Ruby: Black Hawk Gems Book 3 (Black Hawk Gems MC) Page 6

  The questions pull me down deeper into a void of depression and exhaustion. I’ll have to think about it later. Now, I’m too tired to do anything but sleep. So, making my way out, I stumble to my bed and sink into the covers, pulling them to my chin and squeezing my eyes closed.

  If I don’t sleep now, I might not sleep at all.

  Chapter 5

  Ruby

  “Ruby!” Clarke calls, making me spin around. My eyes sweep the parking lot, but I don’t see him, so I shake my head and keep walking into the school.

  “Ruby!” This time, within seconds, my eyes focus on Clarke jogging toward me. Crap. I speed up and remind myself of my dad’s rules.

  No friends, no friends, no friends, I chant in my head.

  I make it to my first class and take my usual seat by the window, looking at the scene of students hanging around the quad. It’s all I can do to keep from watching the door.

  “Ruby, I was calling you,” Clarke says, sitting in front of me. He raises an eyebrow and leans towards me. “You okay?”

  Am I okay?

  I should laugh. I haven’t been okay for a while- the past two years, actually. So, no. Definitely not okay, but I can’t tell him that. If he figured it out, however, it wouldn’t count as telling him. Yeah. That makes sense, right?

  No, not really.

  “I’m fine,” I lie, and he studies me for a minute before nodding. Unexpectedly, the acceptance makes my heart sink to my stomach. Did he really believe that? People need to learn to read others’ features. The war inside me rages. Tell him. Don’t tell him.

  Either way, I’ll probably get a beating in the next twenty-four hours, so would it really be the worst if I told him?

  My father hits me, I want to scream. I need your help!

  But the words lodge in my throat, refusing to come out.

  “So, do you like the weather today? You like it so far?” He asks, and I look over at him and raise an eyebrow.

  “Small talk? Really?” Clarke nods, and I sigh. If that’s the best he can do, so be it. If he wants small talk, I can give him small talk even if my heart yells that it wants more. I shush it to smother the little voice.

  Grabbing my pen, I draw little doodle images on my paper of confused faces. “The weather is fine.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?” Clarke questions, exhaling loudly. This is my chance, my chance to obey my father’s rule. I could tell him so many things to scare him away, like I hate guys… or I don’t like bikers…. or that…. that…

  His eyes bare into me so intently that my thoughts disappear. His eyes really are a gorgeous mix between blue and gray. I wouldn’t call them pretty. They’re sharp, assessing, like an animal studying its prey.

  Clarke turns away when I don’t answer, and I notice his shoulder slump and his head hang forward in defeat. My heart squeezes at his visibly saddened state. I don’t remember a time when someone got upset by me not wanting to talk to them. Usually people don’t even bother to talk to me. No one else at this school has.

  Maybe he’s just upset that he can’t goad me into talking. Or, my mind counters, perhaps he really cares. With another glance at Clarke, I bite my lip to keep from speaking.

  More students enter the classroom and take their seats around us. The teacher walks in next, so I cross my arms over the desk and lay my head down, silently watching as she moves around the room and writes instructions on the whiteboard.

  After a while, the teacher stops the lesson and clears the board. I glance at Clarke to see he’s not speaking to his friends like usual. My stomach flips and not in a good way- more like a sinking, churning flip that makes me feel nauseous. I hurt his feelings by ignoring him. Even though he’s massive compared to me, rides a motorcycle, and has friends that are scary at times, Clarke seems soft-hearted. Kind.

  That’s just because he wants something from you.

  I shove the thought away.

  Yes, I like you, I should’ve told him. I should’ve screamed it. I should’ve hugged him, but we’re better off without this friendship because if my father found out, it wouldn’t be pretty. Shuddering at the thought of my father hurting- beating- Clarke like he does to me, I close my eyes. The image of Clarke all bruised and beaten to hell doesn’t go away, and it makes my heart crack.

  My father is not a small man; in fact, he’s bigger than Clarke- possibly a few inches and twenty or thirty pounds, if I had to guess. Anyway, I couldn’t let anything happen to him because of me. I can’t have that on my conscience. It would be almost as bad as if I’d hurt him myself.

  When I look back to the front of the class, I sigh. The teacher erased her notes from the board and replaced them with one word.

  PROJECT

  Inwardly, I groan. Projects mean group work, and group work means I have to spend time with someone, which results in my dad knowing, leading to a beating. It also means that I’ll probably have to meet up with whoever my partner is outside of school. I have no clue how I’ll manage that or keep it from my dad.

  One of Dad’s rules is to come straight home from school afterward. No stops. No detours. No delays.

  “Alright, class. Today we’ll discuss your new project information and requirements while I put you into groups of two,” Mrs. Brown says. She picks up a stack of papers from her desk and starts passing them around.

  “Your project is to write an informational essay on the partner I choose for you. What I’m handing you are the guidelines- there is a rubric in the back, also,” she informs us, placing a packet on my desk. I skim over the first page. “You and your partner will learn about each other. Do interviews, ask questions, and maybe spend time together outside of school for your project. In your essay, you will write about your partner’s life, their goals for the future, and one meaningful thing you learned from them,” Mrs. Brown instructs, moving back to the front of the room.

  So basically, she’s pairing us up and forcing us to spend time with someone. Is this her way of playing Cupid?

  Sighing, I flip through the packet. The project seems easy enough, but would be better without partners. I wonder if I could ask for an alternate assignment. I’ll have to come up with excuses of why I can’t work with a partner. I think I could do it.

  “Also, if you look at paragraph two of page one, you’ll see that the paper will be three to four pages in MLA format,” Mrs. Brown announces, and I follow her to paragraph two. “Now, I’ll assign you to your partners; there will be no exceptions or changes. You’ll partner with the peer I choose, or you will receive a zero.”

  Well crap. I can’t get a zero on a project. One of Dad’s other rules is that I have to keep my grades up.

  I take a deep breath to disguise the dread that’s clawing its way into my gut as I glance at the other students in the class. “Okay, Denise and Drew. Hawk and Ashley. Wolf and Taylor. Reaper and Saline. Ink and Patty. Drax and Abigail,” the teacher lists off, and I notice most of the groups are one guy and one girl. I wait for her to call my name. She lists a few more groups and finally calls my name, “Anastasia and-”

  Mrs. Brown looks around and smiles. “Sniper, you can be partners with Anastasia.” Of course. I close my eyes and lay my head on the desk. Couldn’t it be anyone else? Clarke will enjoy digging into my life more than another student. There’s no way he’ll let me off easy with fake excuses or lies.

  “Move to sit with your partners and fill out the questionnaire on the third page to help you get started,” Mrs. Brown announces, and everyone moves to find their partners. Clarke turns around, but this time his bright smile is nowhere to be found.

  Why does that make me feel sick?

  We sit awkwardly and quietly for some time before I sigh and finally look at Clarke, mumbling, “I’m sorry.” He really didn’t deserve for me to shoot him down like I did. It was rude of me, especially since I really do like him.

  Clarke smiles, causing my heart to skip a beat. His smile is unique- a mix of a smile and smirk bright and full of hop
e. Hope for what, I’m not sure, but it makes me glad.

  “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have been so pushy.” I shake my head.

  “You weren’t that pushy. I just- my dad is really strict about who I talk to and doesn’t like boys,” I stretch the truth. Technically, it isn’t a lie, but it’s not all the information I could give him, either. Clarke nods and grabs his packet while turning around in his chair, then lays his paper on my desk and dramatically clicks his pen.

  Clarke taps the pen on the desk in a sharp staccato, humming along with the beat. “Should we start this now, or you wanna wait ‘til later?” I bite my lip to stall any response that wants to jump out before I can think. I can’t do it after school because my dad could find out. Maybe going to the library or staying after would work. I’d have a legit excuse for my dad if I could do that, maybe even get a teacher to sign a paper or something. Or I could just ask, take the beating, and do it anyway.

  “Um, well, we need to do as much as possible during class. I can’t do it at my house because my father wouldn’t be happy about that,” I answer. Unhappy would be an understatement of maximum proportions. He’d be a furious rage monster if he found out I was talking to a boy, much less hanging out with one. Dad wouldn’t care that it was for school. All he’d care about is his stupid rules.

  “We could do it at my place,” Clarke speaks up. His place. His house with his family. He’s practically a stranger, but could he be more dangerous than my dad? My heart tells me no, but my mind repeats that he’s still a stranger even though he has done nothing to show that he’d hurt me.

  Should I?

  Could I?

  As long as I’m back in time to make dinner for Dad, I should be fine. That way, he’d never know that I wasn’t home right after school.

  Looking back up at Clarke, I nod. “Sure, as long as I’m back to my house by 4:30,” I say. He smiles and nods. We get out at three, which means we’ll have just over an hour to work on the project while at his house.

  “I can make that work. You can meet me at my bike after the last period,” Clarke says, and I give him a small smile. We should get some work done now, though, but when I look up at the clock, I see the period is almost-

  Briiiiiiiiiing.

  Dang.

  Quickly, I gather my things and shove them into my backpack. “Can I walk you to your next class?” Clarke asks, standing and reaching his hand out to me. He doesn’t make another move, letting me decide my following action. I hesitantly take it.

  “Uh, okay.” Uh, okay? Ugh, what’s wrong with me?

  ~*~

  As the last bell of the day rings, my heart jumps, half excited, half nervous. This is it. I’m going home with Clarke. I’ve sort of avoided him all day because I’ve been anxious and jumpy, expecting my dad to come out of nowhere and just know I’m breaking the rules.

  Again, I hate when he just knows everything. I’ve never been able to find out how he knows everything when he’s not there to see it himself.

  Like the time I was home alone, and he’d left a freakishly long chore list. One item on the list was to scrub the floors by hand. By hand! It was ridiculous, so I didn’t. I used the mop, thinking he wouldn’t know the difference, but somehow he knew. As soon as he got home, he demanded to know why I’d disobeyed and used the mop.

  I checked to see if there was anything to reveal my disobedience, but there wasn’t. I’d put the mop, bucket, and cleaner away. Dad asked a second time, but I had no reply. I ended up crying all night from broken fingers and an army of bruises marching across my skin. It forced me to wrap my fingers and hide them in my jacket so no one could see.

  God. Just thinking about it makes my heart feel like it’ll pound right out of my chest with every step I take toward the parking lot. I take deep, supposedly calming breaths, but they barely help. My heart is still hammering at my rib cage.

  I’ll be fine.

  Dad won’t find out.

  It’s just an hour.

  “Ruby,” a familiar voice calls out. I turn towards the agent to find Ink running down the hallway toward me. He sends me a goofy smile, and because it’s adorable, I stop just long enough to give him time to catch up. “Hey, are you a magician?” Ink asks when he steps up beside me. Um. What? I glance at him, wondering what he’s talking about, but he just smiles and says, “Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears.” I let out a laugh before I can slap a hand over my mouth.

  What. The. Heck.

  “Ah. That make you less nervous?” He questions, falling into step with me. I study him. Ink chuckles and loops his arm with mine. Ow. I try not to wince as he unknowingly smashes my tender bruises.

  “Do I look nervous?” I ask, turning my eyes up at him; Ink nods. I know why I’m nervous, but I don’t want to look worried. I don’t want Clarke to think I don’t like him again. Jeez. This is embarrassing. I’m pathetic for letting my dad rule my life and hurt me, but what can I do?

  My head and my heart are always fighting, never finding a conclusion.

  My heart tells me I shouldn’t care about my father’s rules, but my head says I should follow them, so I don’t get hurt. Another part of me screams I should tell someone, anyone, what’s happening at home. More often, it’s telling me to admit it to Clarke.

  Then that evil little part of my brain manipulated by my dad asks if anyone would believe me- if anyone would care. Probably not.

  My dad is a well-known surgeon- one of the best in his field. If anything, I believe people would brush it off in favor of him keeping his job. Isn’t that how the world is? If something doesn’t benefit us or doesn’t go our way, we brush it off or hide it so it won’t or can’t affect us anymore.

  “You look like you’re about to jump out of your shoes,” Ink tells me. A yawn builds in me as we walk, so I bring my hand up to cover it. I notice that Ink still watches my every move, but I ignore it. I’ve seen and disregarded lots of staring from Clarke and his friends, and I don’t think they’re trying to be rude because it seems like they don’t realize they’re staring sometimes.

  Another yawn hits me as we walk out of the school. It’s easy to find Clarke and his friends from the cluster of motorcycles spanning the back of the lot. No one parks by them, either from fear or wariness, so the guys don’t worry about students hitting or scratching up their bikes. I could imagine one of Clarke’s friends going after a kid who wrecked or even just dented one of the beautiful machines.

  It’s a shame when anything beautiful gets damaged.

  The moment we’re close to the group, my heart kicks up its pace, beating a million miles a minute, and my breathing turns shallow. I pull my arm from Ink’s and wipe my shaking, sweaty hands on my jeans. This is it.

  “Ruby, you coming to our place?” I look over at Hawk, and I can feel eyebrows pull together.

  “Our place?” I ask, and he chuckles as if what he’d said was funny. Again, I find myself confused, something I’m experiencing more and more around these guys. Am I so out of touch with people that I don’t understand what they’re saying, or is it normal to be confused around these guys? I wish I could ask someone, but I’d have no clue who to talk to. They don’t hang out with anyone but the guys in front of me.

  “We all basically live together,” Hawk explains. Oh, great. “Most of the club lives at the compound, but my parents have their own house, so we split our time between the house and the compound.” All I can do is nod. Compound? Club? Is this supposed to make sense?

  “Come on. Let’s get going,” Clarke suggests, and I nod again. He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together and causing goosebumps to sprinkle over my skin. Instinctively, I grip his hand tighter. One of Clarke’s eyebrows raises in a silent question, and I quickly release his hand. I can’t have him asking questions.

  He will anyway, my mind sings, and I remember why I’m going with him. Right. The project.

  When we get to Clarke’s motorcycle, we climb on. Clarke hands me the same helmet from before
, thank God, and I pull it on. I don’t want my brains splattered across the street. Clarke turns around to help me secure the helmet, and when he’s satisfied with the security, he revs the engine and pulls away from the school.

  This time, while we ride, I lay my head on his back from exhaustion- not fear. I was okay in school- the adrenaline or nerves maybe- but I guess I’m more tired than I realized. I should just tell Clarke to take me home.

  I open my mouth to ask, but nothing comes out. No words. No sound. Because I want to stay. I feel ordinary and safe around him, and maybe he can help me.

  No. Clarke wouldn’t be able to help me. No one can. I just have to wait until my birthday, then I can leave. Leave and go… somewhere.

  “Ruby,” Clarke’s voice startles me, making me jerk my head up. I look around to find we’ve parked in front of a large building. It seems kind of like a hotel, with a bunch of windows and multiple floors. Motorcycles line the parking spaces that lead up to the front door, and a few cars litter the parking lot. I’m not sure what I expected to see when we drove up, though.

  That’s when I realize we’re parked, and I’m still holding onto and laying against Clarke’s back. Embarrassed, I scramble off the motorcycle so Clarke can dismount. I wait patiently, my fingers fidgeting as he helps unhook the helmet and sets where I’d just sat.

  “Ready?” He holds his hand out for me to take, and reluctantly, I place my hand in his. “We’ll work in my room so that no one bothers us,” he says, gently pulling me into the building. Who’d be here that might bother us? His family?

  I stop thinking about it as Clarke leads me through a lobby, kitchen area, then into a hallway.

  The closer we get to his room, the more my nerves grow. I thought we’d probably work somewhere like a living room or a kitchen, not in his bedroom. Alone. Perhaps with the door closed. My heart jumps in my chest, attempting to climb from my throat and run away- like I want to.