Melancholy

“She’s waking.”

A hazy form appears in front of me, I can’t make him out. He’s big, though, his presence strong and dominating.

“Can you hear me?”

I blink again and my vision begins to clear. There’s a big man in front of me, his long hair falling down over his shoulders. He’s got blue eyes, really, really blue. He’s handsome, incredibly handsome, with a big strong jaw, full lips, and olive skin. He reaches up and pushes the hair out of my eyes that I didn’t even know was there.

“W-w-w-w-where am I?” I croak.

“What’s your name, honey?”

I stare at him, a little confused. “I . . . it’s Santana.”

“Santana,” he says, testing it on his tongue. “My name is Maddox. I found you convulsing in an alley three days ago. You were high as a kite, nearly dead. Do you know what happened?”

An alley?

My foggy brain tries to piece together what happened. When it does, I bolt upright, crying out in pain as my head pounds. I’m attached to a makeshift drip, which worries me. Why aren’t I in a hospital?

“Where’s Pippa? Where is she?” I cry.

The man, Maddox, shakes his head. “I don’t know who that is. You were alone until those men showed up and . . .”

“Kennedy?” I cry. “Did he come?”

He shakes his head. “No one named Kennedy, but whoever those fuckers were, they were bad news. They were going to snatch you up, take the drugs and leave. We dealt with them.”

Cold fear travels through my body as I stare at the stranger in front of me. “W-w-w-w-who are you?”

“I’m the President of the Joker’s Wrath Motorcycle Club. You don’t need to fear for your life, darlin’. Those fuckers won’t hurt you now.”

“But my sister,” I cry. “Kennedy!”

“Kennedy sent you out with those drugs to do his fuckin’ dirty work?” The biker barks.

“No,” I stop. “Yes.”

“Bastard. You tell me where he lives, and I’ll find your sister.”

“Y-y-y-y-you will?”

“Yeah, but don’t ask me to take you back to that piece of shit.” He leans down close, frightening me. “No one gives an underage girl so many drugs it nearly kills her, and then sends her packing to risk her life for him.”

“He didn’t give them to me,” I whisper the words, low and soft. “I stole them from the package.”

“You’re an addict.”

It’s not a question.

I nod anyway.

“You got family, girl?”

I shake my head. “They died. My sister and I were in foster homes until Kennedy took us in.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to get your sister, and then you can stay here as long as you need.”

I stare at him. He holds it. There’s something very real about this man. He tilts his head to the side, daring me to argue with him. He’s also incredibly dominant.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Sleep, Santana,” he says, turning to leave. “You’ve got a long road ahead, judging by those marks in your arm. It ain’t goin’ to be easy, but we’re goin’ to get you there.”

~*~*~*~

2014 – Santana

Chaos has broken out.

One of the old ladies just found out her man fucked one of the club whores. Fists started swinging. Shit hit the fan. I tried to stay out of it, I really did, until Cacey started mouthing off about YaYa, the old lady who just found out her biker is a prick. I swung the first punch. I won’t lie. Then everything just got out of hand.

Cacey hit me.

I hit her back.

Suddenly the focus is on us and we’re rolling around on the floor. She’s gotten two clean punches in, I’ve gotten three. Now her hands are in my hair and she’s tugging, snarling curses at me. I spit them right back, furious. A heavy arm curls around my waist and hauls me backwards, but I use that to my advantage.

My legs swing out, and I connect with Cacey’s mouth. A loud crack echoes through the room, and then her screams fill the now silent space.

“Enough,” Maddox barks, and I realize it’s him who is holding me back.

“You stupid bitch,” I snarl at Cacey. “Get your cheap ass outta here.”

“Quit swingin’ your legs around like a mad woman and stop, fuckin’ now,” Maddox barks, shaking me a little.

His words are like a whip, and my legs drop quickly.

Someone gathers Cacey up and removes her, and I am swung around, still in Maddox’s arms, and carried off down the hall. He takes me to the bathroom, his strides angry. He drops me on the sink when we get in, but he won’t look at me. Something is wrong.

“Maddox?”

Nothing.

He just soaks a clean cloth and begins wiping my face, his eyes on my wounds and nothing else.

“Maddox?” I try again. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he says, but his voice is acidic.

“Oh, well, can I come home with you tonight?”

“No.”

It hits me then, like iced water to my skin. He regrets what happened. Tears spring to my eyes as I realize what a fool I was. I gave him what he wanted, what he’s wanted for years, and he’s obviously figured out it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Maybe he had bigger expectations. Maybe I’m just not good enough.

“Okay, well,” I croak. “I’ll find Mack.”