Page 15

My fingers curl around the lip of the sink as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

The bruises have slowly faded over the last few days.

My eyes are still a vicious shade of black and purple, but the swelling has gone down enough that my vision is clearer.

Burst blood vessels have left behind pockets of bright red on the whites of my eyes.

The cut on my lip has scabbed over, but the puffiness has gone down, making it easier to talk.

I look exactly like what I am . . .

A domestic violence survivor.

The eyes of the woman in the mirror hold a wealth of pain and sadness. They reflect the weight of the betrayal I’ve faced over the last seven years. Shattered fragments of the woman I used to be before agony became a companion, before love turned to ash and affection turned to malicious hate.

I search my reflection, trying to find just a hint of the woman I used to be.

I can’t remember the last time I saw her.

Probably before Pope broke my heart. Being with Frankie brought out a different version of myself.

Someone not as lively, not as fiery. Pope didn’t just break my heart—his betrayal muted a pivotal part of my personality.

The first time Frankie hit me more than once, the fighter in me that had disappeared when Pope betrayed me made her appearance. It was the first and one of the few times I fought back against his abuse.

My mind yanks me back there unwillingly.

Thick fingers dig into my hair from behind, tightening until stabs of pain cause me to scream out.

“I asked one thing of you,” Frankie screams, dragging me behind him. “To be presentable. Always be presentable, Eleanora.”

Frankie kicks open the bedroom door, and adrenaline rushes through me.

Terrified of what’s coming, I lift my hands to latch onto the one he has tangled in my hair. I claw at his hand, wrist, and arm while begging him to let me go. He ignores my pleas as he continues to rage.

“Why can’t you ever just do what I fucking tell you? Always wear your makeup. Always wear your hair up. Always wear proper fucking clothes. You represent me when I have clients over. You don’t understand yet, but you will.”

The sinister chill in his voice scares me more than anything he’s done to me so far. It warns me of unspeakable acts coming my way.

When he slams me into the wall, it loosens his hold on me.

Instead of curling into a ball like I want to, I lash out with my feet.

They land against his dick hard enough that he drops to his knees with an anguished howl.

I don’t waste any time scrambling to my feet.

Except, he doesn’t stay down as long as I expect him to.

I hurry through the hallway and down the stairs as his bellows chase me.

My phone is on the counter in the kitchen. I just need to make it there to call for help. The police around here won’t do anything. I’d learned that quickly after the first time Frankie hit me.

There’s only one person who will help me.

If I can get in touch with my brother, I know he’ll come.

But I was wrong to think I would ever get the chance.

As soon as I skid into the kitchen, Frankie tackles me from behind. My forehead catches the corner of the counter in the middle of the kitchen, splitting my skin open. Blood pours from the cut, down my face and onto the floor, causing my hands to slide through it when I try to catch myself.

An angry scream tears from my chest, and I slam my fist into the mirror. The broken pieces distort my reflection as they fall into the basin. Blood rains down from my clenched hand, creating a familiar image that pulls me into the past again.

Frankie grabs another handful of my hair and slams my face into the tile floor before lifting me to my feet.

“You always make me hurt you! Why can’t you just listen?

Why? I love you so much, but you choose to defy me at every turn, Eleanora.

It’s why you’re no longer allowed to see your sister by yourself.

She’s no good for you. A bad influence. You’re mine.

I take care of you. I protect you. I wish you understood that I’m only doing this for you,” he raves as he grabs a knife from the butcher block.

I freeze with a whimper when he caresses my cheek with the blade. “Please, Frankie. I’m sorry. I’ll listen. You’re right, baby. I should have understood.”

“You were mine until he came back. All mine. But then he had to show up. He doesn’t get you. No. No.”

He runs the blade down the middle of my shirt and slices it open, cutting my skin in the process. My bra is next. Then he places shallow cuts over my torso as I cry, seemingly mesmerized by the blood that leaks from each one.

I try to move, try to get out of his hold, but each time I do, it only makes it worse.

When he’s not using the knife, his fist lands against me until I’m pliant enough that he finally gets my pants and underwear off me.

“You must always be presentable, Eleanora. If not, I’ll have to teach you all over again by putting you in the correct clothes.”

I climb inside my head when his belt buckle clatters against the floor.

Thank God he let my sister take the kids for the weekend.

The vile memory fades, and I rush to the toilet just in time to lose the lunch we had earlier.

It was always ‘Eleanora’ with Frankie. He refused to call me Birdie, instead preferring to use my middle name.

Birdie was too flighty for him. So many times, the need built in my chest to scream that I was Birdie fucking Fitzgerald, but I choked each time until Eleanora was the only person I knew anymore.

Pope has been doing his best to familiarize himself with the twins, and I can tell their bond is growing stronger each day.

It scares the hell out of me. They’re trusting everyone who comes around to meet them so easily while I can barely stand to be in the same room with any of them. Especially Pope and Cyanide.

As much as my head is telling me to get the kids and run as far as I can, my heart warns me it’d be a stupid move. I’m in the best place for them. Even if Frankie finds us, there’s no way he’d get through an entire club to get Lovelyn.

Climbing to my feet, I flush the toilet and then clean the glass from the sink so I can wash my hands. Thankfully, the mirror didn’t damage my hand too badly. A little A&D ointment over the cuts and I’m good.

After splashing some water on my face, I pull my hair into a tight bun on the top of my head. The pearls hang tightly around my neck, a cool reminder that I need to be presentable before I step out of the bathroom.

I run a critical eye over myself, grimacing when I take in my bare, bruised face and the unkempt clothes that don’t belong to me.

Straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin, I accept that I’m the best I can get until I can get my clothes and makeup from the car.

A car that Pope had one of the brothers take to the clubhouse.

With a sigh, I finally leave the bathroom.

Pope is resting a hip against the banister of the porch, watching the twins in the play area he and the brothers fixed up over the last few days.

There are a couple other kids out there with them that I’ve learned from eavesdropping belong to a few of the club brothers.

Manic’s son is easy to pick out because he looks just like him.

Poor Valkyrie.

A pang of guilt hits me when I think about her and Manic.

If she hadn’t of left with me, would that be their son? Would they have more?

She always promises that she doesn’t regret leaving.

Swears they were never anything more than friends, and the way he had a woman all over him seven years ago would heavily prove that.

Except, sometimes, I’d find her lost in thought with hurt and sadness all over her face and I’d wonder if it was deeper than friendship.

“You good, little mama?”

Pope’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn my attention to him. “Yes. I’m fine, thanks. The kids look like they’re having fun.”

“They are. Seems they enjoy having other kids to play with.”

I ignore the hint of anger in his voice as he says this. “Thank you for helping to get them enrolled in school. I’ve failed at that, but my primary concern was getting them somewhere safe.”

“They’re safe here.”

“Yes, I know. That’s why I had Kyrie bring us back here. I knew you could keep Lovelyn safe from what Frankie has planned for her.”

Silent accusations from both of us hang heavy in the air, but we refuse to speak them out loud.

“Cyanide wants to see you and visit his niece and nephew.”

My body tightens, and I wrap my fingers around the pearls, squeezing them tightly. “He may visit them, but I have no wish to speak to him.”

“Stop it. Stop talking like that,” Pope bursts out, straightening his posture and glaring at me.

I flinch. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you angry. I’ll keep quiet.”

“Goddammit, little mama. That’s not what I want. Fuck.” He runs his fingers through his hair, sending it swinging along his shoulders. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that.”

“It’s okay. It was my fault.”

Pope lets out a growl and swings away from me to jog down the stairs. I watch him with the kids for a few minutes before moving back inside. While they’re out there playing, I dig through the pantry as I come up with a plan for dinner.

The way the room swells with his chaotic energy has the hair on my arms lifting. It’s a familiar feeling and one I’d rather not be experiencing again. So, instead of turning to him like I would have in the past, I continue to set things on the counter.

Once everything I need is lined up neatly next to the stove and my thoughts are straight, I turn to face him. “I was wondering if it would be a bother to ask you to get my clothes and makeup from the car.”

“What’s wrong with what you have on?” he asks, folding his arms over his chest.

“A lady must always be presentable,” I state, smoothing a hand over my head to ensure my hair is secured in place.

Pope’s eyes search mine for the longest time.

If I didn’t have the experience of standing for such long periods for Frankie, I’d be fidgeting under his scrutiny.

It’s not until he swivels on his booted feet and marches out of the room that my shoulders sag.

A lady must always be presentable, and I’ve been in the most unpresentable state since I arrived here.

What these people must think of me now.