Tyrant (Kings of Carnage MC: Alabama #1)

Chapter 10

Blair

L ast night, I allowed myself to be led into temptation. Again. When I woke up with my mind much clearer, everything from the night before hit me all at once. The truth was a harsh slap that had me wheezing with my transgressions.

I'd let my guard down. I haven't drunk alcohol since I was in college, and even then, it was always in moderation. I was never the typical party girl; school kept me far too busy to offer up the chance of my head being swayed. After I’d left college, I quickly learned any drinking by a female in the community was expressly forbidden. It was then, when I found myself actually craving the escape alcohol could’ve momentarily provided. Although, now I know it’d only have gotten me beaten, or worse, the star of indulgence carved into my forehead. We’re forever sinners in the community to the point everyone will eventually be donning large, gruesome scars on their foreheads. It’s sickening, really, when I think of it and realize what the people are willing to support there.

Yesterday at the concert one drink swiftly turned into two. They all went down far too smoothly that I soon lost count, in favor of chasing the freedom the feeling of being buzzed gave me. That evolved into me wanting to be drunk to forget my past, if only for one night.

Finding the marriage license on the hotel table today, along with my foggy memories assaulting me left and right, was enough to have me hanging my head with shame. I have a bigger purpose, a higher calling and I’m not speaking of a divine prophecy Josef’s father had rectified, but my daughter. As long as she’s left in that gated cult, the more risk she’s exposed to. She’ll grow up believing I’m some heathen sinner and buy into everything else her father, the Profit, preaches. She’ll have no choice because she’ll know no better. It’s up to me to get her away from them before it’s too late, show her what real love is, and what it’s like to live without being crucified for having a different thought or opinion than their beloved Profit.

I'd allowed myself to be led into temptation once more and I know firsthand how dangerous that mistake can truly be. The last time I blindly allowed it, I unknowingly joined a cult and then married its leader. I may've gained my precious child in the repercussions of my decisions, but the only other thing I received out of it was pure trauma. Ultimately, my saving grace turned out to be that I was able to eventually separate rhetoric and brainwashing from reality.

Do I also feel guilt for the way I left Tyrant in the hotel? How I abandoned him to deal with the consequences of the night we spent together. For taking enough money from his wallet to get a bus ticket back to Alabama? Of course I do. However, my self-preservation must come first in my life right now. If I'm not protecting myself, how will I ever be able to get my daughter back?

I won’t.

The lure of temptation, of allowing myself to forget, has no place in my life, and I have to keep reminding myself of its bitter consequences if I do allow it. As much as I don't want to admit it, Tyrant is everything tempting. I've desired no man since marrying Josef. He's been abusive enough for me not to even think of having a man in my bed again, let alone a future with any of them. The books I read have been all I've needed since I escaped, letting me live safely through their fictional relationships...Then I met Tyrant. His genuine kindness comes so easily to him, even with his grumpy outer shell he likes to portray. I see him for what he truly is through his invisible walls—a good soul. After that, I found myself wanting to kiss him more and more. I still wish I could, which is nothing short of dangerous.

Standing from the dingy old bus seat, I make my way off into the fresh air. I position Tyrant's ball cap lower to help hide my eyes and to shield my identity. I managed to keep my hair around my shoulders and tuck the rest of the length out of sight. Hopefully, if someone is watching for me at the buses, they won't recognize me like this. The community strongly prefers women to have our long hair braided and out of our faces at all times, unless going to bed, then it's permitted to be down. I'm praying no one will recognize me if I have shoulder-length hair and my forehead's covered, as they’re not used to seeing me this way.

Being out in public as I am is a huge risk, but if I'd chosen to hitchhike again, there's no telling how long it would've taken me to get back to Alabama. I couldn't go with my original plan and ride with Tyrant. I had to leave him in order to refocus because he's too much of a distraction and now I know he'll surely hate me after today. Guilt claws at me all over again for leaving him sleeping, without so much as a thank you or a goodbye. Heaven knows he certainly deserves it, as he willingly offered and gave anything I needed, even without me asking first. Everyone I typically come across isn’t so generous, or giving at all . Being homeless shows you exactly the type of soul a person has by the way they treat someone they deem lower than them. Never mind, I grew up in a decent home with two parents, graduated, went to college, said my prayers regularly, and showed kindness to others. None of it matters when you’re jobless, homeless, showerless, and hungry. All they see is damaged goods; a dirty, broken beggar and want nothing to do with you.

With a sigh, I handle my business in the restroom and then refill my water bottle with the fountain water in the waiting area. As I’m taking in my surroundings, my gaze eventually lands on the old TV in the corner. It’s certainly seen better days, but the chipped plastic outside and red stripe through the center of the screen isn’t what has me internally cringing. My face is splashed across the broadcast as a missing person, along with a reward for any information leading to my whereabouts. Panic seizes my chest as I glance around, paranoid someone will realize it’s me. The photo is from my student ID at college, so hopefully, no one will realize the woman on the television and me are one and the same.

As soon as my water is full, I close the lid and head back outside, looking for my next bus. I have to get the hell out of here right now, before someone lets my ex know where I am and he drags me back to my own personal hell. I won’t be alive much longer if he ever gets the chance.

I’m stirred awake from the bus stopping. It pulled me out of another nightmare, thankfully. Anything to escape from Josef and his devoted disciples. I’d stopped having them as frequently over the past month, being too exhausted to dream by the time my heads hit the ground, I suppose. After shaking things up a bit, they seem to have come roaring back with a vengeance. They seem so real at times, as they suck me in and nearly suffocate me before I have a chance to open my eyes and realize what they truly are. Warnings. Each time I’m thrust back into the hell, it serves to remind me of what I’ve escaped, of what I’m still running from.

My exhale is heavy, it makes my cheeks poof out as a chill in the air skates over my flesh. It’s officially fall in the South. Probably the most confusing weather we have, as it may be eighty and sunny and gorgeous, but the next day or two could end up being an overcast, brisk, and windy forty degrees where you freeze your tush off from the wind. I tug Tyrant’s ballcap lower, wishing I had warmer clothes tucked away somewhere to wear. If I don’t come up with a plan soon, it’s going to be rough trying to sleep outside with next to nothing. I never should’ve ditched my other bag. If I’d been thinking rationally, I’d have kept my meager belongings and continued looking for another ride, not tossing my bag and hopping on the back of a bike without a care for the repercussions.

I’m too busy glancing around, paranoid to the point I miss important details. I don’t notice the man on the motorcycle parked a ways down because I’m silently searching for faces from the community. I know each and every one, from having to be at the House of Worship every damn day from the time I married Josef to the moment I got out. As the Profit’s dutiful wife, it’d have been frowned upon for me not to sit obediently at his side whenever he desired. He used to do this thing where he’d pat his hand on his lap to tell me he wanted me to sit beside him, like I was a pet he was amusing himself with. He probably saw me that way in truth. It got to the point that every time I saw his hand move, I had to brace myself not to react and sneer like I wanted to. It probably would’ve gotten me locked away in their ‘reflection’ box, or worse, taken to the tombs where serpents have been known to hide out in the dark earth.

I shudder as a snake made of frost and spite slithers down my spine at the memory. Just thinking of him makes me want to sink into myself and wither away. I can’t allow it to happen, though, no matter how easy the choice seems.

“Hey, you,” is called from the alley, but I ignore it.

Picking up my pace to get the fuck out of the shady downtown area, I move quickly. I may be homeless, but I’m also female. Being a victim is far more common for me, versus a man. Others see me as easy prey. A small, weak woman, not able to fight back for herself, and trust me when I say they’ll take whatever they can. I could be bitter about it, but in the end, it’s simply reality. Women didn’t end up with men because they chose to. If it were the case, I have an inkling history would’ve been much different. No, us women were forced to be with a man because history tells tales of us forever being used as a tool of some sort. Whether it was for money, food, or family position, we never stood a chance against men. Even with time evolving, we’re still required to have a man beside us, or face being taken advantage of.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some crazy person who hates men or anything like that. I’ve simply had my eyes open and have done a ton of reading. Not only that but my theory was proven when I was with Tyrant. Next to him, I had no need to worry about anything. No one approached us, looked at me funny, or made me feel uncomfortable. If he were here now, I have no doubt in my mind I wouldn’t have felt shaky leaving the bus station. Now, I have to walk through this tiny town and find somewhere I can sleep and hide my things where I won’t become another victim of the streets.

Life is beyond unfair at times and somehow, I always seem to end up on the losing side of it.

I keep my eyes peeled for a library, but don’t see one on my trek. I also don’t notice a shelter or anything either. Not good, I picked a place too small. I was hoping it’d be convenient in location but also big enough to have the basics like the library and shelter. At least then I know I can get a little bit of food in my stomach as well as a place to sleep if it gets too cold. With the library, I have access to a computer if I need it as well as the internet. The times and stuff are usually monitored but it’s better than nothing.

I miss Shannon and our silly discussions about cock sucking and terrible books. She was more than a librarian to me; she was the closest person to a friend I’ve had in years. I’d tried to make friends when I’d joined the community and everyone seemed beyond nice, but I soon learned they were completely brainwashed over whatever the Profit says. Anyone who can’t see Josef for who he is, along with who his father was, well, I don’t need them in my life.

After walking around the closest streets, I stumble on one of those donation boxes. It’s going to survivors of domestic abuse. They should have these everywhere, as there are too many victims of physical and mental abuse. I know first-hand from witnessing it for the past couple of years. It was never made obvious in the beginning, but over time, I saw it for exactly what it was.

I drop my bag and try to fit inside the donation door as much as possible. I don’t want to have to break open the back door of the rickety box, but I could seriously use a few things. I have a tiny bit of cash leftover and I’m trying to save it for an emergency, not a jacket or blanket.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

“Just great,” I murmur to myself, pulling my head out of the opening, expecting to see the cops there. I find an older woman instead. She surprises me when she offers a smile rather than appearing upset at catching me literally with my hand in the box. “Ma’am,” I nod in greeting, my cheeks burning from being caught. I never thought this would be me someday, homeless, poor, digging through donation boxes and showing up at any Goodwill I can find, hoping to grab a change of clothes and basic necessities. I’ve heard it all by this time, one of the things constantly repeated is, why don’t you get a job? Then you can buy what you need. The thing is, I’ve tried to get a job. I’d love to feel useful and help someone at the same time, but so far, no one has been willing to pay me under the table, and I can’t risk getting caught by being on someone’s payroll.

“You need somethin’ honey?”

“I was, uh, hoping there was something warmer inside. I only have clothes for the heat and a small throw.”

“Well, how about you come on around here and I’ll open the back up for you? I don’t wantcha’ getting hurt in that tiny door.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

“No thanks needed, rather have you warm than freezing, is all.” She’s got one heck of a twang going for her, but I kind of like it. I have a feeling this older woman wouldn’t hesitate to give someone a piece of her mind, and I envy women with courage like hers. “Now you just go on and look in here and grab whatever you need. I’m going to put the rest in my Caddy’s trunk, ‘kay, hun?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I nod and pull out the box at the bottom, beginning to dig through everything as she returns with a few empty crates. As I go through the items, she takes the stuff I don’t set to the side, filling each crate up and hefting them to her big car. It’s older, with long lights and reminds me of a faded banana with the light-yellow color from the weathered paint. I’d wager it’s probably as old as she is, if not close.

“What in tarnation? Some kind soul left a microwave right out front, oh, bless their little hearts. I suppose I can drop it off at the appliance garage on my way.” She talks to herself and it takes everything in me not to grin at her while she does it. I bet she mutters to herself all day long and doesn’t realize she’s doing it.

“Need some help?”

“Nah, sweetheart. You just worry about getting what you want before I take this down to the home. Would you like a ride out there? I’m headed that way in a short spell.”

She’s probably innocent, with her fluffed-up gray hair and expertly matched outfit, like she’d spent far too much of her day planning it out, only to pick up donations and deliver them. Most likely harmless towards me, but I can’t risk it. I’ve become too paranoid to lay down my guard and trust someone, especially a stranger I’ve barely spoken to. For all I know, she could have me load up, stab me with something to drug me, and boom, I wake up in the House of Worship being mutilated. No thanks, I’ll pass on the possibility of a front-row seat to the horror show again.

“Not this time. I appreciate your kindness.”

“Anytime, ya’ hear? You see me out and about, don’t hesitate to holler a hello. We’re kind folks around these parts, I swear it on my soul.”

“I won’t, I promise,” I say automatically because she strikes me as the type of woman who will demand a commitment with her kindness. “I’ve found a knitted blanket and a few clothing items I’m going to take, if it’s okay?”

“They’re yours.” She nods, offering me an easy smile. I bet she’s the best grandma to some little kids, if she has grandchildren yet.

“Do you have any grandkids?”

“Oh, Heavens to Betsy, yes, I sure do! My grandbabies are my whole wide world, I tell you what. Let me get some pictures to show you. Those little darlings are just so darn cute, I want to squeeze ‘em.” She continues as she goes to the car, leans in through the window and digs around in her purse. “Found them!” She comes back, lit up like a Christmas tree from all of her excitement, and I can’t help but smile.

“This here’s Bambi, she’s my oldest girl out of four. Stubborn every step of the way, but look at those gorgeous babies surrounding her.” I start to silently count. The woman had eight children. I rarely hear of anyone with that many.

“They’re adorable, thanks for showing me.”

“Aren’t they just the best? I swear the good Lord repaid me in kind with those children. It was the least HE could do after giving me some children that tested my heart. One day, things will look a bit different for you, honey, you mark my words. You’ll have a couple little ones running around, and you won’t be having to think back on these hard times, ya’ hear?”

“Yes, ma’am, I hear you.” I nod, willing myself not to tear up. I miss my daughter. Badly.

“Well, I best be getting on down the road; my Jimmy doesn’t like for his supper to be too late. The stubborn old mule still hasn’t figured out how to work the oven to heat his dinner up after all these years. I swear men are just spoiled children but taller and more likely to get their way.” She rolls her eyes, huffing out a dramatic sigh.

“Thank you and drive safely.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest soul. You have a good night and remember what I said. You see me out and about, don’t you hesitate to stop me for a chat.”

“Oh, ma’am? Is there a library around here?”

“See, I knew you was a good one the moment I pulled up. Have nice girl written all over you, honey. But to answer your question, no, unfortunately our little neck of the woods is too small for the town to consider a library. We just got that quick stop on down the road earlier in the year. They have some magazines, but they’re overpriced, if you ask me.”

“Alright, thank you.” I wave, and she does the same, smiling from ear to ear like we just became best friends when I don’t even know if I’ll be sticking around for longer than a night. She certainly was nicer to me than random people were in the last town I stayed at. It was a while before I met Shannon at the library, and everyone before her was either rude or downright nasty.

The exhaust from a motorcycle rumbles by somewhere, it’s near enough to have me glancing around. I wonder what Tyrant’s doing? If he made it home safely…and if he’s angry that we were married in the state of Nevada.

Glancing at the small silver band with a tiny sparkling chip imbedded on my ring finger, I can’t help but not want to take it off. He bought it at the cheesy drive-through chapel we stumbled into, but it already means more to me than the other one I had ever did.