moving around the shop and collecting a few items. When I reach the underwear section, I pause, looking at the sexy lace numbers hanging from the racks. Visions of Cole between my legs, and pushing inside me fill my mind and cause my pussy to ache at the memory.
My hand reaches out to touch them, but I stop myself, heading instead for the simple black microfiber ones that hang in neat rows in the aisles behind. I grab a few bras, all simple, nothing lacy, and head for the checkout.
All up, I’ve purchased the underwear, two pairs of jeans, a few T-shirts, some extra hair ties and a proper hair brush. Not bad for a girl who isn’t used to shopping.
As I pay, I feel a smile pull at my lips. It’s nice having money (ev en if it did come from Prez).
Enjoying my freedom, I stop off at a coffee shop and grab a bottle of Coke before I sit on the plastic seats outside, pulling out the phone my father gave me to use.
I flick through it, wondering whose it is. I open a few apps, but nothing has a login entered. Not even Facebook.
“Hmm, maybe bikers don’t use Facebook,” I ponder out loud to myself. But I do. I made an account on the library computers. It was the only way I could see what other kids in my school were doing. As long as I didn’t actually interact with their statuses, they didn’t seem to care that I was there. It was my only link to a normal life. Through their photos and conversations, I learned what I was missing, and I couldn’t stop watching.
I log in, and scroll through my newsfeed, stopping to look at a few photos and read about the mundane things that piss people off.
I’m just about to shut it off when I notice that I have messages. Thirteen of them. I tap the screen, wondering who it is, but dreading finding out. I’m pretty sure they’ll be from him.
The first message reads -
Madeline, my sunshine. Where are you? I just found out about your mother, and you aren’t answering your phone. You know where I am. I miss your sweet sugar. Liam.
I read on.
Where are you? I was trying to be nice. I was trying to let you come to me on your own. Don’t forget that I own you Sunshine. You belong to me. Don’t make me come and find you.
They become progressively more insulting as I read down, calling me every name under the sun as his anger becomes more and more obvious. Until the final one reads –
I will hunt you down Madeline. And when I find you, you’d better already be dead. No one runs from me. NO ONE.
FUCK OFF! I type back. Feeling empowered until I notice the geotag under my message, telling him exactly where I am. My ears start buzzing from the sick feeling that’s taking over my body. Suddenly, I want to go back to the clubhouse. I want to be locked behind those gates.
I log out, and shut down Facebook, then open the call list. There’s only a few numbers in there, and one of them says ‘Mum’ and another says ‘Dad’. Tears burn the back of my eyes. I’m shaken from the awful messages, but at the same time touched. This is actually my phone, and I think they want me calling them ‘mum’ and ‘dad’. I haven’t been calling them anything really. And the few occaisions I’ve had to, I used their names – although that felt wrong, so I’ve avoided naming them.
Jesus, my life is a mess. There’ s just too much that I’m not in control of, and I want control. I want to be the master of my own destiny.
I tap on the word ‘Dad’, and hold the phone to my ear, waiting for it to connect.
“Yep,” he says as an answer.
“I’m ready.”
“Did you get the leathers like your mother asked?”
“Not yet, I’ll do that while I wait.”
“Be wearing them.”
He disconnects, and I smile at his brash tone . I’m beginning to like Prez, and it makes me so sad that I missed out on him all my life.
I head over to the bike shop and push through the door. A bell rings over my head, and the greying assistant behind the counter looks up at me. “You’re Prez and