Unbeautifully

CHAPTER TWO

Three years earlier…

Prom night. The culmination of thirteen years of school was ending with prom night.

All my preparing and primping, driving four towns over with Kami just to find the perfect pink dress and matching shoes, two hours at the salon getting my hair, nails, and makeup done and…

It all seemed so…anticlimactic.

But maybe that’s because I was on the outside looking in.

Because I could no longer relate to the laughing, dancing, happy people inside the gymnasium.

Whereas everything inside this building, my high school, had once seemed so important, my grades, my friends, homecoming, dance committees, cheerleading, and prom…had once been my entire world, they weren’t anymore. Hadn’t been since…

“He made me watch him rape her!” my father roared. “Do you fuckin’ get that? I was chained to a fuckin’ radiator, watchin’ my woman gettin’ slammed by a fuckin’ psychopath, and I couldn’t do shit about it!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth through the ugly memory.

“How’d they take him down?” Tap asked.

“They didn’t,” the FBI agent said. “The woman did. Nearly severed his head clean off with a dagger. She came walking out of the room holding it, half naked and covered in blood.”

“She’s okay, Prez,” Mick said. “She’s alive.”

“She’s alive,” my father replied. “But I can tell you right fuckin’ now, she sure as shit ain’t okay.”

My father had been right; his woman wasn’t okay. Eva had seemed okay at first, she was quieter, she cried a lot, then they’d left for New York to bury Frankie. After that, she stopped talking altogether, stopped eating, showering. She spent most of her time in bed, catatonic, staring at nothing. My father wasn’t any better. Most days, he would sit on the floor next to the bed, his head in his hands, not talking, not doing much of anything aside from occasionally pacing the room, during which he did a lot of redecorating the walls with his fists.

Cage and I tried to keep the house running on our own, for Ivy’s sake. Not yet two years old, she didn’t understand what was happening, why Mommy wouldn’t get out of bed, why Daddy wasn’t playing with her.

And it only got worse.

Cage couldn’t do everything all of the time. My brother had jobs to do, runs to make, and there were times when he had to be at the club, if only to make sure things were running smoothly in our father’s absence. I was forced to drop out of all my extracurricular activities; my gymnastics instructor, after weeks of missing practice, took me off the roster. By spring, I’d missed so much school that my grades were suffering, which led to me getting kicked off the cheerleading team. I was lucky to be graduating, and ended up resenting my innocent little sister because of it.

I hadn’t even had the advantage of leaning on my real mother. When I was eight, she’d left us, moved to Forsyth, a forty-minute drive from Miles City, but where Cage and I were concerned, she might as well have been in another country. She worked ten-hour shifts waitressing at a diner, after which she spent her nights drinking with whatever skeezy boyfriend she had at the time. She called infrequently and rarely kept dates to see us.

And now…

Eva was out of bed. She was eating, showering, once again taking care of herself and her daughter.

My father was back on his bike, back at the club, doing what needed to be done.

But things weren’t the same. When they were home together or at the club, their relationship seemed strained. They never did anything together anymore, they rarely spoke to each other unless it concerned Ivy, and eventually my father reverted to his old behavior. Not coming home for days at a time, and even when he did, he was still sleeping almost every night at the club. And Eva, she didn’t seem to care what he did. She spent most of her time with Kami and Devin, and her trips home to her family in New York City became more and more frequent.

Cage had easily reverted to his old idiotic self—joking, drinking, and womanizing. He was always either at the club or out on a run. And me…

Because of my grades, Montana State University was no longer an option for me, not until I completed two years at Miles Community College. Which outright sucked.

My two closest friends, Anabeth and Ellie, were going to MSU. The three of us had planned for years to go off to college together, to room together since we always did everything together. Until my family fell apart and I’d been forced to take on responsibilities that took me away from my life.

A life I didn’t have anymore.

I scanned the gymnasium, decorated to the theme of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The floor was littered with giant, multicolored, papier-mâché trees covered in tinsel; silver stars and moons hung from a ceiling covered corner to corner with pastel-colored balloons. It was beautiful; it was everything I’d wanted it to be when I’d still been on the planning committee. And instead of enjoying it, I was standing in the hallway watching my date bump and grind the school slut to Sir Mix-a-Lot’s “Baby’s Got Back.”

Even worse, I didn’t care.

“Danny?”

Finally. I’d called the club over an hour ago asking for a ride.

I glanced back over my shoulder and found Ripper, as usual, in head-to-toe leather. Leather pants, leather boots, a tight Metallica T-shirt, and his leather Horsemen cut. His long blond hair was pulled back in a man bun, he had a toothpick between his teeth, and a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his missing eye.

“What the fuck are you doin’ out here instead of in there with all your…” He trailed off as he surveyed the gym. “…with all those stupid-looking fucks,” he finished, making a disgusted face. “Never mind. I know exactly why you don’t wanna be here.”

“You didn’t go to your prom?” I asked.

“Naw. Split Cali at seventeen. Didn’t even finish high school.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I sighed, turning my back on what was supposed to be my last happy memory of high school. “Let’s go.”

“Danny girl,” Ripper said quietly, not having moved an inch. “Girl’s gotta dance at her prom. And you lookin’ the way you’re lookin’, at least one dance, baby.” He held out his hand. “End of an era, ya know.”

I looked up at his beautiful, ruined face, wondering how he did it. How he managed to keep going after what Frankie had done to him. Frankie hadn’t done anything to me, not outright anyway. I’d gotten the backlash of Frankie; his actions had caused a domino effect in which I’d been the last to fall down, with everyone else piled on top of me. I wasn’t so sure I’d gotten back up yet.

I wasn’t so sure any of us had.

“Okay,” I said, shrugging. “But I don’t really see the point.”

Ripper walked me out on the dance floor during the beginning of Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You.”

“Terrible fuckin’ music,” he muttered, pulling me up against his chest and holding tight to my waist. My four-inch heels allowed me enough extra height to put my arms around his neck and rest my cheek against his worn leather cut.

From across the room, I could see both Anabeth and Ellie gaping at me.

Whatever. I closed my eyes. I didn’t care what they thought. I didn’t care what anyone thought anymore.

And…this really wasn’t so bad. We weren’t actually dancing, just swaying slightly. Ripper felt tense and I got the feeling he had never danced before, but it was nice and I felt myself start to relax for the first time since everything had fallen apart.

God, how long had it been since someone had held me? Touched me? I couldn’t even remember the last time someone hugged me. It felt so good, so comforting to be in Ripper’s arms, holding tight to his neck, pressed up against his broad, muscular chest. I gripped him tighter, seeking a connection I didn’t realize I was looking for until I felt his hands squeeze around my waist. The tension in his body began to ease and, instead of holding my waist, his hands slid up my back. I let out a shuddering breath and sank even deeper against him.

“Danny,” Ripper whispered in my ear. “Three songs gone by and there’s some old fuckin’ bitch makin’ statutory rape faces at me.”

I jerked my head up and found my principal glaring at Ripper. Sighing, I pulled away from him and was nearly trampled by my friends.

“Hi, Ripper,” Anabeth cooed, smiling sweetly at him. Beside her, Ellie folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. The two of them couldn’t be any more different. Ellie was a blue-eyed, raven-haired, curvaceous beauty with mixed Caucasian/African-American heritage, who was more concerned about grades than anything else and forever had her nose in a book, whereas Anabeth was concerned with boys, clothes, and parties. I was somewhere in between the two of them, not exactly sure what category I fit into.

“Yo,” Ripper said, lifting his chin at Anabeth.

“You can dance with me too,” she continued.

“Slut,” Ellie muttered.

“Prude,” Anabeth shot back.

“Good-bye,” I told both of them, grabbing Ripper’s arm. “Call you tomorrow.”

“Wanna go for a ride ’fore we head home?” he asked, holding the door open for me. “I gotta make a drop-off.”

“I don’t actually want to go home,” I said, glancing up at the stars. The thought of spending my prom night at home, in all probability all alone, was more than depressing. It was unacceptable.

Ripper straddled his bike and tossed me his helmet. “The club?”

I shook my head. Tonight was Saturday, and Saturdays at the club were a booze and woman free-for-all. The boys would be sloshed, neck-deep in cleavage, and in all likelihood, Freebird would be dancing on a pool table. Naked. Not my idea of a good time.

Ripper shook a cigarette out of his pack and pulled it out with his teeth. He lit it and took a long drag. “Throw me a bone, yeah?” he said as smoke poured from his nostrils. “I ain’t a mind reader.”

Hitching my dress up, I climbed on behind him and tucked the extra material between my legs before wrapping my arms around his waist. “Surprise me,” I said. “I’m up for anything.”

He laughed. “Anything? You got it.”

• • •

The drop-off was a straight shooter. The biannual fifty G’s to the Miles City chief of police to keep the local law off their backs, and he was good to go.

Surprise her, huh? What the fuck was he supposed to surprise her with? Miles City was a whole lot of nothing. Perfect place to run a motorcycle club that was involved in a whole lot of illegal shit; not so perfect place if you were a teenage girl looking to have a good time.

Flipping through his options, Ripper decided on Riverside Park; one, because Yellowstone River ran through it, and two, because it was always deserted after dark.

He pulled off near a cluster of trees and they walked side by side toward the river. Danny, who’d already kicked off her shoes, found a decent-sized rock to sit on, allowing her to run her feet through the rushing water. He pulled up on a patch of grass beside her and leaned back on his elbows. Now what?

He glanced at Danny. Hunched over, she stared sadly at the water below her. He felt for her; he knew shit wasn’t good at home because shit wasn’t good at the club either. Deuce was lately either a raging psychopath who preferred punching over talking, or he was brooding silently with a bottle. And everyone knew why.

Eva motherfucking Fox.

He hated Eva. He straight up hated her. Not just because she’d been married to the asshole who’d sliced up his face and body, and every time he looked at her all he could see was Frankie. Not just because when they’d finally found Frankie, it was because of Eva that they couldn’t kill him. Not just because Frankie had killed a whole shitload of people trying to get to Eva, putting the entire club and everyone in it in danger.

No, he hated Eva for all of it. As far as he was concerned, Eva getting raped and kidnapped, being forced to kill Frankie, it had been what she’d deserved for being such a fucking moron. But he kept his feelings to himself. Had for years.

Both Deuce and Cox had fallen hard for those two New York bitches, and while they were both smoking hot, he just didn’t understand the concept of being head-over-heels crazy for a woman. Not when you could just replace one bitch with another when she pissed you the fuck off, and be done with all the drama and bullshit. And Eva Fox had come with a whole lot of bullshit. Bullshit and baggage, and a fucking sick and twisted serial killer for a husband.

Everything bad in all their lives came back to that bitch. Why Deuce hadn’t dumped her a long time ago, he’d never understand. So they had a kid together. Who fucking cared? The guy had two kids with that cunt Christine and he’d tossed her to the curb. Hopefully he’d be doing the same with Eva. As it was they weren’t speaking, weren’t spending any time together. Eva rarely came to the club anymore and Deuce was always there.

One could only hope.

Pulling his flask from the inside of his cut, he took a long swallow.

“Can I have some?”

He cut his eyes her way and grinned.

“Baby, your old man would kill me.”

“Doubt it,” she muttered. “He doesn’t seem to care about anything lately.”

…annnnnnd, that was just another reason to hate Eva.

What the hell? It was her prom night and she was spending it on a rock with a Freddy Krueger look-alike. She deserved a little pick-me-up. He handed her the flask and pulled out a fresh roll for himself.

“You think my dad and Eva will work it out?” she asked.

He shrugged. He hoped to god not. But Danny liked Eva. Fuck, everyone liked Eva. Everyone except him.

“You never know,” he muttered.

She sighed and took another swallow of tequila, following it with a slight cough and a grimace. Way to go, Danny.

“They love each other though…right?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

He snorted. “Loved my parents. Love ridin’. Love the club. Ain’t never loved a woman though. Not enough to be puttin’ up with the shit your old man puts up with from Eva.” He shrugged and took another hit. “Ain’t no woman worth a damn is gonna love a face like this anyway,” he said, his voice wheezy as he held the smoke in for a beat before blowing it out.

He felt Danny’s hand on his and realized she’d climbed off the rock and was sitting next to him.

“Ripper,” she said softly. “There isn’t anything wrong with the way you look.”

“Yeah,” he said sarcastically, pulling away. “I’m a fuckin’ supermodel.”

“Ripper, you’re still beautiful,” she continued. “So you’ve got some scars. So what?”

He stared at her; her sweetheart features, her big blue eyes, her cute little nose, and those wide pink lips. What the fuck had she just said to him? He was beautiful? Ha-ha. No, he wasn’t. She was beautiful, and seeing as she thought he was beautiful, she was apparently dumb as shit too.

“Baby,” he said. “Listen to me. I ain’t beautiful, you are. You’re so damn beautiful you got it spillin’ out all over the place, blindin’ you into thinkin’ I’m beautiful when I ain’t. Farthest thing from it.”

Her lips parted and her eyes went wide and his world stopped. It just fucking stopped. Crashed into a brick wall and went utterly still.

He knew that look. He’d seen it a hundred times on a hundred different women. Women he’d been trying to talk his way into fucking and had finally found the bullshit line that had broken through. But seeing that same look on Danny… Danny.

“Thank you,” she whispered and for a moment they just stared at each other.

“Here,” he muttered, handing her his roll. “Enough talking.”

Because, shit, Danny wasn’t pussy he should be scoping. Danny was Deuce’s daughter. A bullet to the head.

Before he could stop her, she took a long drag and he ended up pounding on her back as she choked through her exhale.

“Shorter drags,” he said, taking his roll back. “Like this.”

An hour later he was higher than a motherfucker and Danny was…

“I wanna go swimming.” Danny giggled, trying to stand up.

He shook his head, laughing. “Swimming drunk is never a good…”

He trailed off; one, because Danny was taking her clothes off, and two, because Danny was taking her clothes off.

He stared.

And he just kept on staring.

Stared at nothing but miles of smooth, suntanned skin and sleek, toned muscles and her tits… Jesus, he was certain he had never seen a pair of more perfect tits. Handfuls of high and tight flesh topped with quarter-sized brown nipples.

She was blonde. Everywhere.

His brain slid straight to his cock.

Wait, she was saying something…

“What?” he asked, refocusing on her face.

“I said,” she slurred, “let’s go swimming!” She bent over, her breasts now mere inches from his face, and held out her hand to him.

Suddenly, his half-baked brain cells in collaboration with his cock decided that, yeah, swimming was a great idea.

“Rock and fuckin’ roll,” he muttered, grabbing her hand.