The Broken Pieces of Us(8)

By: M.N. Forgy

The house phone rings, making me jump.

“Shit,” I mumble under my breath and answer the phone.

“Aunt Delilah, this is Scarlett.”

“Hey, baby, when did you get out?” I ask, gripping the receiver tighter. To hear my flesh and blood makes me smile.

“A few days ago. My mom is gone. I went to the house and it’s empty,” she cries into the phone.

“What do you mean gone?” I question, curious where the hell my sister has gone.

“I mean she is gone. My things are just thrown out into the lawn and the house is empty. Do you know where she is?”

“I don’t. I’ll come get you. Stay there,” I reply, hanging up. Fucking Ruby, what the hell is she thinking and where the hell is she? I dial her number, my fingers punching the buttons with anger.

“I’m sorry, but this number is no longer in service,” sounds through the phone.

“What the hell?” I shout, slamming the phone down on the counter.

I grab my purse and keys and head for my truck when the front door is slammed open, ricocheting off the wall.

“Going somewhere?” Locks asks maliciously, his eyes squinted at the corners and his strides casual and collected as he moves forward. His tattoos shadow his arms as he walks through the dim lighting of the house, his leather cut topping off the level of danger pouring off him.

I point at him, backing up into the kitchen slowly.

“Don’t you fucking come near me, you piece of shit!” I scream at him.

“Oh, come here. I’m sorry about earlier, babe,” he says, his voice deep and eerie. “Now, let’s just put that behind us and go make up. What’d ya say?” He leans his head to the side and smiles. This banter between us, where he is an ass and then comes back to me acting like prince charming, it’s just a game. A game I’m tired of losing.

“What’s wrong, your whore busy with someone else tonight?” I question, my voice hateful.

“Now I’m trying to be nice. Don’t piss me off,” he threatens.

“Fuck you. I might be stuck with your old ass, but I’m going to make it fucking hell every step of the way, buddy,” I laugh, more out of fear than anything.

He grabs me by the throat, his face turning red with anger.

“I own you, and you will do what I say. I am the fucking vice president and you’re mine,” he snarls in my face, his words forced out and not making any sense. He squeezes my throat tighter, making it nearly impossible to breathe. My heart thumps against my chest in fear as I realize he is not going to let go, scared he is going to kill me in the kitchen. My eyes start spotting with little black dots, my hand scratching at his to let go of my neck when my nail clips his wedding ring.

“Will you marry me, Delilah?” Locks’ asked on one knee, the entire club cheering and yelling in the background. It was just like any other family night at the club. I cooked and served with the ol’ ladies, and the men drank and hollered. To find Locks’ on one knee was a surprise I surely didn’t expect.

I gasped, looking down at the tiny little rock in the blue box Locks held.

“You gonna answer me?” Locks asked, his voice shaking nervously.

“Yes!” I screamed, happy to have finally found the one.

I trip over my own foot, knocking me from memory lane. The grip of Locks’ hand on my throat tightening from my weight as the footing is kicked out from under me. My hand flings to grab onto something when it lands on the frying pan sitting on the stove. I grip the handle tightly and thrash it against Locks’ head with every ounce of muscle I have. He falls to the floor, causing me to fall with him. The pan clattering to the floor, I gasp and choke on the cool air entering my lungs.

I look down at Locks, noticing the red seeping through his blond hair on his head from where I hit him. I look at Locks, really look at him, and realize I am not in love with him today, or yesterday for that matter, but the Locks from a couple years ago. When did it stop? It's like it slipped away so slowly neither of us noticed it. At first it was just little things that stopped, like taking me for rides on the motorcycle or walks around the block, and wrestling in bed on Saturday mornings. Eventually, he didn't even say goodbye, much less give a goodbye kiss when he was heading out. I would turn around and he would be gone. Life sped up and there wasn’t time for that kind of stuff anymore. But I can’t look over the cheating and the abuse. Maybe Locks’ behavior comes from his father, Baruskey. Locks told me his father snapped one day, nearly beating his mother to death, then went to the local donut shop early in the morning, walked out, and shot at a couple cops, crippling one. All for no reason at all. Some say Baruskey was trying to commit suicide, that there was no other explanation. The judge didn’t grant the fucker such luck though. He’s serving life in prison. Locks’ mother wants nothing to do with either of them. After Locks was patched into the club, his mother was afraid Locks was walking the same footsteps as his father. Maybe he is, maybe it’s in his DNA to snap the way he is.

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