The Lie: Rebels of Ridgecrest High (Book 2)

By the time I make it to the trailer park, it’s dark and scarier than it is during the day. I shrink behind the steering wheel as I make my way down to Roman’s trailer.

I see the little white car he’s been driving and park beside it. After turning off the ignition, I take a deep breath. I’m worried about what I’ll find inside that trailer, and I need to be brave right now. I can’t be scared. In order to help Roman, I need to put on my big girl panties and get in there.

As I exit my car, the night air wraps around me in a chilling hug. I hope it’s not a premonition of the night. Roman is strong. He has to be okay.

But how long can one person be strong without breaking?

I take a few steps forward and almost fall face-first because the length of the dress makes it hard to move fast. I wish I’d changed before coming here. The dress exposes me more than I would like out here. I’m just glad I have sneakers on. At least I can get to the car faster than in heels if I need to.

I lock my car and hold my keys in my hand, quickly adjusting them so that two keys are sticking out of my fisted hand. It’s a tip I’d seen on YouTube for women walking alone at night. Two keys. I would feel a little better if I didn’t have to use my left hand, but it’s better than nothing.

The porch of the trailer is dark, but the window beside it glows with the faint light of a TV. His father must be here. Damon’s done something to him—I’m sure of it.

I knock and stand back, waiting for the vile man to appear.

He doesn’t take long, slamming the door open and squinting to see me. “You got beer?” he asks, and I think, at first, he hasn’t recognized me.

I take a deep breath and stand tall. “No, I’m here to take Roman.”

And I am. There’s no way I’m letting him live here another day. If he doesn’t come with me, I’m calling Child Protective Services myself. I know he doesn’t want that, but I just can’t see him like this anymore. He would be better off anywhere but here.

“Ah, pussy boy is licking his wounds in his room. Come in, sweet thang.”

I cringe at the way he says sweet thang. He lingers at the door and it has me tightening the fisted keys. They hurt my hand, but it’s nothing like the hurt he could inflict on me. When he doesn’t move, I slide past him.

His fingertip strokes along the back of my arm, and I shrink away from him. I don’t stop walking until I’m standing outside Roman’s door. I turn back to see his father has closed the door, and he’s eyeing me, rubbing his chin.

I swallow down the thick lump in my throat and knock. “Roman? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

There’s a pained groaning sound coming from the room. I don’t hesitate—I open the door. It’s dark, but I can see his figure lying on the bed in a fetal position.

My heart sinks. What has he ever done to this world? Why must he go through so much pain? I’m done. I’m going to get Roman away from here and call the police.

“Pussy boy’s not up for much, but I am.” His dad leers from the doorway, and all the hairs on my body stand at attention.

Roman tries to say something, but all I can hear is whooshing in my ears. All I can see is red. I slam the door in his father’s face.

“Roman.” I rush to his side. “Oh god, what has he done to you?” My hands hover above his injured body. He’s shaking, and I can’t stop the tears from falling. “It’s okay. I’m here now. I’m going to protect you from him.”

Shifting, I find his backpack on the floor. I quickly flip on the light, but I hesitate before turning back around. If I see Roman right now, I’m worried I will run out there and kill that man myself. So, instead, I open the backpack and get busy putting his belongings in there.

Whatever we don’t get now, I’ll buy for him. I never want him to come back here again. I pick up a leather vest. I’ve never seen that before. Flipping it around, I see that it says The Sons of Death MC and Prospect.

My heart stops for a moment. Is Roman part of all that? I’ve seen those guys running around town on their bikes, but never, for a moment, did I think Roman would join them. Why would he want to join them…unless it’s for protection or to stop bad shit from happening? Are the guys who hit me part of this motorcycle club?

I don’t have time to ask him, so I shove it in the bag. It must be important to him. Letting out a deep, shaking breath, I turn to face Roman.

His dirty-blond hair is plastered to his face, and he’s red in the face and shaking uncontrollably. Even only in his boxers, he looks so small, so…unwell. I see the bruises on his body. I rush over and place my hand on his forehead.

“You’re burning up. You have a fever, Roman.” Fucking hell, if I didn’t come here, who would have helped him? His father sure wouldn’t. Would The Sons of Death come and help him?

He reaches out to me, his hands shaking, and I can see the bruised knuckles where he fought back. Gently taking one of his hands in mine, I turn it palm side up, place my cheek on his palm, and kiss it.

“I’ll take care of you, Roman. I’m going to take you home. This isn’t your home anymore; you will come live with me.” Dad will agree. He has to. Roman can’t stay here one more day.

He shakes his head. “Mila, no. I can’t. They’ll find where you live.”

Who’s they? The motorcycle gang? They can come and find me all they want; I don’t give a shit. I will fight them.

“Let me help you put some clothes on.” I find a pair of sweats in a pile beside him. There’s a t-shirt there as well.

He shakes his head again, but I ignore his protests.

“I’m doing this, whether you like it or not. I’m not leaving you here. I don’t care who finds me. As long as you’re with me—that’s all I care about.” I slide his sweats up his legs, and once they’re on, I move to help him sit up.

The pained look on his face almost causes me to lose it and start sobbing. But if I do that, he’ll feel ashamed, and he shouldn’t be. His father should be.

I have to stay strong. For Roman.

My hands shake as I gently tug the t-shirt over his head. I take one arm and help it through the armhole. He lets out a pained groan as I take the other. I’m worried he’s broken something, but I don’t know what. He spins himself and places his feet on the floor.

Roman looks up at me through the curtain of his hair, his big, sad blue eyes cutting me straight to the core. A tear rolls free as I give him a small smile. I push his hair behind his ears and watch as his body shakes with emotion. I step between his legs and gently rest my hand on his back. He lets out a deep sob as he uses one hand to pull me closer, resting his head on my belly.

I run my fingers through his hair and hum for a few moments so I can compose myself. If I don’t, I’m going to start crying and may never stop.

“I’ve got you. You’re mine. I told you I will never give up, will never leave you behind again. I promise you this—you’re my forever.”

We stay like that for a while, his body shaking from crying and the fever and whatever else he’s been holding in for so long. I patiently wait while he lets it all out. Finally, he pulls free from my belly, and I wipe my thumbs under his eyes. They are rimmed with red, and he starts to cry again.

“I love you,” I whisper as I squat down in front of him. I place a small kiss on his salty, wet lips. Drawing away, I rest my forehead against his.

Together, we take a few deep breaths, and he whispers, “I’ve always loved you, Mila.”

I smile. It’s a little sad, but in the best way. I wipe away another of his tears. I hear his dad banging around out in the other room, then I flinch when he yells.

“Let’s go. Let me take you home.” I stand and hold out my hand, palm up.

Roman doesn’t hesitate to take it. I help him stand, but as his face contorts in pain and he stumbles a little, I have to wrap my arm around his waist to support his weight.

The yelling in the other room grows louder; it sounds like someone’s here.

“Roman. Mila,” Hunter yells out.

I release a deep breath in relief. In my worry, I forgot to call Hunter to let him know where I was. The girls must have told him I came here. But he didn’t call me…oh, shit. I left my phone in the car.

“Hunter,” I scream out.

I need him. Roman needs help getting out to the car, and as much as I want to say I’m strong, I’m already struggling with his weight against mine.

I open the bedroom door to see Hunter pushing past Damon.

“Damon, fuck off. We’re taking him this time, and there’s nothing you can do.” He shoves Damon, who stumbles back into the kitchen.

Hunter rushes to us and takes Roman’s weight. “Hey there, Romeo. I got you.”

Roman just grunts at Hunter, and it’s obvious Hunter called him that in an attempt to get a rise out of him. Roman used to hate when kids called him that in school when we were younger.

I run back into the room to grab the bag I’d packed for him, scanning the room for his phone and wallet. Once I quickly add them to the backpack, I give the room one last look as I walk out, closing the door behind me.

Roman’s father is in his face, yelling about money, and I storm out there and shove him. I think he’s just as surprised as I am. Fuck, why did I do that? But I don’t let him know I’m scared.

“Fuck off. He owes you nothing,” I seethe and turn to Roman, who watches his father with a deadly expression.

“Roman, let’s go.” Hunter pulls him toward the door, and I start to walk with him when I’m yanked back by my hair and I scream, reaching back to the hand as I feel hairs ripping from my skull.

Suddenly, Roman’s there, above me, his hand wrapped around his father’s throat. “Let. Her. Go.” His voice is raspy and deep. Considering the state I found him in, the strength he displays is shocking.

Hunter helps me up and frees me from Damon’s grip.

“Stupid little cunt.”

I turn just as Damon backhands me. My head whips to the side, my cheek burning from the force. My hand goes to my cheek as tears roll down.

Roman roars as he shoves Damon back, and he goes flying, crashing into the kitchen cabinet. The door hangs, broken. But he doesn’t stay down. Damon gets up and charges at Roman, but Hunter steps in, his fist flying into Damon’s gut, who doubles over, groaning.

“Come on, let’s go.” Hunter grabs my hand and wraps his arm around Roman. But he’s not moving; he’s watching his father. I look back at Damon, and he’s holding a knife now.

“You can’t take him from me. You can’t take my supply, you greedy whore. It’s mine. You can get your kicks somewhere else.”

I stand frozen. He just called his son his supply. As in, he only cares about Roman because he has money Damon can steal for his drug addiction.

Damon lunges at me with the knife, and I’m caught off-guard. I scream and throw up my right arm to block the hit. He hits my cast with the knife, and his weight pushes me down. There’s a scramble as Hunter and Roman pull Damon from me, trying to get the knife away.

There’s a lot of yelling as I attempt to pick myself up. Damon kicks out at me, and I’m thrown back against the wall, hitting my head on something sharp. I pull away, placing my hand back there, and it comes away warm and sticky with blood. My hands shake as I look up at the scene in front of me. It’s like everything’s being played in slow motion.

Roman has the knife in his hand, and Hunter holds Damon’s throat as he lashes out at him. Damon keeps swinging his arms, trying to connect, but he’s looking worn down. And when Hunter shoves him back, he lands on his ass, the dirty dishes in the skink clattering, and he just sits there, staring up at them. Giving up a fight he’s never going to win.

Roman stumbles toward me, and I scramble up to hug him. I wrap my arms around him as Hunter picks up the bag, calling out, “Come on.”

My ears are ringing from the hit to the head, but I don’t let go of Roman. He shakes in my arms. When I see movement from the side, and the glint of silver, I scream.

Damon has another knife and he swings. I shove Roman, the knife slicing down and catching my upper left arm as Damon stumbles past us. I look down in shock. A trail of blood trickles down my arm; it’s not deep, but I will need stitches. Fuck.

“No,” Roman cries out as he pulls me toward him, turning just in time to see Damon lunging again with the knife, but Roman hits him in the stomach.

Damon’s eyes widen as he looks down to where Roman’s hand sits against his belly. Roman slowly peels his fingers away from the black handle of the knife he’d been holding. I stumble back a little with Roman as I watch Damon drop his knife and grab the one buried deep inside him.

I stand in shock as Hunter rushes back inside after putting the bag in his car and sees the scene for the first time.

“Fuck. Fuck.” Hunter looks at me, then Roman.

The cut on my arm throbs as blood trickles down my arm. I look to my hand and see drops of blood on the dirty carpet.

I close my eyes. What do we do? We need to call the cops, and we need help getting Damon to a hospital. The knife’s still in; he can survive this. This was self-defense. After all those crime shows I watched, I know they will let Roman off. He was protecting me. I open my eyes and see Damon sputtering blood. Fuck.

“Close the door,” I say to Hunter. My voice is calm now as I try to remove myself from the situation. If I give in to the fear and anger, I might lose it, and I can’t. I need to be strong. We all do.

Hunter doesn’t question me—he closes it.

“Fucker, you’re going to rot in jail for this,” Damon croaks, looking down at the knife.

I watch as he pulls it free, my mouth dropping open as he starts to bleed all over the carpet. The number one rule is to not remove the object. Is he crazy? Does he want to die?

Damon tries to get up and groans. “Call an ambulance.”

I hold myself still. I can’t move. If I do, I will crumble and I can’t do that. I need to be resilient. I need to fix this for Roman.

Roman doesn’t say anything; he just wavers beside me. Hunter presses his hand over my arm, and I hiss from the pain. Looking up at him, his big, brown eyes let me know everything will be okay.

But will it?