Screw Read online

The walls of the diner began to close in on her as the three of them stared. This was so out of character for her, this blatant refusal to help her boss without any kind of explanation, but what could she say?

  I have horrifying scars all over my body.

  No, she’d rather die than admit the truth. They could never see her shame. Never discover what had been done by her own family member. What her parents hadn’t prevented. What she hadn’t been strong enough to stop.

  “I’m not putting it on.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Toni…” Screw circled Toni’s wrist with his hand, halting her tirade. When she turned toward him, he whispered something to her that had her frowning for a different reason. She turned back, assessing Jazz and the expression of concern grew.

  “Jazz, you’re shaking. What’s wrong?” Toni took one step forward, but Screw prevented her from drawing closer.

  She needed to run, but her damn feet just wouldn’t move.

  He slipped out of the booth and slowly walked her way, Gumby hot on his heels.

  “Jazzy?” Screw said. “You really are shaking. And you’re sweating. Why don’t you sit down, babe?” He reached for her and the second his fingertips made contact with her arm, she yanked it back with such force, she stumbled and would have fallen if it weren’t for the counter behind her.

  “I’m fine,” she said, working to play it off though her heart jack hammered in her chest and her skin itched as if those bugs from moments ago had bitten her in a hundred spots.

  “Why don’t I drive you home?” Gumby asked, holding up her keys.

  “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you people?” She suddenly screamed, completely aware she was melting down in spectacular fashion, but unable to stop the train wreck. With a shake of her head, she snatched her keys from Gumby’s grasp and marched toward the door. “I said I didn’t want to wear the goddammed shirt, not that I was dying. Back the fuck off. I’ll get myself home.”

  Then, with that stunning display of freak-out, she ran to her car.

  The drive home was made with tears streaming down her face. God, what must her friends think of her? Words like raving lunatic or psycho bitch were the first that came to mind. Before she knew it, she was pulling into her driveway, having driven the last few miles completely on autopilot. As if screaming at her friends wasn’t bad enough, now she was risking lives by driving while far beyond distracted.

  She killed the engine then flopped back against the leather seat. It was then she realized she wasn’t just crying, she was full on sobbing, complete with choking gasps, snot, and gallons of tears. A knock on her window had her jumping so hard her hand whacked the steering wheel.

  Shit.

  Jeremy stood on the other side of her window, jiggling her door handle. “Unlock the door, babe,” he said.

  Great, another witness to her humiliation. All she wanted was to crawl under her covers and sleep until the memory of this day faded into oblivion. Maybe following a few glasses of whiskey.

  Instead, she lifted a trembling hand to the panel on her door, hitting the unlock button. Jeremy opened the door, and immediately pulled her out into his arms. His touch only intensified the creepy-crawly feeling on her skin, but before she could pull away, another voice rang out.

  “I’ll take it from here, man,” Screw said, all but ramming Jeremy out of the way with his shoulder.

  He scooped her up into his arms and tromped straight toward her front door, leaving her neighbor in the driveway, jaw hanging open. Somewhere inside, Jazz knew she should protest. Should demand he put her down. Later, being carried like some sort of damsel in distress because she was too zoned out to get into the house herself would only amp up the mortification. Not to mention leaving Jeremy in her driveway without any kind of explanation after he’d only tried to help hit new levels of rudeness.

  But for the first time since holding up the tank top, Jazz didn’t have the urge to claw her flesh off. Instead, held protectively against Screw’s chest, she felt nothing but warmth against her skin. With that warmth came a sense of safety she hadn’t felt in too many years to count.

  He carried her into the house, and had she been thinking straight, she’d have wondered how he got in without the key. As it was, her brain was clouded with a mix of embarrassment, vile memories, and regret.

  Screw set her down on the couch so gently, a fresh round of tears fell. What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t cry. Tears didn’t solve shit as she’d learned long ago, so she never bothered with them. All they did was leave her puffy-eyed and exhausted.

  Before Screw even had a chance to fully release her, a glass of what smelled like whiskey was pushed into her hand. “Drink,” Gumby ordered.

  Gumby?

  Where had he come from?

  Jazz blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain. Gumby’s presence explained how Screw got in the house. But wait…since when did those two get along?

  “You heard the man, baby, drink,” Screw said, lifting the glass toward her lips. He sat next to her on the couch while Gumby perched himself on the edge of her coffee table. The thing couldn’t be more than eighteen inches high, and the poor, tall guy’s knees were practically in his nose.

  As ordered, she took a sip of the whiskey. Then another, then…fuck it, she downed the entire contents in three healthy swallows. It did the trick, burning her esophagus and bringing her back to the moment.

  Her actions of the past half hour came crashing down around her as though an earthquake crumbled the house. “Shit,” she said, glancing around. “I need to call Toni and apologize.”

  Gumby took the glass from her and set it next to him before capturing her hands in his. “You don’t need to call her now. She told us she’d check in tonight to make sure you’re okay. She’s not mad.”

  His warm hands completely engulfed hers, making her aware of just how cold she’d grown. Apparently, during her tantrum at the diner, she hadn’t thought to grab her jacket.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, head dropping forward. Someone rubbed up and down her back. Had to be Screw since Gumby still held her hands.

  “It’s all right, Jazz,” Gumby said, giving her hands a squeeze. “Can you tell us what that was all about?” His voice held no recrimination, just compassion.

  She shook her head. No, she couldn’t tell them. She couldn’t tell anyone. Not only was the story horrifying, but humiliating, and would no doubt change the way these men looked at her forever. No man would want her once they found out what happened to her. How could any stand to look at the mess of her? But knowing it and having it confirmed by two men she felt wildly attracted to were two very different things. The first kept her from seeking physical intimacy. The second could destroy her.

  “Hey, Jazzy?”

  She turned her head, locking gazes with Screw. The man with the solemn expression and eyes swirling with worry didn’t resemble the Screw she knew. He was barely recognizable as the womanizing sex fiend who couldn’t take anything seriously. Right then, he looked as grave as could be.

  “That was about a lot more than a shirt. There’s no judgment here. Not from us.” He shifted his gaze to Gumby who nodded. “We all know you’ve cut ties with your past, babe. You never speak of your life before you popped up in Townsend, alone. None of us have pried because you’ve always seemed happy, but I know you keep secrets. And now I know they’re painful ones. I just want to help you. We just want to help you.”

  He stroked a finger across her cheek, making a shiver run down her neck. It’d be so easy to get lost in those crystal blue eyes, that handsome face. So easy to beg him for pleasure. To use physical ecstasy to chase away the emotional turmoil.

  But the aftermath, the inevitable rejection would only destroy her. And where would it all leave Gumby? She wanted him just as much as she desired Screw. It was high time to admit it to herself. No more denying, no more blaming it on her subconscious fantasies. She wanted two men. And wanted them together.
r />   But she couldn’t have even one of them.

  “Jazz, did someone hurt you?” Screw asked.

  As she shifted her gaze between the two men, she swallowed. She had to give them something. A morsel to satisfy them for the moment.

  “Yes,” she whispered, revealing more to them than anyone beyond hospital staff knew.

  “Is it why you left Crystal Rock?” Gumby asked.

  She nodded.

  “Was it…oh, Jesus.” Gumby dropped her hands and shot to his feet, a palm pressed to his stomach. All the color had drained from his face, leaving him a sickly pale shade. “Was it one of my brothers?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HE WAS GONNA be sick.

  Just the thought that one of his club brothers, men he loved as family and trusted with his life could have hurt Jazz had a pain he’d never experienced crushing his chest. If she confirmed his worst fear, his entire world would implode.

  “No!” Jazz grabbed for him, but he scooted from her reach. Her touch would break him, sever the thin thread holding him together. He wanted, no needed to know what happened to her.

  Out of character, Screw remained silent and watchful on the couch next to Jazz.

  She stood, following his path across the room. “Gumby, I promise you, it wasn’t one of your brothers. No one associated with the club hurt me. They would never have cu—” She caught herself with a shake of her head. “They’d never have hurt me.”

  The relief at her declaration did nothing to mitigate the ache in his chest. Each heavy thrum of his heart felt like a hammer hitting his ribs. They stared at each other until Screw finally had the balls to ask what Gumby couldn’t.

  “Jazz, were you…” He cleared his throat. “Were you raped?”

  She turned her sad eyes on Screw. “No,” she said, though Gumby didn’t think either of them believed her. It wasn’t the first time she denied the claim, but sexual assault seemed the most obvious reason Jazz would be terrified to reveal her body, especially in the presence of men. It’d also explain why she hadn’t pursued anything with Screw, Gumby, or any other man since coming to Townsend.

  Yeah, he’d asked around.

  With a resigned sigh, her shoulders slumped, and she walked back to the couch, gesturing to the cushions. “Please come sit,” she said. “I can tell you don’t believe me. I’ll tell you what happened.”

  He did as she asked, taking a seat beside Screw. Though their bodies weren’t touching, in fact a good foot separated them, something about having the other man nearby provided a sense of comfort. Jazz’s story was going to be brutal; he knew it in his bones. But having someone else experience the devastation alongside him eased his dread.

  Strength in numbers.

  Jazz didn’t return to the couch. She didn’t sit at all. She almost appeared lost in her head as she began to pace the length of her small den, hands wringing.

  Pressure against the side of his boot had Gumby glancing down. Screw’s foot rested right against his own, having crossed over into his personal space. Gumby glanced at the other man who watched Jazz like a hawk. Even though Screw made no acknowledgment, Gumby knew the move was an intentional lending of physical support. And he appreciated it so much more than he could say. Something shifted in him, something more than just the sexual desire he felt for Screw. He was drawn to the other biker in a way he’d never allowed himself to be drawn to another man. In fact, the only experience he could compare it to, was the pull he felt to Jazz.

  Unacceptable.

  He couldn’t be drawn to a man in such a way. Had to be the high emotions flying around the room. Regardless, the confusing reaction was something to be analyzed later. Not now. Now they both needed to focus on Jazz. And if he needed Screw’s presence to get through her tale, so be it.

  A worry for another time.

  “I’m not sure where to start,” she said without glancing their way.

  Gumby shared a look with Screw. The other man sat perched at the edge of the couch, bouncing one knee and gnawing his lower lip. From what he’d gathered, Screw didn’t do serious often. In Gumby’s experience, those kinds of people were often using jokes and teasing to deflect, to keep from feeling deep emotions. Here and now, the man was denying his nature. Allowing Jazz to reach in and wound his insides with what would no doubt be an agonizing story.

  If he could protect Screw from the pain, he would, but the man deserved to know as much as Gumby did. So he reached out and placed a hand on Screw’s arm. Screw jumped, then seemed to get the message. He scooted back, settling against the cushions of the couch though his leg still twitched.

  “Start where you feel comfortable,” Gumby said.

  She snorted and it was good to hear a little spunk from her. Glancing their way, she said, “Well, I’ll start a little way back since Screw doesn’t know much about my history.”

  “Start anywhere, I’ll keep up,” Screw said.

  “Okay, well, Gumby knows all this, but my dad passed when I was really young. A little over three. My mom didn’t remarry until I was seven.”

  She was right, he already knew all this, but the refresher helped and Screw nodded along, riveted to every word.

  “My stepfather was all right. A bit of an ass, but fine, I guess.” She shrugged.

  The guy was an ass. A sanitation worker for the town of Crystal Rock, he’d grown bitter with his station in life, becoming a general douche.

  “He had a son, Paul…” Her gaze drifted before focusing back on them. “He’s ten years older than I am. P-Paul never lived with us in the house, at least not officially. He’d pop up every now and again, stay for a while, then disappear. As a kid, I always thought he was odd, but hadn’t spent enough time with him to really get a handle on it. My mom complained to my dad that Paul did drugs and would steal from the medicine cabinet or her purse when he was around, but my stepdad always denied it. Paul could do no wrong in his eyes. Though looking back on it now, I think he may have been partly afraid of his son.” She bit her lower lip as she shook her head, probably lost in memories.

  Paul? Paul was the one who hurt her? That motherfucking bastard. Did Jazz know he was locked up? Until Acer had mentioned the incarceration, he’d never thought Paul could be a threat to anyone. The guy was thin, scrawny really, jumpy as fuck, and had those shifty eyes of someone always on the lookout for an attack.

  “He always thought people were out to get him. He’d scan the street ten times in an hour, freak out if the phone rang, or talk about outlandish conspiracy theories.” She chuckled but the sound wasn’t one of humor. “When I first met him as a kid, I wondered if he was some secret spy. A James Bond type.”

  With a heavy sigh, she stopped pacing and walked around the coffee table. She sat where Gumby had been seated before. He almost offered her his spot on the couch but didn’t want to interrupt her thought process.

  “You’re doing great, Jazz,” Screw said. He hadn’t moved his foot, in fact his hand now rested on the couch, right next to Gumby’s. The urge to hook their pinkies together overwhelmed him.

  Ridiculous.

  “Thanks, but that was the easy part.” She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and continued. “One night, when I was thirteen, my mom had to leave for work, and my step-dad was running late. They didn’t like leaving me alone; we didn’t live in the greatest area, but she really had no choice. She couldn’t miss her shift, and my step-dad was on his way home. I should have been alone twenty minutes maximum. But thirty minutes later, when I was in my room doing my homework, Paul came in. It’d been a solid year since any of us had seen him. He didn’t come around much. Paul was gay and before I knew him, his parents sent him to one of those religious camps where they try to pray you straight or some nonsense. Anyway, he hated his dad for it and only really came by when he needed something. I’m not sure where he spent the rest of his time. I never wanted to know.”

  Gumby tensed but forced himself to keep from reacting further. He supposed he’d been
lucky to have been spared that fate. Though if his old man had gone that route, maybe he would have been the only one hurt…

  “Paul looked awful. Sweaty, and jittery, with circles under his eyes. He kept saying that someone was coming, and we needed to get away.”

  Jazz began rubbing her left upper arm, over and over. She rocked back and forth, staring straight ahead though not actually seeing anything.

  “With each passing second, he grew more and more frantic until he suddenly froze and said it was too late to get away. ‘H-he’s here,’ he said.” She swallowed. “And when I asked who he told me, ‘The Devil.’” Jazz’s voice cracked and she shook her head. “Sorry, I just…I need a minute.”

  God, his heart was going to split in two. Screw’s too if the anguish in his eyes meant anything.

  “Take all the time you need, Jazz. We’re not going anywhere,” Gumby managed to say around the lump in his throat.

  She gave him a nod then took a deep breath. “It was then I knew something was seriously wrong with him mentally. He often talked with fire and brimstone religious undertones, but this was out there even for him. When I asked him w-where the devil was, he turned on me and said… h-he was in me, and it was his responsibility t-to get him out. Uh, to save me.” She cleared her throat, seeming to use the act to buy herself another second. “I remember thinking he meant some kind of exorcism so I said we should go in the living room. I was trying to buy some time for his father to get home. I thought he’d say some prayer and that’d be it. I was wrong.”

  She fell silent. Gumby’s throat felt tight. He knew the next words out of her mouth would be awful. Knew he should say something comforting, but words failed him.

  “What did he do to you, Jazz?” Screw asked, voice ragged.

  “He c-cut me. Right here.” She pointed a trembling finger at her left shoulder. “Said I had to bleed to get the devil out of me.” A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another, and another. “It wasn’t deep, but it hurt so bad. I remember screaming until my throat was raw. That’s how my stepfather found us. Paul holding a bloody knife to my injured arm. He dropped it and ran. We didn’t see him again for three years.”