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ONE
Cilla choked on a sob. Blinking back burning tears, she curled into herself as much as possible, pulling her legs up to her chest as best as she could while sitting on a toilet. She wanted to make herself smaller…completely invisible. In truth, she wanted to get sucked down into the toilet she was trapped on, and never come out alive.
No matter how much she wished to disappear, it didn’t happen, and she was stuck in the bathroom stall…listening.
It was her fourth clubhouse party, and the first she’d attended alone, because the friend she usually attended with had come earlier and had left early. But Cilla hadn’t minded, because he was going to be there, and she’d planned to spend the whole night with him. She’d been happy, grinning, confident about herself for the first time in her life, excited about how the night was going…and how it could go, when she’d excused herself from the small group of partiers, and headed down the hallway and into the bathroom. She’d had to pee like crazy. And, almost like right out of a romantic comedy movie, the mean girls showed up the moment her proverbial pants were down.
And they just kept talking.
Laughing.
Eviscerating.
“…oh my God, have you seen her? She looks like a fucking clown dressed up like an even uglier clown.”
“Yes! Oh my God. And did you see the way she practically threw herself at Patriot when he got here? It was so fucking embarrassing?—”
“For her. But I felt sorry for him, too! Can you imagine having to fake a smile in front of everyone when he really wanted to push her away and tell her to fuck off?”
Laughter filled the small bathroom, bouncing off the subway tile walls and the porcelain toilets in the stalls. For a bathroom in an MC clubhouse, it was surprisingly clean and well-maintained, then again, her friend Stephie explained that the clubwhores were required to make sure everything stayed clean.
So, most of the clubhouse was clean.
Like the stall she was trapped in…listening to them tear her to shreds, piece by piece.
“You know who I feel sorry for?” Kiki purred, the sound like a hyena licking its jaws.
“Jaime.” The other three women answered in unison, like a chorus of bitches. A Slut Trio—plus one. Like the Three Musketeers. Three Slutketeers? Sasha, Tasha, Marci, and Kiki. All bitches, all proud sluts—their words not hers, and all close friends with Jaime, who seemed to be a ringleader among all the women in the club.
Jaime? She was one of the club princesses. Her brother, Stallion, was a nomad who popped in every few months to check on her and the club. Jaime, as the sister of a patched member, was given protection and special privileges within the club. Like the other women who belonged to club members, Jaime came around a lot, but she wasn’t officially “attached” to a club brother. However, Cilla wasn’t blind, she knew Jaime and Patriot were close because Patriot was best friends with her brother, and Jaime took every opportunity to snag and hold Patriot’s attention. And from the times she’d seen them stumble upstairs together, she assumed they had hooked up at a few of the club parties in the last six months Cilla had been coming around, and Cilla was sure they hooked up long before she’d met him.
Patriot.
And those nights where Cilla watched Patriot and Jaime go upstairs together, she went home and fell into bed alone…and aching.
She ached for a man…who she once dreamed could be hers.
Kiki added, “Yeah, Jaime’s a bitch at the best of times, but at least she isn’t a dog in heat like Cilla—that ugly bitch has no fucking class?—”
God…she was such a stupid idiot.
“Yeah, Jaime’s a bitch sometimes, but she has the right to be, yeah know. She and Patriot have been on and off again so many times, she’s getting tired of it. She wants him to claim her, but he’s not ready. Some sort of promise he made to Stallion years back,” Marci supplied.
Tasha, Sasha’s twin sister and constant shadow, supplied, “I heard that Patriot is ready but he’s waiting for Stallion to come back in a few weeks before he can claim her. Wants her brother here for the claiming party.”
Patriot and Jaime? Apparently, there was more between them than Cilla knew…and if Tasha was right, he was going to claim Jaime. She’d be his ol’ lady, and Cilla would just be the chubby dumbass who thought she was even in his league.
She swiped at the tears burning down her cheeks.
Another voice sounded, this one she recognized as Sasha, the girlfriend to club brother Tornado—who spent a lot of time with the club whores…because she’d been one five years ago. She’d targeted Tornado, wore him down, and eventually got him to offer her exclusivity. There was talk of Sasha becoming his ol’ lady, but Tornado didn’t seem in that much of a hurry to claim her.
Not that Cilla blamed him.
Marci, a hanger-on and not officially a club woman, added, “Yeah, and Cilla is so fucking blind, too.”
Blind? About what?
“Did you see the way Patriot looked at her as she was walking toward him?”
