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dal
my fiancé Jason's friends slurre
The annual Serpents of Redemption MC rally was a rt club, the Iron Lizards, I was an outsi
t buzz against my thigh. I ignored it. Probably just ano
the jar, a step closer to leaving
suffocating press of leather-clad bodi
ne buzz
I pulled it out. An unknown
wiped acros
, the laughter, the clinking of bottles -
ache, like something had shatte
My Jason. The man who s
deep down the front of her leather pants, her hips grinding back again
photo, a digital cl
watch r
s. That club-hopping "Sweetbutt" who always wore the least a
curling inside her while her own hand gripped his belt b
laughed. A shor
he traded me for? A storage room and a woman
pness. Cheapness at myself - for e
in my stomach,
looking all
ng toward me, two beers in hand, a perfect smile on
lterated rage shot up f
d when I stepped back, avoiding
walked toward the small stag
e called ou
eling hundreds of
microphone from a drunk guitarist. The fe
t the front wearing cuts that read 'Ser
was steady, clear. It surprised even me
le as he started push
as it went pale in an instant. "You might be looking f
ugh the crowd, punctuated by
you were getting so hot and heavy with her in that stockroo
face flushed from white to red to purple, his mouth opening and closing
erate, and slid off the engagement ri
n't loud, but every syllable landed l
e, twisted with humiliat
ssed it casually toward
link. "Keep it. Give it to the next woman who
guitarist, who was still standing
rted like the Red Sea, clearing a path in front
lty is cheaper than dirt - I wasn't
, and the cold night air
was shaking all over. I pulled out my p
ch-black road. No idea where I was going. No ride. But stan
bare feet. I'd kicked off my heels miles ago, and
ded, replaced by the sound of my own rag
from behind. A car screec
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