Bleed Me (Haunted Roads Book 3)
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
AUTHOR NOTE
AUTHOR WARNING
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AUTHOR NOTE
THANK YOUS
ABOUT INDIA
CONNECT WITH INDIA
BOOKS BY INDIA
PLAYLIST
AUTHOR NOTE
First, I want to remind new to me readers that Bleed Me is an Interconnected Standalone in the Haunted Roads series. If after reading this novel, you wish to learn more about certain characters, book one is Steal Me. Book two is Scar Me.
Now for my personal thoughts on the book you are about to endure:
Numerous of my readers have heard me say this many times: there is beauty, everywhere. You only have to be willing to see it. Even in the most hopeless of moments, it is there, or at least on its way. Be daring, be bold, be brave, so that the light can find you. Don’t let darkness shield you from such divine creations. And remember… damaged souls are worth saving.
SERIOUS AUTHOR WARNING
As beautiful as I find the world to be, I also understand its balance.
There is darkness and an ugly side I wish didn’t exist.
In this book, some of these sides are revealed.
There are scenes with memories of violent and sexual child abuse.
If these are subjects that are too much for you to read, please refrain from reading this novel.
I dedicate this novel to those who have lost memories in order to survive.
I hope to someday remember mine and remind the little girl in me that she is safe now.
#DamagedSoulsAreWorthSaving
CHAPTER ONE
Kenny
In my dream, she was there. The little girl’s hand was tiny as it reached to me, promising another path of less pain and sadness… It felt like being stranded on a tiny, isolated island, in the middle of a deadly storm, when I started to slowly gain consciousness from the latest beating. The winds—their anger—circled me. Who was my companion on this lonely island? Searing pain. My mouth hurt. My stomach. My head… Every place throbbed through echoes of many mistakes, the past and the ones to come, by us all.
Muddled, my mind scrambled to comprehend what was happening the night everything changed for me. In my present state, I stood on weak legs, the moon shining down on me, my wrists strung up above my head by two ropes attached to the upper corners of the entrance of an old abandoned barn. The ropes, pulling me in opposite directions, were a metaphor for what was taking place within my heart and spirit.
The last thing I remembered was leaving Delilah… Her haunted tears made my eyes burn all over again. Through my forming tears, I saw a dark field in front of me. I was somewhere deep in the country part of Georgia. Present was a Harley motorcycle and Delilah’s new red Camaro. I also saw the backs of two bikers. Their leather read: Redemption Ryders MC.
Diesel. These are his boys.
I was so young then. Just barely seventeen. A wet-behind-the-ears Junior in high school. How had I managed to get stuck in such a deadly circumstance? I fucked with the MC President’s girl. She wasn’t his Old Lady. Delilah was best friends with his little sister, Viola.
The tips of the bikers’ cigarettes glowed in the night, highlighting their bloody knuckles. I gazed down at my beaten body, hoping the tobacco could calm them.
One of the bikers ran his free hand through his wild reddish hair. “Jesus, we get back into town to do nothin’ but ride straight into a shit show.”
The other biker said nothing but stared into the vast darkness surrounding us.
The redheaded biker tried again for conversation. “Why this barn, brother?”
As soon as the other biker finally responded, I knew who it was. Artist.
Lost in thought, he quietly replied, “Delilah and I had a special moment here. Felt right to have her memory witness his death.”
Peering around, seeing no one else there, was confirmation it was me they planned on killing.
Delilah wasn’t at the barn. Artist was just staying true to his road name, speaking through his poetic way of thinking.
Blood dripped from my mouth as I asked, “I-Is she o-okay?”
Art’s body seized, the mere sound of my voice making his skin crawl. As the wind blew through his brown hair, his back straightened before he turned around to show his menacing glare through angry blue eyes. “How am I supposed to know? You won’t fucking tell me what you did to her.”
My eyes widened with confusion. “Won’t tell you? H-How long have I been here?”
Both men closed in, dangerous curiosity looming. Art’s upper lip lifted in disgust. “What’s with the new and improved attitude? No longer want to be a button-pushin’ asshole?”
Me? “H-Have I been talking to you?”
Art raged forward, grabbing onto my bloody and sweaty shirt, and shook me. “Stop with the fucking games! Tell me what you did to JB!”
I had never heard of that nickname for Delilah but knew it was her he was referring to. My eyes closed as I thought of Delilah’s bedroom, Viola and her huddled together on the carpet. Viola’s blonde hair and Delilah’s long golden-brown hair, both disheveled, showing their stress. V was holding Delilah while she screamed at me about what I had done…
Painful remorse etched all over my face had Artist stepping back as if afraid of what I had to say. I swallowed. “V said I… hurt her.”
The older redhead’s nostrils flared as his dark eyes dug deeper than his words. “Hurt her how?”
Knowing I was minutes from death, a blade gutting me by Art, I told the truth. “I don’t know.” He wanted to know what I had actually done, but I took his question literally. I loved Delilah so much that ‘how’ I was able to hurt her was baffling and unbelievably heartbreaking.
Without warning, Art rammed his ringed and tattooed fist into my gut, then screamed, “I’m done with your lies!”
My strained wrists took the weight of my body as my knees buckled. Fighting for air, I coughed. “Lilah said—”
Art had my hair in his angry grasp in a second flat. Same height as me, he wrenched my head back to sneer in my face. “That nickname is for her daddy and brother only, you piece of shit.”
He was right. In fact, Delilah had told me never to call her that. I was wrong. In so many ways. “She-She said I have split personalities.”
Redhead chuckled. “How hard we hit him in the head?”
It felt like my hair was being pulled slowly from my scalp as Art tightened his hold. “Multiple personalities, huh? Was it your ‘personality’ that told V ‘Delilah’s watery doe brown and golden eyes pleaded for air as I came down her throat’?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. To my knowledge, Delilah and I had never had oral sex. But there laid the problem. My knowledge wasn’t correct.
Art was trembling with anger. “Huh? Wanna tell me that wasn’t you?” He released my hair and shoved at my chest. “Don’t bother. I heard you my damn self over the phone when V called me.”
In Delilah’s bedroom, V had told me she was calling Tucker, my best friend, but then I blacked out again. When I came to, Viola was hysterical. What had I said? What had I done? I was clueless, but whatever words or actions I committed, V wanted me to pay the ultimate price. I can’t explain how it feels to know that a part of you is vile and not know why. Not comprehend how that part of yourself could bring harm to those you love the most.
So, right in front of Art, as I had in Delilah’s bedroom after V had told me what I had done, I leaned my head back and screamed to the night sky, “Nooooooo!” Rage and frustration racing through me had my legs carrying me again. I screamed, “Goddamnit! Art! Please tell me you’re lying! Pleeeease!”
Art didn’t move, at all. He just stared at me, lost in thought as I gasped and cried for hurting someone so dear to me. Delilah was my savior. After all I had been through, she was the one I could count on most. To think… To think I—
“Ah, shit,” mumbled the redheaded biker, rubbing a palm down his long thick beard. “This fucker really doesn’t remember.”
Art blinked. He stumbled back, eyes searching for nothing anyone present could see. The smart fucker was putting pieces together.
I was suddenly afraid I would soon black out—switch into another of my personalities. I cried out, “Dissociative amnesia. Don’t forget that. It’s what Delilah suspects I have.”
Just then, another Harley roared and skidded into the field, racing toward me like the devil was coming home and was hungry as hell. The headlight shining in my eyes made me squint.
Artist and Redhead tried to block Diesel, who, now on foot, stomped toward me, but there was nothing powerful enough to stop that hatred. The two men fell back as the large man charged through them.
Diesel was someone us kids had trusted—looked up to. He was a silent guardian for Delilah and her brother, Tucker Ward. But there was nothing silent or safe about Diesel this night. I was seeing the true side of a very deadly and powerful man.
The strength of his fist had been lost on me until it crashed into my jaw. My teeth jammed, stunning my brain into an ear-ringing confusion. My knees buckled, again, fruitlessly. I hung by my wrists, hoping he wouldn’t strike me again, my lonely island growing…
He roared in my face, “Where are they?” his blue eyes, just like his sister’s, set ablaze.
“H-Home.” My jaw would barely move through all the pain, but my life depended on my next words. “I left them at home.”
Tucker’s dad had taken me in early my Junior year and treated me like a son. Their home became my home. From what I could remember of my past, at this point in my life, it was the nicest home I had ever had. Now, it was all gone. I was utterly isolated and about to die.
From under his sweaty dark hair, Diesel sneered with revulsion, “I always knew something was wrong with you. Your nighttime weirdness never sat right with me—” Interrupting him, his cell vibrated in his front jean pocket. “Better be important!” he answered. He listened while his eyes found mine. “Got it.” He slid the phone back into his pocket, glaring and backing away from me. He spoke, but I knew it wasn’t to me. “They’re at Tuck’s. I’m going to them now.” He looked to Art while pointing at me. “Burn this fucker… in her car. I don’t want her to have one memory of this scum.”
And there it was. My death sentence.
Art was full of regret as he tried to explain, “Diesel, I gotta tell ya something—”
“Are you kidding me right now? After what he said about your Jail Bait? There is nothing to discuss.”
Now I understood Delilah’s nickname, JB.
Art tried again, “But, in Daytona, I witnessed—”
Diesel was in his face like a raging bull who had been set on fire. “JB is like my kid! Nothing to discuss! He fucking hurt her! Burn this fucker, or I am ripping off that patch of yours and shoving it up your motherfucking ass!” Seething, spit flew from his mouth as he faced Redhead. “And if this kid ain’t burning in minutes, you will dig out his patch,” he was suddenly back in Art’s face, “so I can ram it up your ass again!” He faced Redhead. “Understood?”
Red lifted his hands. “Completely. The kid is toast. Car too.”
“Accident style.”
Red nodded. “Done.”
As Diesel’s jet-black bike raced into the night, a rusty brown truck pulled in. After parking, a leather-vested biker stepped out, watching Diesel’s taillight disappear. “I haven’t seen that old man drive so fast in years. What the fuck is going on?”
Red asked him, “Why you in a cage?”
The biker rolled his eyes. “Got an over-doser in the back. Junkie dumb fuck. ‘Bout to bury him but caught word you guys may need help first.” He froze when he saw me as if recognizing me. “What did he do?”
Red shook his head. “That’s the question of the night, brother. And no time for answers. To the ground he goes.”
“No shit?” asked the biker, appearing surprised. “Where’s JB?”
I was surprised by how everyone knew of Delilah. I was with her every day, yet had never seen Red nor the biker in the truck.
“Home. Diesel’s headed there now.” Red walked to me, pulling out a knife. “Take it like a man, kid. Let your last breaths be with pride.”
I was in shock as he cut me down. I just stood there, dumbfounded that I had hurt Delilah and was now dying for it. No, I didn’t struggle as they put me in the truck. I agreed, I deserved to be killed. And I didn’t struggle out on Highway 94—the dark road with a hell of a curve that, if you misjudged, your car would ram into a huge oak tree. After being shoved behind the steering wheel of Delilah’s car, Red and the ‘cage’ driver prepped the car to self-destruct. I stared out the windshield and at that tree. It was where they wanted me to crash and die.
“I’ll do it.”
I was numb. It was somewhat serene to know it was almost over. Even though I didn’t know why I had multiple personalities, I could still feel the sadness that caused them. I think I could always sense the darkness that was there, hiding, waiting to be discovered. Can’t explain how or why, but I was sure I didn’t want to know the truth. So, that tree became a beacon—a calling to end all the underlying pain I lived with every day.
My eyes drifted down to the passenger floorboard and saw Delilah’s purse. It was haunting. I had driven her home from school yet never remembered seeing it there, but I knew what was in it. A buddy had told me he saw her buying some pills at school. Reaching over the gear shift, I blindly searched the inside of the purse until I felt the bottle. I pulled it out, a typical orange bottle with the prescription label scratched off. Had my actions driven Delilah to this?
Viola screaming at me, flashed in my mind again. My chest seized in painful regret.
My eyes drifted back to the tree. I don’t deserve to live after causing Delilah unforgivable harm.
My hands gripped the steering wheel, and again I said, “I’ll do it.”
Red and the other biker chose to not use the rope for the steering wheel or the stick for the gas pedal. With the car in park, I was already pressing on the gas. As the engine roared and I built the courage to shift the car into drive, Red and the biker shut the doors and backed away. Art was yelling, but I didn’t bother to listen. As soon as the coast was clear, I whispered my goodbye to Tucker, my best friend who should never forgive me, to Delilah, a girl who should have never loved me, and to my mother, who probably didn’t care whether I lived or died. Then, I slipped the car into drive.
The wheels spun, fighting the power of the engine, trying to gain traction. Fishtaili
ng, the car surged forward with force. My eyes never left the tree. I watched it get closer and closer until it became embedded in the car.
Blinking awake, my ears rang from the pressure and shock of the collision. The tree was now so close, it took a few seconds to understand what I was seeing. The hood had caved and was bent around the trunk. I was sure the engine, as designed, had dropped and slid under the car because the rest of the front of the vehicle was pressed against my feet.
The windshield was cracked, and the car was now making hissing noises that sounded like water hitting a hot surface. Boots pounding on the ground is what I heard next. Then yelling voices. “Holy shit! The crazy fuck! Get him out of there!”
What?
Did I deserve to be rescued? Maybe not, but that didn’t stop the bikers from trying. After learning the driver door would no longer open, the window shattered with the impact from the butt of a gun. In shock, I barely lifted my arms in time to block the glass from hitting my face.
I’ll never forget the look on Art’s face when he took hold of the front of my shirt and started yanking me from the car. His expression was full of disbelief and… respect. He grunted, due to my weight, but managed to say, “Whichever personality has that set of balls, hold on to him, Kenny.”
Without another word, he dropped me to the ground, then helped Red shove the body of the overdosed man through the broken window. Red, with urgency, said, “There’s pills in the car. This will make sense.”
As if this was not the first time to a scene that was staged the way they needed it to be found, the other biker came running around the back of the car. “I got the tank leakin’. Set this bitch on fire.”
Art grabbed the back of my shirt I was laying on and dragged me across the dirt while Red pulled a pack of matches from his front pocket. Also backing away, he lit the whole package then threw it underneath the car. Waooom! The car set ablaze.
Stunned. I was absolutely stunned. “W-What the hell are you guys doing?”
Art yanked me up from the ground. “Diesel must have had a change of heart.”