She sighed.
“I can understand that,” she replied. “You didn’t exactly get a good intro. I know it probably doesn’t seem this way, but they’re actually really good guys. It’s not like this shit happens all the time.”
The car swayed, and Dancer crashed into us.
“You are boring!” she yelled in our faces. “We’re having a good time here. If you don’t sing me something good at the bar, I’m making you ride with Painter.”
Um, no. I would rather have my eyes poked out than do karaoke.
I didn’t say that, though. I just smiled politely and decided this was a sign—I’d call a cab after Marie sang her song. I had to be up in six hours, so that was probably for the best anyway. At least I didn’t have to worry about Noah—Elle had taken him, offering to keep him overnight and get him ready for school the next day. That was a huge help.
“Oh my God!” Maggs squealed suddenly. We all froze. “We haven’t done presents yet!”
“Presents!” Marie yelled, clapping her hands. “I love presents!”
Maggs lurched down to the front of the limo and pulled back a big basket full of unopened packages and envelopes. She grabbed one at random, throwing it to Marie.
“Who’s it from?” Darcy asked. Marie tried to focus on the writing, then shook her head.
“Can’t tell,” she said. “They have really, really messy handwriting.”
“Here,” I said. “Let me look.”
She handed it over.
“The tag was printed off a computer,” I said, snorting. “It’s not even a fancy script or something. You’re too drunk to read. Oh, and it’s from Cookie.”
Marie pouted.
“It’s not my fault you guys bought all those shots,” she said. “It’s not like I could let them go to waste! That’s just wrong.”
Darcy nodded sagely.
“She’s right—if you throw away booze at your bachelorette party, the marriage is doomed.”
“You say that about everything,” I accused. “The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t order the steak and the shrimp. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t dance with at least ten guys. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t tell us how big Horse’s dick really is. How can all of that be true?”
“I know these things,” she declared. “Am I right, ladies?”
“Hell yes,” Dancer chimed in. “Darcy knows her shit. If she says the marriage is doomed if Marie doesn’t drink enough, it’s time to start pouring shots down her throat!”
“Right now it’s time to open presents!” Maggs yelled. “Ladies, we need to focus. The marriage is doomed if she doesn’t get these open before we hit the karaoke bar!”
“Shit,” Marie said, her eyes opening wide in panic. She ripped into the bag, peeked down inside, and started giggling madly. Then she pulled out a giant double-headed jelly dildo in swirling colors.
“Oh, Cookie,” she said, sighing. “It’s beautiful! How did you know?”
We all burst out laughing, and Maggs grabbed another present. This one was from Darcy, and I shit you not, it was a giant, strap-on cock.
“That’s so you can put Horse in his place,” she told Marie. “That man’s ego needs controlling, and that’s a great tool to do it with.”
“I love it,” Marie whispered. “Oh, I cannot wait to try this.”
“You think he’d actually let you use it on him?” I asked. She started giggling.
“I think just the sight of it will make his head explode,” she said. “It’s all about creating the right kind of romantic mood, you know?”
Em got her a beautifully illustrated Kama Sutra, Dancer got her a thong that said “Support Your Local Reapers MC” on it (along with a little Reaper’s skull), I got her sensual massage oils, and Kimber got her some sort of electronic thing that we all just looked at, trying to figure out what the hell it was.
“Read the instructions,” Kimber said. “Trust me, you turn this baby on, you’re gonna love it.”
Marie tilted it, obviously confused, and I tried to figure out where it would even fit on a person’s body.
I really, really wanted a look at those directions, but when we looked for them, nobody could find them in the piles of tissue paper cluttering the limo.
We pulled up to the karaoke bar right as she finished. It was quarter to one, which gave us about an hour before last call. Because the marriage would be doomed if she didn’t have more shots, Marie had more shots. Then she got up and sang her Def Leppard song and we all joined her for the chorus.
Maggs took over the mike to sing “White Wedding,” and then Marie realized the marriage was definitely doomed if she didn’t text Horse a picture of her modeling her new panties, so we all tripped back out to the limo.
That’s when I decided to call it a night—it was my understanding that when the bar closed, they’d all be heading back to the Armory to join up with the guys. The girls didn’t want me to leave, but seeing Ruger wasn’t exactly one of my goals for the evening. Ten minutes later the cab pulled up and I gave him my address. I guess I’d had more to drink than I realized, because the next thing I knew, we’d pulled into Elle’s driveway.
“Wake up,” the driver said. “This where I drop you?”
I looked around, trying to clear my head. I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t totally sober, either.
“Um, yeah,” I said. “Just pull around the house, okay?”
He did, and I fumbled in my purse for money. I gave it to him and stepped out, digging for the keys. I’d forgotten to turn on the outside light, which didn’t help. Or maybe it was just burned out … I usually left it on all the time.
The driver must’ve been a nice guy, because he waited until I got the front door open before he pulled away. Too bad he hadn’t waited a minute longer—when I flipped on the light I nearly had a heart attack.
Zach sat in the center of the couch.
“About time you got back,” he said pleasantly, arms crossed over his chest. “Let me guess, you’re drunk? Some mother you’ve turned out to be, Sophie. You’re nothing but a fucking slut, you know that?”
Seeing him hit me like a physical blow.
I mean that—if someone had punched me in the stomach, it couldn’t have hurt worse. I couldn’t breathe, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. That’s the thing that nobody tells you as a girl, when they warn you about guys like Zach. You hear about women getting “abused,” but that’s such a sterile word for what Zach did to me. He didn’t “abuse” me. He hurt me, owned me, trained me …
Broke me.
It’s like hitting a dog with a rolled-up newspaper. You do it enough times, the dog will cringe whenever it sees the roll. Obedience becomes instinct, and in that second I felt it all come back to me.
Zach’s bitch. That’s all I was.
“You can’t be here,” I said feebly, wondering how just seeing him could make me feel so weak. “The restraining order says you can’t be here. You’re supposed to be hundreds of miles away. How did you get in?”
“I picked the lock, you stupid cunt,” he replied. “Ruger taught me when we were kids. That and how to hotwire a car. Only fuckin’ thing he ever did for me …”
He stood and walked over to me, a nasty gleam in his eye. He’d gotten bigger, I realized. Not taller, of course, and not fat, either. Zach must’ve started lifting weights, because those were some serious muscles. Steroid-sized muscles. He flexed them as he walked toward me, grinning as he read the fear in my face. He’d always had little-man syndrome.
My brain screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn’t obey. I was strong during the kidnapping. I’d run from Skid, but then I turned around and fought him.
Why didn’t I do that now?
I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move.
Instead I just watched Zach, terrified, as he came up and cupped my face in his hands, fingers holding me just a little too tight.
“You’re looking good,” he said, licking his lips. He leaned forward and kissed me. Not a nice kiss—no, this one was meant to punish. I locked my jaw and kept my lips closed until he reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling it back sharply. “Open your fucking mouth, bitch.”