Page 176 of Sinfully Savage Mafia

I squeeze my eyes shut even tighter to block out the horrific images wallpapering my mind. They are ghastly, blood-soaked, and haunting memories of the life we left behind. My pulse throbs harder with each passing second that they bubble up in my conscious, dragging me back into the murk that I fear I will never be able to claw my way out of, the murk that holds me captive, the murk that will swallow me whole if I let it.

The events leading up to that night at my parents’ house still haunt my dreams. I’ll never get a second chance to make things right with them. Sometimes I think I’ve landed in this shitty predicament just so I can suffer the consequences of my actions and words. Sometimes I think I deserve it.

I swallow hard.

It feels like I’m caught in purgatory, in limbo, just waiting and wondering and hoping for a reprieve that may never come.

Every day that I wake up is borrowed time.

There will come a point, hopefully later than sooner, where those last grains of sand slip through the hourglass, signifying that our time has run out.

And when that happens, we have to be ready.

For anything and everything.

I can’t ever make things right with my parents, but I can make sure the people who hurt them suffer the same fate, my last conscious thought as a thick, sleep-induced fog blankets my mind and consumes my body.

* * *

I smooth down the front of my denim miniskirt and do a little side twirl in my mirror. Then I slip on my thigh-high, black patent leather boots, stepping back to examine myself. I flip my long, dark hair over one shoulder and narrow my eyes at my reflection. Then I jut out my hip for good measure, puckering my deep red lips.

A tiny shiver of anticipation runs down my spine, making me quake with glee. I clasp my hands together, shrieking into them as I dance around to the music pouring out of my speakers.

Tonight is the night I give myself to Eli.

It’ll be my first time.

Our first time.

I bite down on my lower lip, scouting my bedroom for my overnight bag. I’ve already told my parents I’m staying at my best friend Maria’s house and that I’ll be back in the morning since they aren’t exactly Eli’s biggest fans. And Eli made up some bullshit excuse to give the club, an excuse that I heard my brother Nate swallowed hook, line, and sinker.

It’s going to be absolutely perfect!

I hum along to my favorite song as I pull open my bottom dresser drawer, fishing around the t-shirts for something flimsy and lacy and red.

A special surprise in honor of the night.

Red is my favorite color.

The color of love.

I’m in love!

Oh my God, who would have ever believed that me, Jaelyn Ramirez, would have ever fallen in love with a nerdy, spectacled, skinny guy like Eli Wilson? Eli, whose nose is always buried in a sci-fi novel or an issue ofOmnimagazine or something equally geeky when he’s not tinkering around with his bike. Eli, with his unruly curly blond hair, kind eyes, and sweet smile. He’s not the typical biker dude, that’s for sure. He’s definitely not the type of guy I ever pictured myself falling for. I mean, he’s smart, for one. I’m smart, too, but in a street sort of way. Definitely not the bookish type. And Eli can actually string together whole sentences without profanity, unlike the other guys in the club.

He ended up at the clubhouse when Nate helped him ward off two guys from a rival club one night. They were hassling him where he worked as a busboy at a local diner, a real shithole in the worst part of Miami. Nate saw the bikes as he was passing through the neighborhood and smelled trouble.

He was right. And sure enough, it stank.

So he did what any decent do-gooder would — he kicked the crap out of the guys as a message to their club, and gave Eli a job at the auto body shop he runs to keep him out of harm’s way and employed at the same time. It was a win-win for everyone. Eli got out of his dead-end job, making more money than he was at the diner. Nate solidified his control over his territory by sending those two guys running back to their own club with their dicks between their legs.

And I fell in love.

Hard and fast.

Suddenly, my life-long aspiration to become a mechanic grabbed hold, and I spent every waking hour at the shop, pretending to learn every last detail about servicing bikes and cars. I spent hours every day poring over engines, changing filters and oil, topping off fluids, diagnosing faulty transmissions.

I didn’t give a damn about any of it.

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