two days before Ken came down and let me out. It had been almost a weak in that hell hole, the dogs only being fed twice in that time, one dog was dead, my wounds hadn’t been tended to, and I think I was going into shock because the wounds were infected. Ken took me out back, weak, filthy, starving, still in agony from the wounds that were trying to heal themselves, and he beat the shit out of me. He blamed me for the fact his favorite dog was dead.”
He laughs under his breath, and it’s an eerie laugh. I’ve never heard him laugh like that before. It’s almost maniacal. My breath is held for fear of missing anything else he says.
He turns away from me again, not that he’s once looked directly at me since he started his story. “I ain’t gonna bore you with more of the same shit, but there were a lot more days like that. These scars on my back are thick because of how long Ken left me before he tended to the wounds. Even then, his idea of cleaning them was to throw vodka over them and stitch them up himself, telling me it was what I deserved for allowing West to kill Zack. Took fucking months for me to heal because he refused to take me to a doctor. He didn’t even give a shit if I actually lived or died.