Текст книги "Burning Ember"
Автор книги: Darby Briar
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 33 страниц)
That’s what Dozer doesn’t understand. What I can’t say? This is similar to the way I felt for Dana. Only, for some reason, this seems more intense. Ten times more intense.
Dana needed me. She needed someone to help her put her broken pieces back together. Be the glue that kept her straight. I loved being that glue. It gave me a purpose when I was struggling to find my purpose in life. I thought it was to love her. Take care of her. Marry her and start a family. But Christ, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Doll might not be as broken, but I think maybe she’s been burned by somebody. She has scars, visible and invisible ones. The scars make her wary, cautious, and untrusting. She wasn’t comfortable talking about her family. Or her boyfriend . . . ex-boyfriend. I probably would have found out why if I hadn’t gotten so caught up in my own bullshit.
“Want me to take care of her?” Taz asks.
If anyone’s taking care of her . . . Irritation barrels through me until I realize I misunderstood his meaning.
Glancing up, I see he’s watching for my reaction.
“Send her packin’,” he clarifies, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
If I say yes, he’ll scare her off until she’s nothing but a memory. Something I obviously don’t have the ability to do.
This is the answer I need, but at the same time . . . the idea of siccing Taz, the clubs enforcer, on her doesn’t sit right with me?
I pull my pack of smokes from my pocket, take one out, and light up. After blowing out the drag, I say, “Gave Dozer my word I wouldn’t force her out. She’s here at least until the party.”
I can tell he’s puzzling out a solution because he reaches into his pocket and takes out a toothpick. He looks at the ground while he discards the wrapper.
“But if she leaves on her own . . .” He glances up at me and has a wicked grin that creeps over his face.
Yeah . . . decision time.
Sucking in a drag, I ask, “What are you thinkin’?”
He shrugs. “Just gonna do what I do. She’s a problem you don’t need right now, right? Then consider her taken care of.”
Air expels from my lungs as if I’ve suffered a punch to the gut. I fight the instinct to call him off. But words slip past my lips. “Just . . . don’t touch her.”
His eyes narrow on me. “I’d ask, but don’t think I wanna know. Won’t touch her. Don’t need to.”
“Good.”
“Gonna do what I do best.”
Fuck with her head.
My silent acceptance is just that. Permission to do what it takes to get Doll . . . Pumpkin . . . out.
I ignore the heavy pressure I feel on my chest. After taking a couple more drags from my smoke, I flick it to the ground.
It’s for the best.
For my sanity’s sake. For the club.
So then why do I feel like this is a mistake I can’t afford to make?
I face Taz. “Don’t be too fuckin’ obvious. Dozer’s got some bug up his ass about her. Goose and Lil’, too.”
His smile flashes again. “When have I ever been caught causin’ chaos?”
I huff out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. It’s almost not forced. “Too many times to count.” Taz is the kind of guy with the skills to get in and out without being seen. But he doesn’t use them. He loves to leave a wake in his path. He’s built quite the reputation for himself in so little time. That’s why I started calling him Taz. Not only is he fast as hell, and a menace, but when it suits him, he leaves a path of destruction with his name on it behind.
I get off my bike and we head in. “Only once by the law though. I expect you learned your lesson?”
“Yeah, I did.”
We enter the clubhouse and head to the bar. The party’s died down. Bikers and semi-naked women flounder about. Some are passed the fuck out on the floors, couches, and one girl is naked and snoring on top of the bar.
Lita pours me a drink.
I only have to scan the room for a second to know she’s not here. All I see is an ocean of gray. An image of Dozer following Doll into his room flashes through my mind and has my fingers tightening around my glass.
Star heads over. She looks up at me, but thank fuck for whatever she sees in my eyes, because she moves past me and onto Taz who accepts her affections.
Griz claps me on the back to get my attention. “Deeds called while you were out. Pappy wants a meet. And Sonny Psycho was being pretty damn adamant about it. Told him to tell his daddy-o I’d talk to you and let him know.”
I sigh out, “That’s not gonna happen. Not until every HOC is sittin’ at the table. After the party. After the vote.”
“Right. I’ll tell ’em again.”
“They comin’ to Edge’s party?”
“Yeah.”
“Tell them to stick around for a few days and after we have our vote, we’ll talk then.”
“Okay.”
Bodie stumbles over with his arm around one of the twins. I think it’s Lo, since Lita is usually behind the bar. Honestly I can never tell the two apart. They look like the same fuckin’ woman to me—long dark hair, dark eyes, and Latino with huge rose tattoos that lock together when they stand arm to arm.
Slurring, Bodie asks, “So what’s up with the new ginger snack? She really h-hands off? Because if not, and she bends over like she was doin’, I’m gonna take a bite out of her.” He growls and playfully bites at Lo’s boob.
She giggles and halfheartedly pushes him away.
His comment has my stomach knotting up. The image of me knocking his ass out rolls through my mind. I stretch my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension rebuilding there.
“You’ll be waitin’ a while then.” Griz chimes in.
Bodie stops trying to molest Lo. “Why? You already in line old man?” Then his nose scrunches up. “Dude, that’s sick. She looks like she’s your daughter.”
“What? What the fuck?” Griz looks stunned. Like the thought never crossed his mind.
Bodie’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls. “Oh, my God, man! What if she’s your daughter and you don’t know it and you fuck her? That’s like fuckin’ incest.”
I shake my head and mutter, “Not like incest, Tweedle Dumb. It is incest.”
Griz’s face pales then his eyes flash with annoyance. “Why the fuck would you say somethin’ like that? Now I’m not—you selfish son of a bitch!” He pushes Bodie back.
Bodie nearly falls over. He’s laughing so hard Lo has to do her best to try to keep him on his feet. “Well? It’s possible,” he says after he recovers.
Griz growls, “Anything’s possible, you fucknut. Doesn’t mean you go sayin’ just any ol’ thing that pops into your head.”
“Bet you a hundred bucks she doesn’t last another day,” Taz states.
A cunning smile spreads over Griz’s face. “I’ll take that bet. We gingers are stubborn. If she wants to be here, then she’ll stick around.”
“And who are you to talk?” Taz says to Bodie. “You keep scratchin’ at all the club pussy and bed jumpin’ like you’ve been doin’, you’re gonna have a few bastards yourself. Then your old lady’s got proof you been hittin’ it on the side and she’s gonna leave your ass for good this time,” Taz chimes in.
Bodie’s smile vanishes in a flash. He glares at Taz. “Why the fuck you always got to bring her up?”
“Just being the voice of reason.”
“Well don’t. Mind your own fuckin’ business.”
I’ve seen and heard this argument more times than I care to count. Next Bodie will insinuate that Taz has a thing for his old lady. Taz never denies it, which only perpetuates the problem. I know it’s not so much that he finds her attractive, well that’s a lie, every brother finds her attractive, but that’s not why Taz is constantly on Bodie’s ass about her. No, Taz hates disloyalty, any form of it. So he reminds the old lady’d-up brothers of their ties, every chance he gets.
I turn to the bar and when Lita comes over, I say, “Bottle.” She raises an eyebrow. “Jack,” I clarify. Yeah it’s one of those nights. A few seconds later, she hands it over. It’s three-quarters full, but I plan to rectify that shortly.
After leaving the main room, I head down the hall and take the stairs two at a time to the second floor. For some fucked up reason, my legs stall next to Dozer’s door and I can’t seem to move again until I’m sure there’s nothing happening on the other side.
But to make sure, I still peek into the crasher room where I find D passed out on a bed alone. The sight eases the knot in my stomach a little.
Once I’m in my room, I waste no time. I upend the bottle and start chugging. Needing to wash away this fucked up day. Drown out the images circling in my head, and get back to being numb. Forget that Dana version two ever walked through my door.
I drink and drink, until I’m hammered . . . and drink some more.
Then smoke and pace. And repeat.
I rub my hand over my buzz cut. Usually, I find the coarse hair scraping against my palm soothing, but not tonight. Tonight, no matter what I do, I can’t shut off my brain. I can’t keep the past at bay. I can’t fight the draw of the girl in the other room.
In my drunken fog, I do something colossally stupid. Something I know I shouldn’t. But if I don’t remind myself of why I need to stay clear of her, I’m going to break into Dozer’s room and do something even more stupid.
I need to shut down this hope that maybe with someone new I can forget my past and have a future.
I squat down, reach under the bed, pull out my black duffle bag, and set it on the bed.
I drag the zipper open. My stomach falls to the floor and my breath leaves me. The hole in my chest cracks wide. Searing hot pain shoots through my sternum and knocks me on my ass. I drop my ass to the bed. The bottle falls to the ground and spills out. I lean forward, cradle my face, and fight the pain with anger. It’s the only way I can stop myself from falling apart. When I’m teetering on the edge of sorrow, I push myself to the brink of rage.
I curse Dana. And God. And myself.
It was my fucking fault for trying to save a stray. For trying so hard to hold onto someone who was so used to being on the run. Who valued her freedom above everything else. Above anything I tried to give her. Even when I tried to give her all of me.
There’s always one dog more likely to snap at the hand that feeds it.
MAVERICK
Her hands grip the hem of my shirt . . . but before she can lift it . . . I beat her there. Reaching behind me, I pull it up and over my head and toss it aside. The second I do, I slide my hand behind her neck and pull her forward. Nose to nose. I breathe in her scent, her girly, fruity scent. I brush my lips over hers and she moans. It’s all I need to know that she wants this as much as I do. I crush my lips to hers. But it’s not enough. I want inside her any way I can. When I lick at her lips, she opens for me.
Jesus! She tastes even better than I thought she would. Drawing back, I meet her eyes.
“Doll, why do they call you Pumpkin, when you taste like fuckin’ cherries?”
A smile blooms on her lips and widens. She’s so fucking beautiful, like all the flowers of spring, refreshing and sweet, colorful and I only need the oxygen she gives off.
I swear to fuck her smile breathes life back into me. I brush her hair from her face. Then palming her cheeks, I don’t hesitate. I kiss her again, plunder her mouth like a man possessed. I growl as she straddles me and eliminates all the space between us.
Still, I need more. Following her jawline to her ear, I nibble and whisper how much she turns me on, how much I need her, how badly I want to be buried deep inside her. I let my teeth sink a little into the soft skin over her wildly beating pulse. She lets out a cry and then whispers my name. It’s the sweetest fucking sound there is.
The cry sounds again. Only it’s not a woman’s soft cry. When it rings out a third time, I realize it’s coming from the goddamn phone on my nightstand. The landline.
I squeeze my eyes shut, which does nothing to help my blinding headache and the dream from flashing back through my mind.
I reopen my eyes, but fuck there’s too much light in the room. My head pounds like there’s a damn bell being tolled inside it. Because there is, the fucking phone keeps ringing.
Squinting now against the light, I reach for it.
There’s only one person that calls this line at this time of day. And I don’t want to miss the call.
“Yeah.”
The robotic operator voice comes on. She tells me this call will be recorded, and I have a collect call from an inmate at the Central New Mexico Correctional Facility. She asks if I’ll accept a collect call from, “Ty Folsom.” Edge’s voice says his name. I push one to indicate yes.
His deep voice comes through the line. “Hungover?”
“As fuck.”
“Eleven more goddamn days and I’ll be right there with you, brother. Seems like time’s standin’ still though.”
“I bet. Hang in there. You’ll be seein’ my ugly ass waitin’ for ya outside the fence in no time.”
“How’s Cap?”
“Doctor met with Nick and D last night. Surgery went good. He’s breathin’ on his own, but not awake yet. They still want his body to heal a bit before they try to bring him out of it.”
A moment of silence follows. “The girl died?”
“Yeah. DOA. Probably a good thing though.”
“Nick livid?”
“She’s had time to cool down, but yeah. Not the best fuckin’ way to find out some other bitch was on the back of your man’s bike and ridin’ other things as well. I mean after so many years she knows he dabbles, but outta sight outta mind, you know.” The second I say it a picture of Doll flashes through my mind and my lower body stirs to life. “This shit puts it right in her face. I think she cares more about how it makes her look than anything else.”
“No shit.”
“We know who did it yet?”
“No. No witnesses and we’ve scoured for information, but I’m not sure if there’s any to track down. I’m hopin’ Cap can point us in the right direction when he wakes up.”
“Who’s coverin’ him?”
“Septic, Stone, Goose, and Rigor. Two HOCs at all times. Takin’ shifts. I got Grinder and Whiz Kid on Nick.”
Silence descends and I’m sure he’s thinking over what action to take to get the answers we need when he’s out.
“How’s everything else?”
I huff out a long exhaustive breath. I open my mouth, about to say, Lil’ Bird got you somethin’. A little welcome home gift from the club, but for some reason the words don’t come out.
“That good?”
“Fuck. Where to start? I got it under control for now, but this ain’t my gig, bro. You know that.”
“Yeah. So you say. Not sure it’s mine either.”
“Better you than me, man.”
He laughs and says, “Thanks a whole hell of a lot. What’s up with my cousin? D still got his head up his ass? He still won’t step up?”
“Yeah. And he won’t say why. Just that he can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything after that for a minute. I’m sure he’s at a loss for words. A lot like Cap was when Dozer stepped down.
“Hey, listen. Think this is my last call.”
“Okay. Good. Sick of you wakin’ my ass up at the crack of dawn.”
He laughs again.
Then I tell him, “I’ll see you on the other side then, brother.”
“Yeah . . . see you on the other side.”
I hang up the phone and then roll over. Rub my hands over my face. The dream still lingers in my mind. I don’t dare close my eyes for fear it will be right there when I do. More vivid than it is now with my eyes open.
I look down at myself, for the first time, I see that I passed out still dressed. Well . . . at least I took my cut off. From here I can see the worn leather vest is hanging over the La-Z-Boy in the corner of my room. How it got there, I have no fucking idea.
My head throbs, but so does my hand. I peer down at it. It’s bruised. Two of my knuckles are swollen as hell and bleeding. When I flex my hand, the cuts open a bit and the throbbing gets worse. I glance around the room until I locate the damage I did to the wall in last night’s drunken rage. There’s a hole the size of a basketball, which means I planted my fist through it more than once.
Fuuucck . . . Good one, Mav.
I’ll have to patch that shit up later.
I sit up and throw my legs over the side of the bed. My head feels like it’s being crushed by a compactor, and the world becomes blurry for a minute and I swallow back the rising nausea.
The black bag is sitting there in the middle of the floor. Its contents are spread around the room. I reach for them and quickly shove it all back in the bag. Seal it away, and kick my past back under the bed. Out of sight. Where it belongs.
Actually, I should burn that shit. I’ve tried to a number of times. Maybe I’ll be successful at it today.
At my dresser, I pull off my shirt and take off my jeans, change into workout shorts so I can get rid of some of this pent up anger, arousal, and edginess. Whatever in the fuck that’s making me think and feel too damn much.
EMBER
I wake slowly. It takes me a minute to orient myself, figure out where I am. The first things I see are white sheets, the beige comforter, and the bare off-white walls. The smell is familiar. A lot like my childhood home. But I haven’t lived there in years so it throws me off.
Slowly, last night comes back to me and I recognize my surroundings for what they are. Dozer’s room. Right. I’m in the clubhouse.
As the thought snakes its way through my brain, I’m tempted to close my eyes, click my heels three times, and see if I’ll somehow be magically transported home, to Sundown and Will.
God . . . if only that were possible.
Sighing, I think . . . stop being negative. Is this really how you want to start the day?
No, it’s not. So I take a deep, cleansing breath and start over. Today will be whatever you make of it. So be brave and make it good.
Honestly, being here, although it’s not paradise by any stretch of the imagination, especially after what went down with Mav yesterday, isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.
For a minute there last night, I actually found myself having fun chatting, and laughing with Lily who gets silly as all get out when she’s drunk. I sipped on a drink, played pool, and innocently flirted with a good-looking guy. Something I haven’t done for . . . I don’t even know how long.
I almost felt normal. Like maybe, my life wasn’t one giant mess. Like I was just a regular girl, in a regular place, and I didn’t have a big cloud hanging over my head.
Of course, I had to ignore the whoring going on around me. And it twisted my stomach to see girls treating themselves so cheaply. But I was also thankful, thankful it wasn’t me, and that I’m hands off for now, and thankful because it was clear every one of those girls wanted to be there, doing what they were doing. They weren’t being forced. They weren’t being held captive.
I hear a faint sound to my left. Startled, I snap my head in that direction.
What the . . . ?
A shock of panic zips through me and I’m instantly wide awake. I scramble backward until I sit with my back to the headboard and yank up the sheet, needing a barrier between us even if it’s only a flimsy piece of cotton.
My heart starts beating overtime because there’s a half-naked man sitting four feet away from me on the black leather couch. He’s the big guy with the tattoos on one side of his face. With his shirt off, I can see his dark body art running down his neck and continuing all the way south to his black leather pants. His pants are partially unbuttoned. And I’m thinking his graphic tats don’t stop at his waistline.
He’s not looking at me. He’s messing with some black objects on the small coffee table in front of him.
I search the room quickly. Did I fall asleep in the wrong room? My mind scrolls through the last events of last night. Dozer walking me to the door. Him winking at me a second before he closed it and locked it. “Ummm. I’m sorry. Dozer said I could sleep here. Is this not his room?”
When a few seconds go by without him acknowledging me or looking over, I try again, “Hello?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Can you not hear me?” I wave my hand. Nothing. Whatsoever. Though I do get the sense he can hear me just fine.
“What are you doing?”
His hair is brown, short on the sides, longer on the top and down the middle of the back. He has a couple of days’ worth of stubble, and a patch of facial hair below his bottom lip. His eyes are what I find most disconcerting. They’re so dark they appear black. And he’s ripped with muscles everywhere, and it’s obvious he could do some real damage to me if that’s what he’s here to do.
Thick black leather bands circle his wrists, and his hands are colorfully tatted and adorned with bulky rings. After further inspecting, what he’s tinkering with—little black pieces of metal that lay on a small white cloth—I make out what it is.
I cinch my fingers more tightly around the sheet, pull it up to my neck, and slowly draw my legs up to my chest. Like that would protect me if he decides to use what’s in his hands.
He’s cleaning a gun.
Lined up on the far side of the cloth, are gold bullets and a magazine.
As if to punctuate my thoughts, he starts assembling it. Sliding pieces together with sharp, yet fluid movements, I hear click . . . click . . . click . . . click, as it becomes a lethal weapon in his hands.
My heart rate accelerates with each click.
Once all the pieces look to be in place, he sets it down on the towel, picks up the magazine, and then thumbs the bullets in one by one. Slow. Precise movements.
My eyes fly to the door. Closed. I sharply look over to the window. I know I opened both of them late last night.
Oh, god. A prickle of fear skates down my spine.
Suddenly, my breath becomes short and hurried. His presence has somehow sucked out all the air out of the room.
The last bullet makes this awful sound as it’s loaded into the clip. Then he shoves the magazine inside the gun, and in one quick movement, he draws back the top.
Which I’m pretty sure means he just loaded a round in the chamber.
I hope to hell that I’m wrong.
His gaze leaves the gun and gradually slides over to me. Eerily. Quietly. He sizes me up. Like he’s got all the time in the world. He tilts the gun to the side, rests it on his thigh and his finger slides into the hole to rest on the trigger.
With sweaty palms, I clench the sheet, though I know it’s stupid. It’s not a bulletproof shield.
Standing, he points toward the floor. Then he walks around the table and comes to stand at the end of the bed, never taking his unnerving coal eyes off me the entire time. He motions me forward with the gun, waiving it around a bit.
“C’ mere.” His voice is low and has a whispery quality to it. Like he’s lost it recently and he’s still recovering.
I barely hear him past the pounding of my own heart. But he’s insane if he thinks I’m going anywhere near him.
My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. “Why?”
Giving me a hard stare, he lifts the gun. “We gonna do this merry-go-round bullshit all day? I’ll drag you over here if I have to.”
Shit.
“I-I’m supposed to be hands off.”
“Yeah? Says who? Dozer?” He pushes a quick breath through his lips making a “Pfff,” sound. “You gonna give me what I want willingly or am I gonna have to use force?” He gives me all of two seconds to respond before he kneels on the bed, reaches for me.
His large hand skates over the sheet and finds my ankle. “Force it is. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.” An evil smile flashes over his face. “Actually I prefer it that way. Makes it more interesting.”
A hard knock at the door has him pausing. We look at each other. The promise I find in his eyes is haunting. It says, “We’ll be revisiting this soon.” Another knock comes and a second later, the door swings open. But by then, Mr. Tats is a foot away from the bed and the gun’s no longer in his hand.
Although the tension in the room should probably ratchet up at the arrival of another hard-core biker dominating the doorway, it lessens. Some of the fear rioting through me deteriorates at seeing Dozer standing there.
Dozer scans the scene in front of him. His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “What’s goin’ on?” I see suspicion and concern in his features.
The biker smirks, shrugs, and walks toward him. I notice the gun is tucked behind his back in his pants.
“I’m hungry. Just wakin’ her up.”
“Hungry? You better mean for food.” Dozer mumbles before he looks at me. “Did he touch you?”
I rapidly shake my head. I imagine by the look on Dozer’s face that if I’d said yes, this would escalate rapidly, and the other biker has a gun. Dozer doesn’t know that.
As Mr. Tats comes up to Dozer, Dozer pins him against the doorframe, putting his forearm on the guy’s chest. “Taz, don’t bullshit me.”
Taz, I’m guessing is the guy’s name, throws Dozer’s arm off and pushes Dozer back into the opposite door frame. They’re about the same height. Both huge, ripped with muscles. Dozer’s bigger, but not by much. If I wasn’t so unsettled, I’d probably be able to appreciate the view.
“Lay your hands on me again, and VP or not, I’ll cut them the fuck off and feed them to you. Just wakin’ the bitch up.”
Dozer glances at me. “What’d he do? What’d he say to you?”
Taz stares daggers at me.
“Nothing.”
Dozer must see some of the fear I’m feeling flash over my face, because he growls to Taz, “Mav put you up to this, didn’t he? Where is he?” Dozer pushes Taz aside and leaves the doorway. Boots pound on the hallway floor.
Taz tells Dozer, “Door was open. The stray wanted company.”
Then banging sounds from down the hall.
“Mav! Get out here, asshole.”
A few seconds later, I hear Mav’s unmistakable voice. “What?”
“You sic your fuckin’ dog on her? You kiddin’ me with this shit?” This is followed by a few seconds of silence.
Then in a thickly accented voice, Mav says, “What the fuck’s goin’ on?”
“I’ll tell you what the fuck. Your pit bull here broke into my fuckin’ room, like that.”
Taz leaves the doorway and joins the argument. “I told you. The door was fuckin’ open. Looked to me like she was wantin’ a visitor.” There’s a pause and then. “Is she or is she not supposed to be cookin’ fuckin’ breakfast?”
Another pregnant silence. “Why was the door open?” Mav growls the same time Dozer says, “The door wasn’t fuckin’ open. Lyin’ motherfucker. I locked it last night when I left her.” After that, I hear grappling noises as if they’re going at each other.
“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fuckin’ liar,” Taz growls.
Mav barks, “Cut it the fuck out.”
“It was! Fuckin’ ask her,” Taz shouts.
“Just stay the fuck away from her. Both of you. And you, you gave me your word this was done until the party.”
“Jesus, man. One day and she’s got you by the balls, huh?” Taz mutters.
“Shut the fuck up before I knock your ass out.”
“Name a time, brother, and I’ll be there.”
Mav hollers, “What the fuck did I say? Cut it the fuck out!” I hear curses and more scuffling.
A few seconds later Dozer comes into the room. Slams the door. He’s panting and his face is tinged red. He doesn’t look at me. But grates out, “You okay?”
“Yes. I’m sorry about the door. I heard a noise and peeked out to see what it was last night. I must have forgotten to lock it.”
His eyes meet mine. An incredulous look flashes over his face. “You forgot? In a clubhouse full of drunk bikers? After what you saw goin’ on last night?” There’s doubt in his eyes.
But I nod weakly.
I stayed up for a few hours after he left. I was tired as hell, but couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I needed to know that I could leave at any time. So I opened the window. When that wasn’t enough, I opened the door just barely. Then I tucked myself into a ball and fell asleep on Dozer’s bed within seconds.
“Tell me the truth. What did he say to you?”
I shake my head again. I don’t want to be the cause of more drama between them. That’s not going to buy me any points with the members if I pit them against one another. Plus the look Taz gave me promised retribution if I ratted him out to Dozer.
“Not really anything before you came in.”
“Threaten you?”
“No.”
He pulls in a couple of breaths and turns away, rolls his shoulders as he does so. Then he walks across the room to the closet. A moment later, he peers out and says. “Just gettin’ some clothes, I’ll be out of here in a sec and then you can shower.”
“Okay.”
His eyes roam around the room. “What the hell happened in here?”
At first, I’m confused and then it dawns on me what he’s talking about. “I cleaned.”
He snorts. “Huh. Nice. Thanks.” When he walks up to me a minute later, he says, “Listen, I’m gonna run to the gym for a bit. But I’ll be back. I have to put in a couple of hours at the gym and then at the hospital. I’ll have Rigor watch you every second I’m not around, okay?”
I know this is partially his way of protecting me, and part of the deal with Mav, but I can’t help but have a sour rumbling in the pit of my stomach.
He must see the idea of a babysitter slash guard doesn’t please me, because he says, “I promised I’d have someone watchin’ you. It’ll be a while until everyone here learns to trust you. And it’s for your protection. Just because Taz didn’t do anything to you this mornin’, doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have. Be smart and steer clear of him, yeah? Don’t get caught alone with him again.”
“Holy shit, girl. That’s the best fuckin’ bacon I’ve ever tasted.” Bodie groans as he chews on a mouth full.
Three other brothers grunt in agreement. The guys are sitting at the bar top shoveling in the breakfast I made them.
“Nothing special if you ask me.” Taz looks directly at me as he says it then drops a piece of bacon back to his plate as if it’s the worst thing he’s ever tasted.
I know it’s delicious. The only way he wouldn’t think so is if he had absolutely no taste buds whatsoever.
“Goddamn, these eggs are fuckin’ tasty. You got any more of them ready, sweetheart?” Griz smiles up at me.
“Yeah.” I grab the bowl and head back into the kitchen. I scoop up more eggs and grab some more muffins. I had no idea the guys could eat so much. I’m used to cooking for kids and old people though, so I guess I’ll have to make extra from now on.
As I reenter the lounge through the doors that connect to the kitchen, I hear Taz complain, “Shit tastes like fuckin’ tar. You sure she didn’t dig this shit out of the garbage?”
His words bring back the insults Mav threw out about me yesterday. I’m stunned, but I force my feet to move and I bite my lip. Just ignore it.
Taz is definitely not my number one fan. He’s been giving me the evil eye all morning. But I keep reminding myself that if he wanted to hurt me, he could have easily while I was sleeping.
