Ruined

Scott D. Hildreth

BABY GIRL

Scott Hildreth resides in Wichita, Kansas. He enjoys writing stories that make the reader stop and think. He has a little hope that you’ll enjoy this story, and as you read it, that you will think. You may find a little of yourself in this story. If you do, embrace it. You’re not as broken as you think.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the men and women that believe that they might be broken, when truly they are not. In many respects, we are who we are. Be honest about who you are, and become the best you can be at being that person.

Again, a special thanks to Sis, A-Train, and The Bone for being good at being who they are. They never falter.

A special thanks to the men and women who ride. Live for it, because it lives within us.

Lastly, to the Men and Women of Fire and Iron MC,
I told you so.

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Scott Hildreth

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at
[email protected]
. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

ERIK.
“Two colors, are you fucking serious, just two?”

“Yes, Erik, that’s all we’ve got right now, the black and the silver,” the salesman responded.

“Well Christ, Darwin. Every car I have purchased in the last five years has been black. I’m sick and damned tired of black cars,” I said, walking away from the silver BMW, and back toward the black one.

“Erik, the black just fits you. The silver, well…it is too conservative. The black is more, well, you,” he stated as he hurried to catch up with me, trying not to look as if he was running.

“Slow down, Darwin, I am not going to escape,” I said, looking over my shoulder.

“I will take the black one, but I will give you one twenty, that’s it, don’t counter offer. Don’t bicker. One twenty, and that’s it. A cent more, I will go get a Benz.”

“Alright, come inside, we’ll do the paperwork,” he said, attempting to hide the look of satisfaction from making a sale.

Growing up, I never knew the extent of my mother’s wealth. We lived a fairly simple life, and lived in very modest home. I attended a public school, and appeared on the surface, as well as in my mind, the same as any other kid that was raised in the Midwest.

My father had passed away when I was three of a brain aneurysm. I had no real recollection of him ever existing. I tried remembering through my childhood, and when I was in middle school I developed some false memories of him. I even recall telling some stories about him, all false. Growing older, I came to terms with the fact that he was gone, and that he was not going to ever be a part of my life. At that time, the false memories, stories, and hopes vanished. My mother raised me with a stern hand and a set of rules and regulations that were not negotiable.

It would be impossible to know for sure, but I suspect
something
to do with being raised by a stern mother, and having no father figure in the home attributed to my odd
sexual
nature, my sexual desires, and my inability to ever commit to a woman. My psychosexual development attributed to the remainder. At thirty-six years old, I had been in no less than a dozen relationships, had never been married, and had yet to have a girlfriend last longer than six months. Between relationships, I enjoyed having one of my female friends spend time with me-one that was sure of her place, and that a relationship was never going to materialize.

“So, is that new work on your arm, Erik?” Darwin asked, pointing to my right arm.

“New
work?
Where did you hear that phrase? That doesn’t sound like something a sixty year old car salesman would say,” I said as I lifted my arm.

“Well, the younger kids that work here all have tattoos. They always describe their new tattoo as ‘getting work done’, or look at my new ‘work’. I was just trying to sound like I knew what I was talking about,” he said from his desk, smiling.

“Well, as a matter of fact, it is new. I got this sleeve completed since I was in here the last time. It’s an Asian theme. A dragon, some cherry blossoms, and wind bars,” I said as I held my arm in front of his face.

As he admired the color and detail in my forearm tattoo, he began to speak, “So, how bad does it actually…”

“Holy shit, Darwin, who is
that
?” I asked, nudging my head to the left side, motioning to the door.

Looking up from my arm and lowering his reading glasses, Darwin looked toward the door, squinting.

“Erik…no. That’s Gene’s daughter. You know, the owner. She’s barely out of college, and here for the summer working as a receptionist. She’s probably twenty-two years old or so…definitely too damned young for you.”

“Darwin, I know someone your age doesn’t necessarily agree, but there are new rules. Half your age, plus seven years is what everyone says now. I don’t totally buy into all that, but fine. So, half thirty-six, plus seven. Twenty-five. Twenty-five years old is the age that’s socially acceptable for me,” I said as I watched her walk by.

She may have been twenty-two, but she looked to be about thirty. She was tall, appeared athletic, and had straight black hair. Her skin was fairly pale for this time of summer, but extremely smooth and blemish free. Dressed in black slacks, a red top, and conservative two inch heels, she walked as if she was real sure of
who
she was and where she was headed in life. Her chin held high, and looking straight ahead, she took each step with authority. Her walk had purpose.

I would settle for nothing less than owning her. I had every intent of doing to her what I had done to everyone else I had ever been with sexually. I would provide her, sexually, with a degree of satisfaction she had never seen or ever knew existed. I would continue this level of sexual satisfaction to and for her, making certain that she knew the value of it. I would rub her face in it, and make her well aware of what she was receiving.

As soon as I was sure she was falling deeply for me, I would cut her completely off. Within a few days to a week, she would know what I had already known. That she was ruined. That she could find nowhere else what she had found with me. Complete sexual satisfaction. At that moment, I would own her; she would live her remaining life using me as a sexual standard that all other men would be compared to. Compared to and held to compete with. To compete and fail.

“Does BMW offer a convertible hard top in any of their models?” I asked, turning back and forth, alternating glances between the black haired girl and the salesman.

“Well, we have the M3, Erik. It’s a retractable hard top, why?”

“In black?”

“Yes, we have a black one, why?”

“I want it.”

“In addition to the seven series?” the salesman asked wishfully.

“No, Darwin, I am not going to spend two hundred grand today on cars. In lieu of, Darwin. In lieu of,” I responded.

“Well, uhhm. Well, yes, I suppose so. It’s considerably less than the seven series. Let me look,” he said as he began to shuffle his mouse across the desk and intently look at his computer monitor.

“Seventy-three grand, Erik. Fully loaded with the dual clutch,” he offered with a smile.

“I will give you sixty-five, Darwin. Same as before, no negotiating, no bullshit, and no fucking counter offer,” I said, turning to make eye contact with him.

“Fine, Erik. That’s fine. Will you pay with a check at least?”

I had bought four cars here since the death of my mother five years ago. I, being the only child, inherited the estate. There was no forewarning of her death, she was hit by a drunk driver at a stop light, and killed instantly. There was also no indication of what I was to inherit. Apparently my deceased father was a fairly wealthy man, by the story that I was told. The attorney, upon the death of my mother, told me of his knowledge of my father, and his wealth.

I had attended college, and was, from an education standpoint, a psychiatrist. My heart, my mind, and my spirit, however, prevented me from immediately practicing. Upon the completion of the medical portion of my education, I had decided to relax, and take a year or so and travel the country on my motorcycle. I had ridden a motorcycle all through college, and found it to be a useful tool in my arsenal. Thirty minutes on a motorcycle could provide me with what ten hours of therapy could not. Relaxation. The motorcycle rides and exercise were all that could really allow me to completely relax. When I wasn’t riding, I was generally exercising. This combination of being fit, being tattooed, and being single afforded me opportunities with women that other men could only wish for.

After the death of my mother, I inherited two million dollars, a two bedroom house, and a ten year old Chevrolet Impala. I had just returned home from a motorcycle trip to Austin, Texas. It was mid-June, and she had gone to the pharmacy for medication. Two blocks from home, while waiting at a stop light, she was hit by a drunken driver in the rear. She and the other driver were killed instantly. I never fully accepted that no one was punished for the crime. Five years later, I was still running from the fact that my mother was gone, and that I was a parentless only child.

I decided after my mother’s death to do what it was that always made me happy. I spent the last five years riding my motorcycle every day that the weather would allow. Six months after her death, at the age of thirty-one, I got my first tattoo. That continued until the majority of my upper body was covered in tattoos. One arm was tattooed to the wrist, the other was tattooed to the elbow, my back was covered, and my chest and abdomen were covered with a large Chinese themed snake.

I continued to live in Wichita, which was where I considered my home to be. I grew up here, my mother and my father died here, and a good portion of the people from my childhood remained in this area. Although I could travel out of the state, my mind would not allow me to remain away for very long. I became home sick in a short period of time.

“No, I am paying in cash,” I said in an irritated tone.

“Erik, you know it’s about impossible for us to take that kind of cash. We have to report it…”

I did not even let him finish his sentence before I spoke, “You’ll take the cash, and you’ll figure out a way to make it work. Cash or no deal.”

I got a tremendous amount of satisfaction out of forcing people to do what it was that I wanted. Something that was contrary to what they would normally do. Something that wasn’t necessarily a knee-jerk reaction for them, even if it was insignificant. It really didn’t matter if it was convincing the car salesman to take cash for a seventy thousand dollar car, or convincing a woman to go down on me in a movie theatre. If their natural response would be “no”, I wanted to make them say “yes”. Getting them to do so was what fueled me. It allowed me to live a satisfied life. The money and the material objects that I had obtained in my latter years provided no real satisfaction; they merely provided me a means.

“Alright, Erik, we will figure out something,” Darwin said as he stood. “Do you want to see it?”

“Just go get it and bring it up front, I am ready to go eat lunch.”

“It’s way out back, Erik, you want to ride back there with me on the cart?”

“No, get it and bring it up here. You can get someone else to give you a ride back to get your cart later.”

“Alright, Erik. Give me about ten minutes.”

I watched as the salesman walked out to the golf cart, and drove toward the back lot of the dealership. As he drove away, I walked from his office toward the receptionist desk. The desk was positioned in the middle of the sales floor amidst the new cars that were randomly parked on display. As I maneuvered through the cars to get to the desk, I caught a glimpse of the receptionist. Standing at the desk, now wearing glasses, she was talking to a customer. As I approached the desk, the customer nodded and walked away. She began to sit, and as I walked up to the desk, I spoke.

“Can you tell me where the bathroom is, I need to wash my hands,” I said, rubbing my hands together.

“Sure, you passed it as you walked from the other side of the sales floor. It’s half-way back to the east, and first door on the left,” she said, pointing to the east side of the showroom floor.

“So do you pay attention to all of the customers walking the sales floor, or were you just watching
me
for some reason?” I asked, forcing myself to present a little smirk of a smile.

“Well, actually, I was admiring your tattoos earlier, when you were in Darwin’s office. It was hard not to notice, with your tattooed arms against your white t-shirt. They, well…they stand out. I really like tattoos, and the stories behind them. I don’t have any, but I am going to get some soon. As soon as I…well. I am going to here real soon. I just need to decide what and where,” She said as she stared at my right arm.

“First door on the left?”

“Yes,” she said, with a somewhat disappointed tone.

“I’m Erik. I would shake your hand, but they’re dirty.”

“I’m Kelli. With an ‘I’,” she responded. “Nice to meet you.”

“Kelli, walk with me toward to restroom. I want to watch you walk.”