Dead-Eye Angels MC (Book #1)

⍲Prey Runs, Predators Chase⍲

Shanice's POV

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The giant fictitious clock ticks away while I stare at the dull beige walls of my therapist's office — everything seems to be still.

Every time the hand moves between each gap, I ponder my choices: leaving, moving, fighting back, defeat. It happens when your best friend threatens you with your domineering mother until you seek help.

Tap. Tap. Impatiently tapping my ten-inch heels on the soft carpet. My light breathing reverberates throughout the room.

"Shanice?" My psychologist, Dr. Stone, breaks me away from my thoughts and unleashes a deep sigh. "Where were you just now?" she asks.

My eyes connect with hers. But instead of an answer, my focus again travels to the antique white clock with roman numerals. Every turn of the second hand becomes a harsh reminder of how I've spent — wasted — my time in Atlanta.

Dr. Stone's melodic voice pulls me away. "How about we talk about why you've moved to Atlanta?" She scribbles in her leather-bound journal, studying my every move.

However, like my mother and grandmother taught me, I let her see what I want her to see. "You know, I was sitting in that chair not long ago, Shanice. You may act all prim and proper. But we both know that's just smoke and mirrors. The real you is there, thinly veiled."

The lump in my throat thickens. Nevertheless, I manage to get rid of it. "Thank you, Dr. Stone; that's what I strive for."

Dr. Stone crosses her long, toned legs. I mimic her movements. It's a tactic I've learned from my mother, to throw an oppugnant of their feet.

"But is that what you want? Do you want people to revere you?"

"How you look, and act is how people will treat you, Dr. Stone. I've learned that the hard way."

She arches a dark brow. "Shanice, in our world, especially women, we hide our vulnerabilities in cold, prepossessing packages. Bodies, clothes, houses, cars — everything on the outside has to be perfect, so people don't disregard us.

"But it would be a disservice to yourself. To act and behave as something you're not just for the approval of others."

Dr. Stone adjusts herself in her seat. "I would like to know what's behind all the smoke and mirrors. The real Shanice. That's the only way we can fix the problem."

My fingers flex in my lap. "Problem? What do you mean, Dr. Stone? My friend Karl encouraged me to meet with you to talk about what happened to me. And that's what I'm here to discuss."

"Do you want to discuss your assault?" She tilts her head.

"Yes." Anything not to talk about my past.

"We've talked about this, Shanice. I know what you're trying to do. Having said that, let's talk about your confrontation with Bryan."

For the last thirty minutes, I explain my confrontation with Nate, Bryan, and the rest of the Dead-Eye Angels. From the first time, I met Nate to the night in the alley, trying to stretch out the hour. Every now and then, Dr. Stone nods or asks for more details which I oblige.

"I see." Dr. Stone fixes her glasses. "You're an intelligent woman. You knew you'd be in trouble when you stepped into that neighborhood. But you stuck with it, with no resources to defend yourself. Either you're dumb or suicidal or... you wanted to get someone's attention?

"So, let's discuss why you purposely put yourself in danger." She narrows her eyes, scrutinizing my every movement. Before I can dissuade her from the topic, she continues. "We've discussed your assault in great detail. This isn't the first time your life has been in danger. Women in the 'lifestyle' are used to this. There's something deeper going on."