Page 10 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
“Nellie's bakin' an apple pie,” Reba says, pausing in my doorway with her red waves tucked behind one ear, wearing a white skirt that hits her at mid-calf and a green button-up that looks like she borrowed it from the school secretary.
“Weird, isn't it?” I ask as I glance out the window and see Sin, Crown, Gaz, and Cat standing in a circle on the driveway, their bikes lined up behind them like soldiers. I have no idea what they're talking about and I don't care. At least I'm sure it's not about that kiss.
That kiss.
That fucking kiss.
I dig my fingers into my hair and Reba's eyebrows go up. Way up.
She kicks the door closed behind her and moves to push the dog off the bed. He growls at her, but Reba just stares him down until he moves, slinking into the corner to curl up on his pink and purple dog pillow. It's the only thing in my room with the color pink on it.
“What are they doing here, Gidget? Where did you go last night?”
“They're either the four horsemen of the apocalypse or else Cat's got some new business venture cooking and he's afraid I'll get stabbed to death like my sisters.”
Reba cringes, and I feel this creeping wave crawl over my shoulders, like a cloak of spiders. Lifting my head up, I stare at her through a few loose strands of dark hair, curled and clinging to the front of my face.
“Sin kissed me in the kitchen today.”
Reba closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, reaching out to slap the pack of cigarettes from my hand when I reach for them. I pick it back up and slide out a smoke.
“Colton kissed you,” Reba repeats in a low whisper, using Sin's real name. She says it's not a badge of pride to wear your mistakes as a name tag. I think the name fits him like a goddamn glove. “Gidget, are you—”
“I'm not looking to repeat sophomore year,” I reply, lighting up and using my left foot to push the window up a few more inches. I leave a footprint smudge on the glass, but I almost like it there because it blurs out Sin's face a little bit. As I lean over to blow my smoke out into the orange-yellow afternoon sky, he glances up at me and our eyes meet.
I'd flip him off, but then Cat looks up and so does Gaz.
I turn away and focus on Reba instead.
Her eyes are the color of sea glass, open and inviting. I can see everything that Reba's thinking right there in that clear, sharp gaze of hers. I know what she wants, how she feels, if she's trying to fuck me over. Hint: she never is.
“What happened at the bonfire?” she says softly and I sigh.
“Nothing. Crown picked me up on an errand for Cat. He had Beast burn my clothes, Sin burn my lips, and Grainger …”
“You aren't spending any time with him, are you?” she asks, this sharp quality to her voice that makes me remember all sorts of things that I told myself I'd never think about again.
“He has the morning guard duty shift tomorrow,” I say, closing my eyes and wishing my dad hadn't decided to start caring all of a sudden, that he'd put prospects or even hang-arounds as my bodyguards instead of fucking officers.
Sometimes, when I lie in the dark and think about it, I figure maybe Cat does give a shit, that the reason he's posting his officers instead of his lackeys is because he's actually worried about me, because he doesn't want to bury another daughter. Because Queenie and Posey died horrible deaths. Horrible.
My breath comes in a quick pant and my eyes sting.
I don't cry though.
I haven't cried in years.
The last time … I won't think about that either.
“It’s an unfortunate inevitability,” I say, pausing as the matte white Indian Chieftain outside revs to life and peels out of the driveway. Goodbye and good riddance, Sin, you stupid fucker. “But Cat is pissed about the clothes and the makeup and the sneaking out … I'm grounded with my own personal biker bodyguards.”
There's a long pause before Reba kicks off her shoes and lies back on my bed.
“Please come to church with me on Sunday,” she says, but she's been asking for years and I've never gone.
“Can you imagine that?” I ask as I ash my cigarette out the window. “Dragging one of those assholes to church with me?”
Reba's nostrils flare and she breathes out a long sigh.
“So long as it's not Grainger, you can bring one with you. I just want to see you in those pews.”
I smoke my cigarette and think about it for a minute.
“As long as it isn't Grainger,” I repeat.
It's fucking goddamn Grainger.“Please don't talk to me,” I whisper as I climb out of the back of Reba's mother's van and find Grainger standing there in his sunglasses, a metropolis of memories and scalding heat, the scars on my soul burning and twinging at the sight of him. “Just don't.”
