The Lies Between Us (The Devil's Dust #4)(31)

I shift in my seat and pull my leather cut onto my arms. To wear this, I feel proud, like I’m a part of something whole.

Orange catches my eye, and I look up to see Lip handcuffed and being pushed toward his chair. Orange. Is that for being new or for murder?

He looks rough. His lip piercing is gone, and his hair is oily and un-groomed. This guy doesn’t look like Lip at all, but rather a maniacal empty shell of Lip. I pick the phone up and watch as his chest lifts on an inhale before he lifts his phone.

“Lip,” I state anxiously.

“Sup?” He looks off, not at me. A stabbing pain radiates in my chest, but I furrow my brows and try to shrug it off.

“I miss you. How have you been? Are you okay?” I ramble off all the questions that have been in my mind since the day he was taken from me.

He shrugs. “I’m fine. It’s prison.” His tone is clipped and dry. He doesn’t even seem excited to see me. I pull on my cut, a little sad.

“What is that?” Lip snaps. My head jerks up and I find him actually looking at me.

“This?” I pull on the leather claiming my shoulders. I smile and turn a little bit in my seat to show off the back.

“I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting it.” I chuckle.

Lip bites his bottom lip and nods. “I gotta go babe.”

I jerk in my seat. “What? Why?” None of the guards had said anything about our time being up.

“Time’s up,” he states, standing from his seat.

“Wait!” I slap my hand against the glass, my teeth gritting with anger. Ever since the day he was taken from me, I have had one thing on my mind every day.

“That day you said you had something to tell me, what was it?” I yell, hoping he can hear me.

Lip trails his bottom lip with his tongue, his eyes searching mine for the first time since I’ve been here. I feel vulnerable with the intensity of it. Seconds go by which feel like several minutes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he finally says and walks away. My bottom lip trembles and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hold back a sob. I all but run out of there, so confused. He doesn’t look like Lip because he isn’t Lip. He’s built a shell, an ego to survive in prison. I have to be strong for him, just like the girls said. He was there for me when I needed it most, and now I’ll be here for him.

Lip was sentenced to six years in prison. When that verdict came in, I fell off the wagon of sobriety. I got so high and drunk that Babs had to put her finger down my throat to make me puke up some of the liquor. I was hungover for three days.


CHERRY

4 Years Later

I would love to say that all the visits we had over the last four years were different, but they weren’t. He was distant, his eyes hollow and cold. The Lip I knew was nowhere to be found when I was with him. But he was in prison, and I couldn’t imagine what that was like. I was told a couple of times visits were not an option because Lip was in trouble. Not to mention he had extended time added to his sentence because he killed a man in self-defense. The ol’ ladies took me in as one of their own, and I loved them for it. Prison wasn’t only rough for Lip, but for me, too. Living among the MC, a rougher side of me escaped. When one of them was in trouble, I was there standing behind them, ready to throw down. To say the least, my soul had become corrupted for my new family, but being alone for years can make anyone angry. I was mad, I was sad, I was lonely, and I took it out on anyone I could. Before, I saw a baseball bat as something you did to pass time—little league, even. Now when I see a bat, I wonder whose kneecaps I’m about to crack, and If I should use aluminum or wood.

Who knows, maybe this side of me would have come out eventually. I wasn’t exactly raised in the best upbringing, after all. I asked God to feel my pain that day I met Lip, and he must have listened and placed me where I’d be accepted. With the outlaws, where I belong.

***

Staring at the keys in my hand, my heart races when I think about the thought that has been plaguing my mind for several months. Piper. My daughter. Seeing her. I want to see her just once, know that she’s alive and doing well. Years have gone by and yet every day I think about her. Think about telling the club, and think about telling Lip, but I don’t. I don’t tell anyone. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m scared. Lip is not the man I knew. He’s distant since he’s been in prison; he doesn’t say much when I see him, and hardly writes back anymore. He’s breaking in there. Prison is making him hard and constantly on-guard. Lip has two more years in that hellhole, and every day seems longer without him.

I tell him every time I talk to him that I’m here, waiting for him, staying strong for him. Just like the ol’ ladies told me to. They said those are the main things a man locked up wants to hear. Hell, they’re the main things I want to tell him. But even with the club having my back, inviting me to functions and making me one of their own, I feel a piece of my soul missing. Piper is missing. Lip is missing. Therefore, I am missing.

“I could just drive by,” I mutter to myself. Just drive by and see that the trailer park is still there, see the house Eric lives in—or used to live in, because who knows if he’s even still there.

I bite my bottom lip and step out the front door. Just a drive-by; nobody will even recognize me. I get into my car, pull my hair into a white baseball cap I found in Lip’s closet, and put on some sunglasses. I flip down my sun visor and look at myself in the mirror. It’ll work.