Into the Sunset
Autor
Iandra Taylor
Lecturas
602K
Capítulos
26
You've been secretly writing books for years to save up some cash. So when you catch your terrible husband with another woman you say: "I don't want another single thing from you. You're her problem now. I'm done."
When Sadie catches her husband with another woman, she feels scared of going it alone in her judgemental small town. But thanks to her secret writing career, the help of the local motorcycle club, and potential for new love with a devoted biker named Wrench, Sadie discovers a new strength within herself.
But will her vendictive ex let her carve out a new path?
Chapter 1
SADIE
There was a text on my phone from an unknown number that told me I needed to check in on my husband. It was odd, but so many things over the years had been odd.
I had often thought Adam was cheating on me, but I never had the evidence to prove it. And even if he was cheating on me, I couldn’t leave him. When I first suspected he was unfaithful, I didn’t have any way to support myself and a small child.
But Garrett hadn’t been a child for a while. He was now seventeen, almost eighteen, and could make his own choices in life.
The text came at three in the afternoon. I didn’t know if it meant that there was an accident or if it was something else. For most of our marriage, Adam had worked second shift, but he had switched to first shift about two years ago. That meant that he should have been at work at that moment.
I called and was told he didn’t work today. Yet he left the house that morning and had told me he would be working late.
That was strike one.
Worried, I clocked out and went home to see if he was there. His truck wasn’t in the driveway.
As I pulled into my usual spot, Garrett walked out of the house to head to his part-time job.
“Garrett, have you talked to your father? Is he all right?” I asked.
He looked at me with hatred in his eyes as he stalked to his car. “Why do you always fucking ask me? Don’t you know by now that neither of us gives a shit about you? If either of us had something to say to your pathetic ass, we would tell you!”
He pulled open the car door before turning to me once more. “Just leave me the fuck alone. And while you’re at it, leave Dad alone too. He has something much better with her. I don’t see why he hasn’t left your fat ass yet!” Garrett yelled as he got into his car and pulled away from the house.
I always tried to make sure my son could never say that I was mean to him or that I abused him. No matter what he threw my way, I always treated him with all the love I had. He was the light of my life, even when he was doing everything he could to not be.
But it was getting harder and harder to listen to the vile words that came out of his mouth.
When he was little, Garrett had been the kindest child I had ever known. But over time, his father molded him into someone I no longer recognized.
Over the years, I had learned to hide my feelings, to not show how much they hurt me. I saw how happy it made them to treat me like I didn’t matter, and I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing that their words cut me inside.
Late at night, after Garrett was in his room and Adam was at work, I would go into the guest room and turn on the loud fan. Only then would I let my emotions out.
That little room had become my safe haven—the place I cried myself to sleep as I wondered where I had gone wrong with all this. What had I done in my life to deserve the shit life I had?
I slept in that room and worked in there. I became the woman I am today in that little room. I took all the pain and hopelessness I felt and turned it into something beautiful.
I wrote my books in that room, hunched over a second-hand laptop. I found hope in the worlds I created, in the characters I brought to life, in the stories that flowed from my fingers and onto the page.
As time passed, I only left the room to cook and clean. After years of listening to the complaining and abuse, it was easier to escape—to hide from them.
I often thought about why I didn’t just leave. Didn’t just pack up my meager belongings and run away from it all.
When the abuse first started, Garrett was so small. And he was always a daddy’s boy. If I left, I knew I would have to fight to get custody of him. I would have had to find not only a way to pay for our everyday life, but a lawyer too.
On top of that, I wouldn’t have had any support. I would have been utterly alone with only my child for comfort.
I wouldn’t have been able to make it on my own. Adam had ruined my credit. He controlled our finances, and until recently, I had no way of supporting myself. And forget about scraping up enough money to put toward a deposit on another rental.
There were times that I thought I could go to my parents, but I knew they would not have taken me in. They would have turned me away and told me I needed to go crawling back to my husband, begging for forgiveness.
They raised me to be the perfect Southern lady—to not argue with my husband and to follow the teachings of the church that the man was the head of the house and therefore he could do no wrong.
This town was full of religious fanatics who pounded into our heads that divorce was the unpardonable sin. It didn’t matter if your husband was mean to you or if he beat you. You were the one who was breaking God’s law if you left him. And that stigma would follow a divorced woman around to her dying day.
It wasn’t like my parents didn’t know what was going on. Whenever I would complain about him, my mother would tell me that I needed to pray for God to give me the grace to be more understanding.
Eventually, I stopped complaining about how Adam was treating me. It was easier than listening to my mother spout another sentence about prayer and duty.
After years of listening to the nasty comments, I started to believe the bullshit. I couldn’t let Adam take all the blame. Part of this was my fault for not standing up for myself and just leaving.
Now, however, it was a different story. I was in a different place in my life.
I refused to find myself in that place ever again. Years of hiding in the guest bedroom meant I had years of published books under my belt. I hid every penny I made from my writing and covered my tracks as if I were some undercover spy in a foreign land.
I wouldn’t be helpless again. And now, I just needed something to push me over the edge—something to make me finally leave the bastard.
My phone pinged with another text from the same unknown number. It was an address.
I had a general idea of where it was, and I knew I wouldn’t have a problem getting there.
I got into my car and put the address into my GPS. I took a deep breath and pulled onto the street.
It only took five minutes to get to the address. I didn’t venture to this side of town often because I wasn’t one to go out and do much. I had too much on my plate with my full-time job and taking care of everything at the apartment.
I pulled up in front of what used to be the old motel. The town of Centerville was small, and for years, the old motel had been the only place for visitors to stay. Six years ago, when it had finally closed, a motorcycle club bought it. According to town gossips, it was turned into the club’s clubhouse.
I sat in the parking lot of what looked like the old lobby and stared at the building. A lot had changed. From my car, I could tell that the lobby and a few of the first-floor rooms had been turned into a bar.
There was now a second building peeking out from behind it. More rooms? Though I knew it no longer functioned as a motel. Maybe some of the men lived there.
The sign across the front read “Sinner’s Pride.” I snorted a small laugh.
Some days, it felt like this town had more churches than people. For years, the religious fanatics had protested the building of any bars or liquor stores in town. When the club had first bought the motel and submitted the permits to turn it into a bar, those churches had raised a huge stink about the bar.
But this time, the club won. And based on the number of cars in the parking lot at three-thirty in the afternoon, they were doing quite well for themselves.
This was the first time I’d actually looked at the building since they’d moved into town. It was not at all what I had pictured.
The building was clean, and the grounds were free of litter. Although I had never been to an MC’s clubhouse or bar before, I had read some books about them. By books, I meant romances. And I knew they were not something I could take as gospel about the biker life.
I could see Adam’s truck parked at the other side of the lot. So, the anonymous text was right. He was here.
I closed my eyes and prepared myself for what I might find when I went inside. Did I want to find something? Did I want to see my husband in a way that I had never seen before?
I couldn’t really think of an answer.
At one point, years ago, we had a great relationship. When we first started dating, everything was good. Happy. Even the first few years of our marriage were good.
Everything changed once Garrett came along. It was like I was living with a stranger. Gone was the Adam I fell in love with. Now, almost eighteen years later, I still didn’t have a clue what had happened.
At some point, I had thought I would ask Adam, but that was before the name-calling and insults. Once those started, I didn’t care anymore. All I knew was that I was not living up to his standards.
Looking back, I recognized that I was also brainwashed.
Maybe now would be the time to ask what happened all those years ago. Or maybe not. All I knew for sure was that as soon as I walked through that door, my life would change forever.
I got out of the car and slowly walked to the entrance. I opened the door, noticing that it didn’t make a sound. No one paid any attention to me as I walked inside.
I looked around, squinting until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. And I found what I was looking for.
I was right—nothing would ever be the same.
