Page 4 of Scarred Sacrifice (Savage Sisters MC #1)

CHAPTER TWO

MORRIGAN

“You need to throw all your weight behind the hit. Remember to follow through with your fist,” I instruct as I slam my fist into one of our dummies.

A woman with curly red hair raises her hand. “Er, I thought this was self-defence. It kind of feels like we are attacking.” She shrugs.

I notice a few of the other women looking at me, clearly thinking the same.

“Okay, raise your hand if you have ever been attacked by a man?” I ask the class of twenty women.

Over half of them raise their hands, but the curly redhead doesn’t.

I place my hands on my hips. “Listen up, because I will only say this once. You are here to defend yourself if you are attacked. For those that are fortunate not to have been attacked, there is no reasoning with an attacker. You cannot plead with them. They are there for one reason only: to either mug you, rape you, or beat you.”

“Or kidnap you,” a woman states quietly, her cheeks turning crimson as she averts her gaze from me. Her honey-brown hair drapes over her face, as if she is trying to hide away. That’s when I notice the scars on her arms.

“You’re right,” I affirm, looking away from her to the rest of the group before continuing. “You could have one attacker, two, three, or more. I’m here to try and teach you the best way you can put up a fight. The world is dangerous, especially for women,” I state, pausing.

The redhead huffs, rolling her eyes. “It’s dangerous anyway, not just for women,” she argues.

I fold my arms over my chest. “To a point, you are right. Let me ask you a simple question: do you have kids?” I ask.

She nods, smiling. “I have a fourteen-year-old daughter and a seventeen-year-old son.”

“That’s great. Now would you allow your daughter to go out at night when it’s dark? It doesn’t have to be late, but when it’s dark and you walk home alone?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Of course not!” she states with horror at the mere suggestion of it.

“Okay, same time. Say it could be eight pm at night; it’s winter, so it’s dark. Your son walks home alone. You okay with that?” I counter.

She opens her mouth to answer, but quickly closes it. “I’d still track him on the app,” she answers.

I nod. “And that’s because you care, you love your kids, and you want to protect them.

What you said proves my point. A woman should feel safe to walk home at night if she should choose.

Instead, we can’t. If we do, we go in pairs or a group, or we are escorted home by male friends or parents.

We are living in 2025, and even now if a man wanted to rape us, he would probably get away with it.

” I pause. “If a woman goes to the police to report a rape, she is asked if she was drinking alcohol, she is asked what she was wearing, if she led him on in any way. Without DNA or other evidence, it’s our word against theirs.

So, use this class to train, learn how to defend yourself.

Put an end to being vulnerable and start fucking fighting back,” I snap.

I turn and stand back in front of the dummy, ready to show them another move.

“Any more questions before I continue the class?” I ask.

They shake their heads no and copy my stance, ready to learn the next move.

At the end of the session, I grab a towel and dab the sweat off my face before grabbing my water bottle and taking a long glug. I spot the shy woman from earlier, bagging up her towel and water bottle.

“Hey,” I call out before walking over to her. Her head snaps up, her hair shifting slightly to reveal a thick scar above her eye trailing down to the top of her cheekbone. She quickly moves her hair to cover it again. I give her a soft smile. “When were you kidnapped?” I ask bluntly.

She blanches at the direct question. “On my way home from soccer practice,” she states. “I was seventeen, and they kidnapped me for six days.”

I nod, hating how cold her tone is before I hand her a card. “If you need anything, then just call that number,” I state, pointing to it.

She looks down and reads it, frowning. “I-is this a club?” she asks. “I don’t ride a bike.”

I grin. “Just call if you need anything. We don’t discriminate if you can’t ride a bike.” She gives me a small smile and walks away.

I grab my cell and water and take a seat, waiting for the next class. Two messages from Eden are displayed on my screen.

E: Was this you?

I click the link and read a social media post about how this out of control, PMS-ing woman attacked a man for no reason. The anonymous post continues to say how I am a bra-burning, man-hating bitch that just needs to get laid. I grin, but then I see there are comments.

AlanB52: Sounds like she needs putting in her place. I wouldn’t stand for this.

Jerry64: I really don’t understand the women these days. They make out that women have been mistreated. Oh, it must be so hard cooking and cleaning. We provide for them. They wouldn’t last two minutes working like we do.

Bev49: Whoever wrote this post, it’s obvious why she crushed your nuts. #nutcracker

AlanB53: @Bev49 I bet you think you’re funny, when clearly, you’re just a bitter old hag.

Bev49: @AlanB52 I’m hilarious, but not quite as funny as this post. #smallpeensyndrome #smalldicks

I snort a laugh before reading Eden’s other message.

E: Please tell me you weren’t wearing your cut.

M: Okay, I wasn’t wearing my cut.

I hit send, knowing she will be rolling her eyes. We made an agreement not to wear anything showing our club’s logo to prevent any repercussions.

E: We need to keep things quiet, especially while we are close to getting Sparks.

I huff, hating that she’s right. It was fine for the right people to know who we were, but we definitely don’t need Sparks knowing.

M: Sorry, he was just a real asshole.

E: There will always be assholes. Just try and contain the urge to kick their ass.

M: Fine. I will try, but I make no promises.

I put my phone back in my bag as the next class files in.

I arrive back at the Sanctuary, but before heading inside, I walk around the back towards the large oak tree that stands in the centre. I take a seat, leaning my back against it. “Hey, Mom,” I sigh.

We had planted the oak, along with my mom’s ashes. Every day I stop by before going inside. I just sit and tell her about my day, or sometimes I just sit in silence.

“So, I crushed this dude’s nuts with my boot today,” I tell her with a smile on my lips.

My smile slips as that familiar pang of hurt swarms my chest. I rub my hand over my heart, trying to ease it.

“I still miss you every day. I thought it was supposed to get easier. Every night when I close my eyes, I still see you, and I still see the night you died. I’m trying to be strong, fuck, I’m trying.

But I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry. Why should people like the asshole today get to live and you had to die?

” I rasp, anger and grief clawing its way up my throat.

Ten years may have passed, but it still felt as raw as it did the day I found her.

I keep busy, keeping my mind distracted.

Bernie often tells me I never grieved properly.

What’s the correct way? I pour all my grief, all my rage and pain into fighting men like the man that killed my mother.

If that’s not grieving correctly, then I don’t want to do it the right way.

My way, the world gets justice, and my way helps others like my mom.

“Mor,” Bernie calls as she approaches, her gaze soft as she sees me sitting at the base of the tree. I look up at her. “You know, I come out here and talk to her every day, too,” she states as she takes a seat on the bench to the side of the tree.

“I know.” I nod.

Bernie sighs. “I update her about you every day.”

I look at her. “I speak to her every day. She knows how I’m doing,” I state.

Bernie shakes her head. “I tell her how you’re really doing. Your mom was my best friend, and there wasn’t anything we didn’t talk about. Like how you fuck all through the night until you pass out asleep because you can’t just fall asleep.”

“You been listening through my door getting your kicks, Bernie?” I tease.

She scrunches up her face. “God, no. I used to change your diapers, but I ain’t deaf, nor am I blind. I remember catching you after your mom passed, making out with that boy from college in the back of his car.” She tuts.

“He was hot,” I state.

“You were fourteen, and he was eighteen!” she exclaims.

I snort. “He didn’t know that. I told him I was sixteen.”

“I know. The poor kid’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when I told him how old you were.

I swear, you made me grey,” she complains, running her fingers through her long silver hair.

“You know your mom would want you to be happy, to find love, to have kids,” she adds. “If kids were what you wanted.”

“Don’t, Bernie. Look what happened to Mom.

She found love twice. The first time, my dear old dad beat the shit out of her, and then she finally trusted someone years later, and he fucking killed her.

Leaving her kid to grow up without her,” I snap before getting to my feet.

“I love Mom, I do, but her falling in love was fucking selfish. You saw the signs, and you warned her. She ignored them, knowing them from before, and it got her taken away from me.” I turn away, locking down my emotions.

I rub my temple. “I don’t want to talk about it, Bernie. Just let me be,” I breathe.

“That’s the problem, my girl. You never talk about it.

Your mom may have been a love-struck fool, and it cost her life, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t love you with her whole heart.

She didn’t put you second. She didn’t plan on falling in love, and she didn’t plan on falling for him.

That doesn’t mean it will end that way for you.

Live your life, Morrigan; don’t just survive it. ”

I get to my feet, brushing off the dirt from my behind. “I’m not just surviving my life, Bernie. I’m living it to help other people,” I snap before storming off inside.

“Mor!” Bernie shouts after me. I lift my hand and flip her off as I go.

I won’t admit it to her, but her words hit something inside me.

I push those feelings deep down and head to the bar, opening a bottle of whiskey before I pour myself a double shot.

I knock it back, closing my eyes as it burns its way down my throat.

“Er, bad time?” I hear Eden ask. I open my eyes to see her standing there with her tablet in her hand.

I shake my head nope. “No, all good. What is it?” I ask.

She shifts on her feet. “Well, Betsy has been digging, and if you’re sure you’re okay, we will meet Isabella Sparks tonight.

That has me tilting my head with intrigue. “I’m more than okay. Let’s go talk to Betsy,” I state assertively.