Ruby: Black Hawk Gems Book 3 (Black Hawk Gems MC) Read online

  Please be in a good mood. Please. I chant in my head.

  He takes the plate from me and waves a hand again, dismissing me. I release the breath I was holding in and walk back to the kitchen. Thankfully, I got away without new bruises. This isn’t always the case. One little thing could set him off.

  Mom isn’t anywhere I can see, so I only assume she left or is hunkering down in a home office somewhere. I shovel the leftover food into a plastic container and slide it onto a shelf in the fridge for her to eat later. She’s always on her own schedule, eating when she wants and sometimes not eating at all. Either that, or she doesn’t like what I make and orders out.

  When I close the fridge door, I jump, startled by my dad standing not even a foot away. His eyes blaze, and his lips flatten into a thin, angry line—the tiny vein on his forehead bulging amid his red flushed skin.

  “What is this?” He growls, throwing the plate of spaghetti and meatballs at me. I shield my face from the rain of food and glass.

  “Are you trying to poison me with your horrible cooking?” He grabs my arm and swings his hand. I try to pull away, but the sharp, familiar sting slams into my cheek before I can move, making me cry out. I crumble, my shoulder ramming the counter before my body collides with the hard tile floor.

  His foot flies toward me and slams into my stomach, making me groan from the loss of air. “You’re pathetic,” he spits before kicking again, this time in my thigh. Now, I’m not exactly meaty, so I have little cushion from the blow.

  I whimper and try to curl into myself as he stops and walks away. For a minute, I merely lay on the floor, the pain circling through my body, but I finally decide I have to get up. If he comes back and I’m still on the floor, it’ll begin again.

  I use the countertop to hoist myself up. I lean on it to steady myself, standing still for a second before limping off to my room.

  Walking to my room takes longer than it should from the aching in my leg. It isn’t unfamiliar; in fact, it’s a constant companion in my life. Dad doesn’t keep his hands to himself enough to offer me a life free of pain.

  As soon as I enter my room, I lock the door. That sinking, heavy feeling in my gut remains. I still feel unsafe. He rarely comes into my room, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. If he wants in, he’ll get in.

  I let out a sigh, drop onto my bed, and give myself over to the darkness.

  ~*~

  My alarm beeps, and I scramble to turn it off so my dad doesn’t hear. About a year ago, I learned the hard way not to wake him unless he’s ready. Tender spots on my body ache as I force myself to climb out of bed.

  When I step toward my bathroom, I realize I’m still limping, and my ribs really hurt. It’s sad when someone can call pain and fear a familiar counterpart in their life. It’s not only sad, but it sucks.

  I walk to the bathroom and quickly take a shower. I make sure to use cold water because I’ve found it helps with the pain and doesn’t make my father angry. There was one time I used all the warm water on accident, and that didn’t end well. I almost went to the hospital.

  Twisting and turning, I’m careful when I wash the large, growing bruises on my body. The old ones hurt less than the ones from last night. They’re not as noticeable anymore, either. They’ve faded a bit, turning a greenish-yellow, but the new marks are a mix of dark purples and blues. If they weren’t blemishes in my life, I’d almost think/imagine the colors to be pretty.

  Once I’m clean, I carefully wrap a towel around my body and hobble to my closet. I walk in and grab a bra and underwear, slipping them on before I grab a pair of skinny jeans and a loose army green sweater. This will cover any visible markings, and if I leave my hair down, the length and color will cover and distract from any bruises that may show.

  Next, I sit on the edge of my bed and slip on my converse. Bending over causes pain to flare in my stomach, so I move quickly and blink furiously when tears pop up.

  Just a little longer, I tell myself as I peer into the vanity mirror. A girl stares back from the mirror. Dark brown eyes hold unshed tears, and fiery, dark red hair hangs in her face and reaches to her waist. She- I look sad… worn out.

  A glimpse of purple catches my attention, so I brush the long red strands aside to get a good look at the discoloration on my jaw. It’s too prominent and noticeable even with my hair down.

  Makeup it is, then.

  I’ve gotten pretty good at concealing bruises with makeup. Even then, I try to use the least amount of concealer, so I don’t cake my face, but some cover-up jobs need more than others. Like today.

  “This is ridiculous,” I grumble.

  When I finish, I tilt my head in several directions to ensure that the bruise doesn’t show up in different lighting or positions. Once it looks normal enough to pass inspection, I grab my bag and painstakingly open my room door. I look out in the hallway to find no one. I sneak out.

  Moving stealthily through the house is something I do a lot. I don’t want my dad to hear me since it’ll result in another beating, and I can’t deal with another so soon. Just as I reach the front door and pull it open, someone grabs me by the back of my sweater. My mother wouldn’t do this, so of course, it’s him.

  The material digs into my neck, making me squeak in fear as he growls, “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I yelp again when he yanks me around to look up at him.

  “S-school,” I stutter quietly. He narrows his eyes, but releases me.

  “Remember the rules,” he grumbles, and before he can say anything else, I run out of the house. My leg causes me to hobble as I try to run, but I ignore it to get as far away from the house as I can. It’d be nice to get away. I wouldn’t know where to stay or what to do independently.

  Knowing my father, he’d pretend to care and go to the police, saying someone kidnapped and ran away with me. He’d probably do anything to get his favorite punching bag back. Then, I think about what he said. The rules. He grabbed me, manhandled me, just to remind me of his law. Those stupid rules he set just for an excuse to hurt me.

  My father set the rules a while back, and if I break them, it results in an awful beating. One time, I snuck out of the house to go to a friend’s place, and my father beat me so severely that I did have to go to the hospital that time. I had two broken ribs and a concussion. I told the nurses that I fell out of a tree and hit branches on my way down.

  Dad’s rules include some of the standard rules parents might inflict on their teens, or at least I thought they were. That was, until he got to the rule where he doesn’t want me to talk to anyone, or the one where I’m not allowed to be alone with adults, or another that declares I’m not allowed to drive. He even told me that if my teachers wanted to talk to me alone, I’m supposed to call him on speakerphone, so he knows I’m not “speaking unkindly of him.”

  He continues to add other ridiculous rules to the list as he thinks them up.

  Once I’m far enough away, I slow down to limp the rest of the way to school. My dad told me I’m not good enough to have a car and don’t deserve such a privilege. It’s more like he doesn’t want me to have an escape. It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m almost eighteen, and I can leave once my birthday comes around.

  He can’t stop me then.

  A few miles later, I finally reach the school. A big sign hangs above the building that reads: Redwater High School. Sighing, I try to walk normally as I make my way inside, ignoring the curious glances of the other students. It’s always the same when there’s a new student- stares and whispers greet them. I walk through the school doors and spot a sign that directs me to the office to get my schedule.

  I turn, and from the corner of my eye, I spot a group of guys down the hall. They’re gathered together and messing around. One big guy with dark hair pushes a slightly smaller blonde guy into the lockers. The others laugh.

  If I saw these guys on the street, I’d think they were older than high school students. Their sizes vary in height and
breadth, but they’re all muscular, which means they either work out in their spare time or do some activity that tones their muscles to look like they could be weapons.

  Stop, Ana. Focus on the office.

  I reach the office door but glance back at the last second. I count six of them, all wearing leather vests over their similarly colored shirts, jeans, and heavy-looking black boots.

  There’s something about them that’s so raw and… and rough. I don’t know. I notice they aren’t trying to get everyone’s attention like other students are. They aren’t talking to anyone outside their group. But they all have this air of confidence around them. Actually, they look like people I’d want to stay away from. The word that comes to mind is trouble.

  They’re trouble, and I need to stay away.

  “Excuse me,” a voice pulls my eyes away from the group and into the office. A woman sits perched at the front desk, watching me with expectant eyes and raised eyebrows. I duck my head sheepishly, realizing I was staring like a stalker, and step into the office, only to stop in front of the desk and tap my fingers on the wood.

  My nerves are shot after what happened this morning. Dad’s rules fly through my mind, causing me to look around the room for someone else. He wouldn’t really know if I was alone with someone, but he wouldn’t care about proof, either. Any suspicion, and he acts.

  Again, my fingers tap the desk anxiously as I speak. “My name is Anastasia Willows. I’m new. I came- my schedule.”

  The woman nods, opens a drawer, and sifts through the files. She rifles for a second before pulling one out and reading over it. Then she nods to herself and hands the paper over to me. “This is your schedule. In the top right corner, under your name, is your locker number and combination to the lock. Have a nice day,” she dismisses me.

  Thankfully, she didn’t call someone to show me around. One of my father’s rules is, “You are never to speak to anyone.” And the follow-up, “You’re not to have friends.” I grab my papers and walk out of the office. The group of guys hanging out down the hall is gone, but so is everyone else. I don’t remember hearing a bell ring, but I guess classes have begun.

  I drift through the halls to read the classroom numbers while I take a quick glance down at my schedule. My first class is English in room 223. At the moment, I’m near room 114. If the school is regular, the classroom numbers will be in order, so I continue walking. Eventually, after some turns and a bit of confusion in hallway two, I find my class.

  Everything will be fine, I tell myself. I have nothing to worry about because it’s just school. I’ve been the new girl before, and this won’t be the last time either.

  Taking a deep breath, I let my hair create a wall in front of my face as I knock, then try the doorknob, finding it unlocked, and open the door. The room goes quiet. I show my schedule to the teacher and silently look for a seat. My eyes land on the only available chair, which is in front of one leather-clad boy from the hallway.

  Actually, he seems more like a young man compared to others in the room. He has a muscular build, light brown hair, and stormy blue eyes. Eyes that look right into my soul. I turn away, feeling exposed by his gaze.

  “Welcome, Anastasia. Would you like to introduce yourself?” The teacher asks as I take my seat. I shake my head and reach into my bag, pulling out a notebook before searching for a pen in the supply pocket. My hands grasp at nothing, though. How’d I forget a pen on the first day?

  Just when I’m about to give up, something touches my shoulder, making me jump. I turn slowly to find the guy in the leather vest looking at me. He smiles and holds up a pen. I glance at the pen then at him. His sincere smile doesn’t falter as he wiggles the pen at me.

  My nerves and years of holding back keep me frozen in place as my eyes move down his muscular frame again. That’s when I notice a patch on his vest that reads, Sniper.

  What kind of name is Sniper?

  Studying him, I realize he’s better looking than most guys I’ve seen. His hair looks soft with a slight wave to it that tells of past curls that puberty straightened out, and his stormy eyes are a mix of blues that captivate me. His muscular form is alluring, yet frightening. My dad is older, not as firm as this guy, and Dad’s hits cause plenty of damage. How much worse would Sniper’s hits be?

  I shake the thought from my head. Not everyone is like my dad. The ideas don’t leave. They stay buried in my mind and pop up like a red flag anytime a man gets too close.

  When I look back up, Sniper raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. Oh god. He saw me checking him out. Heat floods my cheeks despite the nerves, and I duck my head, letting my hair create that blessed curtain. “Thanks,” I mumble, taking the pen from him before turning around. How could I let myself do that?

  I silently curse myself and keep my head down while I listen as the teacher starts the lesson.

  Chapter 2

  Ruby

  As soon as the bell rings, I rush out of the room. I can feel eyes on me, and I think I know who it is. I felt his gaze, like a burning blaze of curiosity, on me throughout the entire class period. After Sniper gave me the pen, I didn’t look back at him. I wanted to because he’s gorgeous. I forced myself to pay attention to the teacher by reminding myself of Dad’s rules.

  “Hey!” Someone yells. “New girl!” The same voice calls, making me cringe. It’s him. It’s him! Why is he following me? I dodge past people, and when I find my next classroom, I choose a seat at the back, releasing a breath and closing my eyes.

  Something- rather, someone- touches my arm, making me jump again. I’m not used to people touching me. I open my eyes to see Sniper standing in front of me, and I feel my heart leap from… shock? Confusion? I don’t know, but I didn’t expect him to stalk me to my next class.

  Then, in the next second, I realize he probably wants his pen back. I should’ve figured that sooner. If I had, he might’ve left me alone. Just give him the pen, Ana!

  I lift my hand, my gaze catching onto my finger’s shaky death grip on the pen. I try to take a breath to steady my hand, but it continues to tremble.

  And why wouldn’t it? I ran from him, stealing his pen, which isn’t a great idea since he’s several inches taller than me. He’s big enough that he could crush me because I’m only five foot six and could be described as small compared to this giant. The thoughts from earlier- about him being able to cause me a lot of pain- flitter through my mind.

  Again, I shove it away. This guy has done nothing to show he might be violent. Realistically, I know I can’t judge everyone based on my father’s actions.

  He smiles and shakes his head when I try to pass him the pen more insistently this time. “You can keep it,” he says, sitting in the chair beside me, holding his hand out to me, “People call me Sniper.” I stare at his hand for a minute before peering at his face again.

  Like I said, he is gorgeous. Those stormy blue eyes pull at something inside me. Something deep, deep down, right in the middle of my chest. Something foreign.

  “See something you like?” The question is a bucket of ice water thrown at me. Again, heat creeps up my neck and settles on my cheeks, probably turning them the same red as my hair. I duck my head so he won’t see, but it’s probably too late. Jeez. What is it about this guy?

  Sniper chuckles, and I feel his fingers curl under my chin briefly before he tilts my face, making me look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, Ruby.”

  Ruby?

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with hair this red before,” he comments, tucking a stray tendril of my barrier behind my ear to expose more of my face.

  My breath catches, and my brain screams, he’s touching you!

  Why is he doing this?

  My heart skips a beat as his fingers linger on my cheek. I don’t move. Don’t breathe. His touch is soft, a brush of fingers that sends little goosebumps racing across my skin.

  The better question is, why do I like it? I know I should pull away, but I feel safer with
this guy than I have in a while. I don’t think he’d hurt me.

  Sniper studies my face, and his smile slips. “You gonna say anything?” My eyes widen. Ana, you’re breaking the rules. Dad told me not to talk or interact with anyone; to stay in the shadows. If he finds out, he’ll be so angry that the thought of it makes me grimace.

  Without looking back, I run. Sniper calls out for me again, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I can’t make friends, and I can’t like anyone.

  Memories of what happened to my last friends push me to put more distance between the dreamy boy and me. Dad threatened my friends from my previous school and said he’d have them arrested if they ever came on his property again. They’d come to wish me a happy birthday and bring me a gift, and all they got in thanks was a threat to their safety. Jax, one guy in the group, had acted angry and protested until my father took his phone out. That’s when they all gave in.

  We were only sixteen.

  After they left, he beat me. I think he kept going after I passed out, but I don’t know for sure. It was one of the angriest beatings he’s ever given me because I ended up with a broken wrist and two fractured ribs, not counting the bruises that riddled my body from head to toe.

  I spot the school’s entrance at the far end of the hall soon as I turn the corner, but before I can get there, I smack right into a tall, solid body. The impact sends me tumbling to the floor. “Hell,” the guy growls, “Watch where you’re going.” I look up to find a large guy in a letterman jacket. He glares, leans down, and grabs my arm. He pulls me to my feet, his eyes narrowed on me. “Are you blind?”

  Shaking my head, I try to pull out of his grip. “Then you shouldn’ta run into me,” he spits. I nod and whimper as his grip tightens. “What? You not gonna apologize?” My entire body shakes. Why is he doing this? It was just an accident. It’s not like I ran him over and injured him.