“Stop lookin’,” came Remy’s voice.

Arms wrapped around me. He picked me up and carried me into the bathroom. I looked over his shoulder, at the puddle of blood and the lifeless, pale man slumped on his side.

Dead.

“Stop lookin’, Sara,” Remy repeated roughly.

He sat on the toilet seat and cradled me into his chest, but I wasn’t even there to feel him. My mind had long separated from my body; self-preservation at its best steering me away from the horror of what just happened. I couldn’t stand to feel. I needed the numbness, wore it desperately to keep the shock at bay.

I didn’t stop to care for his reaction. Though he was calmly holding me, I heard frantic movements and felt the shaking of his shoulders. I opened my eyes and searched the noise. He was wiping away the blood from his hands vigorously with toilet paper. His skin looked raw at how hard he was scrubbing. The blood still caked between the indents of his skin, and I could hear his unsteady breaths echo in the bathroom.

After a while, he stopped. I figured he didn’t want to get the blood on me, but I was covered with it. This was odd.

“Look at me,” he then said, softly. He moved me away from his chest and brought a hand to my chin, craning it up to meet his eyes. He looked into mine for a few beats and shook me lightly, “Sara, look at me. Stop it.”

I was looking right through him, and he knew it. After several moments, he brought me back to his chest and held me tightly to him. I buried my face into him, clutching him as hard as I could around his arms.

“He’s gone. You’re fine now, Birdy. You’re fine. Don’t think about it. Don’t stop and think about it. It’s over. It’s done.” He kept saying these words to me, as if any second they’d hit me and I’d rouse out of my numbness.

I didn’t. I was very quickly losing myself.

Six

He wanted to keep me in the bathroom while he sorted the scene out, telling me not to step out no matter what. When he made to leave, I gripped him as though he was an extension of me. Panicked, I begged him not to go. That I needed him. That he couldn’t leave me alone.

“I need to get some reception, Birdy. Give me fifteen minutes to make a call—”

“No! You can’t leave me!” No, no, no. He couldn’t go. He grounded me. Kept the bad thoughts away. If he left, I’d feel the shock of what happened and would lose all sanity.

“Birdy—”

“You’re not leaving me!” I shrieked into his chest and dug my nails into shoulders, refusing to budge on this.

He exhaled deeply and stroked my hair. “Alright,” he finally said. “But you’re closing your eyes. You got it? You will not open them.”

I nodded frantically. Whatever he wanted, I’d do. Just… Just…“Just don’t go.”

He carried me back out into the room and bent down to grab what felt like clothes. I hadn’t stopped to consider he was still in the nude. Any nice person would have allowed him some privacy to change. But fuck nice people. He could change with me gripping him like a vine. The man was capable enough.

I kept my eyes shut even when we left. The light of dawn pierced through my eyelids, and when I finally opened them, I watched tree after tree pass on by. He was carrying me through heavy bush, stepping over large fallen branches. I peered down at the ground and saw a thin sheet of frost the sun would soon melt. This was my first time outdoors since…since… well, how long now? Four weeks? I was finally breathing in fresh air, feeling wind against me, and the chill that winter bore quickly reduced me to shivers in Remy’s strong arms.

He stepped onto a hard dirt road and went uphill until I saw a white pickup truck. He unlocked the doors, settled me into the passenger seat and fastened my seatbelt. He went to back away and then froze with his eyes lingering on my neck. His soft, warm fingers touched around my throat. I had begun to know Remy very well. I could read the look on his face. It was sorrow.

“You’re hurt,” he quietly said. I felt the heat of his breaths against my face.

He was shirtless, wearing only his jeans and shoes minus the socks. I really should have let him dress properly. Oh, what a needy wench I’ve become.

“You are too,” I whispered.

There were bruises all over his tattooed chest and stomach, and splatters of blood around his elbows and arms. Not his blood, Sara.

“This is nothin’, Birdy.”

He backed away and shut the door, walking over to the driver’s side. When he got in, he turned on the heater and started the car. A few seconds later we were driving… and I knew exactly where we were headed.

*****

Of course I’d never been inside the clubhouse. Growing up, kids would talk about it in whispers, making up horror stories that had me looking at the black building as if it was a haunted mansion.

“Once you’re in, you’ll never come out,” they’d say.

My wild imagination conjured up all kinds of scary scenes in my head. I thought of ghosts and monsters and victims screaming in agony, bound and tortured. Yeah, I was a pretty disturbed kid. It’s just the MC never stood for anything good. They were a symbol of fear and power. Not even the police fucked with them. Gosnells was like the Wild West, except our cowboys were bikies with a really nasty temper.

Then after the night at the swings with Remy, I’d become intrigued. You could only see the structure of the building when you were at the gates. Anywhere else and it was a ten foot tall wall staring back at you. Sometimes I’d stand just far enough, in the middle of the road and make out the rooftop. The silence in the middle of the road surrounding that area was ominous, further impressing my curiosity.

And now here we were, at the gates, with a camera staring directly at us. After Remy pressed a button and stared directly into the lens, the gates opened. We hadn’t said a word in forever, and the ride had been forty five minutes of tense silence. I’d looked at him often, seeking some kind of reassurance that everything would be alright. He offered none, and my dependency for him scarily continued to rise. What was my goddamn problem?

He parked the car in a parking lot beside the entrance of the clubhouse. Motorcycles were lined up in a neat row beside us along with a few high-end cars. We stepped out of the car and Remy took me by the hand, directing us to the entrance. The physical contact was the first since the bunker, and I felt myself pushing against his side for more of his touch. I had grown incredibly attached to him.