by Kim Jones
Lucky girl.
“Come on, weirdo. You can crash in the spare room.” He grabs me under the arms and hauls me to my feet.
I hold onto the sink for balance and wait for the room to stop spinning. “There isn’t a spare room,” I whisper, drawing slow breaths to fight the wave of nausea. Jinx wisely takes a step back. “The Nomad dude from out of town. That’s his room. Jogger or runner or skater…whatever his name is.”
“Bouncer. And if he hasn’t made it by now, he’s not coming.”
Using the sink to steady me, I turn around and meet his gaze in the mirror. “Well aren’t you like…worried about him?”
“No. He hates parties. And people. Especially people outside the club. I’m not surprised he isn’t here. Even if he does show up, he won’t stay as long as there’s a crowd like this.”
This is a big party. Maybe the biggest I’ve seen in the few months I’ve been here. I wasn’t sure why Chaos wanted to throw such an event with so many locals, but it wasn’t my place to ask questions. And Chaos never did anything without good reason.
“Fine. But if he shows up, let him know that I’m not into cuddling unless he’s going to put a ring on it.”
“I’ll let him know. Can you walk or am I going to have to carry you?”
Carry me? Yeah. No.
“I can walk.”
The rooms here are decent enough. A bed. A dresser. A closet. A private bathroom. Some even have a mini fridge. The room I’m staying in has clean sheets, a recently vacuumed floor and a fresh cube of scented wax in the burner that smells like blueberry cobbler.
“I fucking love blueberry cobbler.”
“Really? That’s nice. You good?”
“Jinx, stop eavesdropping on my convo with myself. It’s fucking rude.”
“And you’re fucking weird.”
“So you’ve said.” I flop on the bed and throw my arm over my face.
“If you need something, let one of the other guys know or use the phone at the bar and call my cell. I’m sneaking out the back to avoid—”
“Don’t care,” I mumble, cutting him off and flicking my fingers at him. “Be gone, peasant. I can take it from here.”
He mumbles something before closing the door, but I can’t quite make it out. I’m too busy trying not to vomit. I last about three seconds before I bolt from the bed.
I feel much better about hugging this particular porcelain throne, because I know it’s clean. No one has been in this bathroom since I Pine-Sol’d the shit out of it earlier today.
I dry heave until my throat is raw and hurting. Until I’m exhausted and find the toilet seat almost as comfortable as my favorite pillow—the only thing I have from the life before this one.
Don’t think about it.
Don’t think about them.
Fear of my memories brings me to my feet. I stumble to the shower and turn the cold water on. Stripping off my clothes, I step under the stream. The shock of it takes my breath but I force myself to stand there. To take it. Every brutal drop of water battering my flesh sobers me.
I wish I could wash away the memories. The pain. The heartache.
Don’t do this.
Don’t go there.
My fingers fumble for the shampoo bottle. I squeeze too much into my shaky palm and lather my hair. I stop to rip out the elastic band—enjoying the sting. I scrub my body. Washing away the grime from the day. The stench of cleaner and alcohol.
I rub down my legs. All the way to my feet. My perfectly painted purple toes match my fingernails. Something no one here has ever seen. It’s ridiculous to hide something so insignificant. But this little secret somehow makes me feel better about all the other secrets I hide.
Like my very fashionable underwear.
And where I live.
And where I came from.
What I did.
My eyes mist.
I stand under the water until I can’t feel my limbs. Until my head is clearer than it was, and I feel more like myself. What is it about thoughts of the past that have the ability to sober me? Or is it the cold water doing that?
Maybe it’s both.
I shut off the water and wrap myself in a towel. Leaving a trail of water, I tiptoe to the sink and fumble for the hair dryer in the cabinet beneath it. There’s a stocked supply of everything here—lotion, shampoo, toothpaste, new toothbrushes, etc. Everything an out of town guest might need and not have. Especially one like the Nomad who was supposed to occupy this room tonight.
From what I’ve gathered, he basically lives on his bike. Not much room on a motorcycle for things like toiletries. But what do I know? I’m just the weird chick with a drinking problem who cleans the clubhouse.
Yes.
That’s right.
That’s who you are now.
I kick the bathroom door shut to conserve the heat as I blow dry my hair. The girl in the mirror wearing only a towel, with a freshly washed face and long, silky hair is the same girl the people around here see every day. But I look different. I’ve gotten good at blurring my true identity with oversized clothes and messy hair. It makes me smile.
At least I’m doing one thing right.
There’s some blackberry-vanilla scented lotion hidden in the very back of the cabinet. I slather my body with it—liking the scent so much I make the decision to steal it. I brush my teeth. Then brush them again. And again. I tidy up the bathroom, out of habit, and grab my clothes.
I pad back out into the room and lock the bedroom door. The bed looks inviting, but I know it’ll be too soft for me. So I grab a pillow and blanket from the closet and make a pallet on the floor in the three feet of space between the wall and the bed.
I shove my clothes under the edge of the bed, snuggle under the blanket and unplug the wax warmer from the wall, encasing the room in darkness. I’m finally exhausted enough to find sleep, but not quick enough to escape the memory.
They’re gone.
You’re here….
Even if you shouldn’t be.
Three
BOUNCER
“You look like you could use this.” Cassie passes me a joint across the bar.
I take it and give her a nod. I want to ask about Apple. I want to know what she’s doing here. Who she is. Why the fuck she wears those gloves. But the smoke filling my lungs distracts me long enough to remember who I am.
I’m not a man who asks questions about people who don’t matter. Apple is one of those people. She’s probably a friend of Bash’s Ol’ Lady, Savannah. North’s Ol’ Lady, Aspen, has a kid. Maybe Apple is her babysitter.
Fuck, I hope not.
When Cassie walks back over, I extend the joint back to her. “Nah. I’m good. I have class in the morning.”
“Then you should be in bed.” My voice holds a hint of firmness.
She blushes sweetly and drops her head.
I drag my gaze over her body—remembering what she looked like spread eagle on my bed. Her hands tied together and resting between her perfect tits. Her back arching, hips twisting, trying to alleviate the pain from her just-spanked ass.
Cassie was fun to play with. But topping from the bottom isn’t my thing. So a few months ago when she started fucking up her life just to get my attention, I severed all ties. Our relationship was strictly sexual, so there were no hard feelings.
It’s good to hear she’s back in school. I make a mental note to talk to Chaos about cutting her hours on school nights.
“Hey, Brother. Didn’t know you’d made it.” North speaks as he approaches.
I stand and embrace him. “Yeah. Been here a while. Why’s no one at the door?”
He grins. “It’s all good. Relax.”
“I would relax. If you had someone at the fucking door.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Quincy. He stands in the background until I wave him forward. He rips a page from a notebook and hands it to me.
“Anything I need to know?” I ask, scanning the paper.
“Good. Watch the door. If anyone gives you an uneasy feeling, tell them to leave. Someone asks who gave you that authority, you tell them my name.”
“Will do.”
North doesn’t bother hiding his smile at my paranoia. If it was someone else, it might irk me. But we have history. And he’s part of the reason I’m here.
He killed his step kid’s dad not long ago. Who just so happened to be a cop. No one knows about living with the consequences of taking a life more than me. I know what kind of damage it can do to your soul.
“How’s shit with you?” I fix my eyes on him, letting him know I want the truth. The real fucking truth.
“Better than ever.” He smirks.
“North….”
“Seriously, Bro. I’m good. It wasn’t a job. There’s nothing to regret. Aspen and Halle are my world. I sleep better at night knowing that piece of shit is out of their lives for good. And it feels right that I’m the one who done it.”
Fair enough.
“If you need me, I’m here.”
He claps me on the back. “I know. Come on. You need sleep. You look like shit.”
I shake my head and toss a generous tip on the bar before heading down the hall toward the room that’s always reserved for me.
North stops at the door to the room next to mine. “Church is tomorrow night at ten. You’re welcome to join.”
As a Nomad, I don’t need an invite. But out of respect, I’d never show up without one. “Alright. I’ll be there.” I try to twist the doorknob, but it doesn’t turn. “It’s locked.”
“What the fuck?” North steps up and tries it himself. “It’s locked.”
“No shit.”
He’s not bothered by my annoyance. The asshole probably checked behind me just to be a dick. “Well, maybe there’s a surprise in there for you.”
“I don’t like surprises,” I deadpan.
“I’m kidding. Chaos had one of the girls clean it and told them to lock it up when they finished to keep people out. He knew you’d be pissed about the party, but finding someone fucking in your room would really make you lose your shit.”
I glare at him. He throws his hands up in surrender, that pretty boy smirk of his in place. I wait until he’s in his room before pulling a card from my wallet and popping the lock.
The light from the hall casts a faint glow across the room when I push the door open. It smells good in here. Like blueberries and shit. And something else I can’t quite put my finger on. I do a quick sweep of the room with my eyes, but nothing looks out of place.
I check the closet.
Empty.
Behind the door.
Clear.
The bathroom.
My senses heighten immediately.
Someone’s been in here.
When my hand curls around the Beretta at my back, I stop and take a breath. The scent of bleach still lingers. The fruity smell is probably from whatever that delicious shit is in the bedroom. The shower is wet because it’s recently been cleaned.
Chill the fuck out.
I walk back to the bedroom and push the door shut. The room is dark, but my eyes adjust quickly. I step out of my boots and strip off my clothes, tossing them in the chair next to the bed. My cut is still in the hands of Boots. It’ll be a long night for him, but in a week’s time he’ll forget all about the hell he went through when he puts his own patch on for the first time.
I’m sliding my gun under my pillow when I hear a noise coming from the other side of the bed. Could be a rat. Could be my mind playing tricks on me. But I refuse to drop my guard. I was careless not to check when I first walked in. I won’t make that mistake again.
The only sound in the room is the whisper of my gun as I slide it from beneath the pillow and the click off the safety. My footsteps are silent as I round the foot of the bed. I’m inches away when I hear it again. Only this time, it’s accompanied by a whimper.
I take the final step and still.
There’s a girl on the floor of my room. Her head thrashes back and forth. Her dark hair a mess across her face. Her body tangled in the covers. I stand frozen for a moment, my mind rushing to assess the situation.
There’s no one else in the room.
No one is hurting her.
She makes no move to get up.
“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry.” Her voice is raspy. Like she’s been shouting…screaming.
I know this.
I’ve seen it….
Suffered from it.
Night terrors.
I flip the safety on the gun and move closer. There’s not enough room for me to crouch next to her, so I straddle one of her legs and kneel at her hips. It’s dark, but she’ll still be able to make out my silhouette if she wakes up. I don’t want to cause her any more fear, but there’s a greater chance of that happening than not.
Hoping to soothe her without waking her, I rub my hand up and down her hip over the covers. “Hey. You’re okay.”
My actions are a trigger. Her arms flail and the panic in her voice thickens. “Please! Please! I’m sorry!”
Reacting instinctively, I grab her and pull her to me. I cradle her head and tuck it beneath my chin, trapping her arm with mine. My other arm wraps around her waist, crushing her to my chest.
“Calm down. You’re okay. Just breathe.” She stiffens. I can tell by her pause that she’s awake. Expecting a struggle, I tighten my grip. But instead of fighting, she relaxes into my hold and sobs. “Shh,” I whisper, stroking her back as I breathe in the scent of her hair.
Fuck she smells good.
I move my hand to the back of her neck and gently massage the base of her skull. Her skin is damp with sweat. But her body is covered in goosebumps. It’s not very warm in this room. And I’m pretty sure she’s naked.
“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you in the bed.” I try to pull back to stand, but she clings to me. Her fingers digging into my back hard enough to sting.
“Don’t go,” she rasps, her breath picking up as she starts to panic.
Her desperation pulls at every protective instinct inside me. My dominant nature rises to the surface and all my usual thoughts about war and death fade along with my anxiety. Suddenly it’s just me and her—this girl I don’t know. This dark-haired stranger crying in my arms and begging me to stay. I hate she’s suffering, but fuck I love this feeling. It’s the break from my monotonous mentality I only get when someone needs me to take full control.
I shift us and she whimpers in protest, but I cut off her cries. “Hush. I’m not going anywhere. Put your arms around my neck.” I relax my hold on her and after a moment, she tentatively slides her hands up my sides and over my shoulders. I untangle the covers from her legs then tuck them around my waist.
Supporting her with one arm under her ass, I haul us from the floor with ease. Her body is petite. A bit curvy in all the right places. Her bare tits are full and firm against my naked chest. Her thick ass soft as satin in my arms. Her legs toned and tight around my hips. The heat of her pussy scorching me through the thin material of my boxers. My cock stiffens and when she feels it, her hips rock against me. Judging by her little gasp, it was an involuntary move. Even though I can’t see her clear enough to know for sure, I’d bet my life she’s blushing with embarrassment.
You’re not fucking her.
Don’t even think about it.
I climb in the bed with her on top of me and cover us both. She slides off my chest and curls into my side with her head resting on my shoulder. My fingers dance along the small of her back as I lay there and stare into the darkness. I feel her silent tears on my shoulder and drop my chin to kiss her hair.
“You want to talk about it?” I ask, sliding her damp hair off her forehead. She tenses and tucks her chin lower. If she’s trying to hide from me there’s no need. I can’t see a damn thing.
“Monsters.”
“What was that?”
&n
bsp; “The nightmares. I dream about monsters. But I don’t want to talk about them.”
If she were mine, she wouldn’t have the option of hiding or keeping anything from me. But since that’s not the case, I do what I can to offer her comfort. I pet her hair. Stroke her back. When she lifts her chin a little, I kiss her wet eyes and the bridge of her nose. She sighs and some of the tension leaves her.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just relax. I’ve got you.”
There’s more to being a Dominant than fucking. This is one of those times when sex is off the table. My rock-hard cock doesn’t understand that. All he knows is that a naked woman is curled up next to him and he wants to disappear in all her warm and wet places. And I can’t even wrap my hand around it and squeeze just to relieve the pressure because it might send the wrong message. Might be a trigger for her.
“Are you a Daddy Dom?”
It takes me a moment to decide how to answer. “Why do you ask that?”
She shrugs. “I know a guy who is a Dominant. You act like him, except…sweeter. Figured maybe that was why.”
My blood simmers at the idea of her with another Dominant. Especially one who wasn’t nice to her. He could be the reason for her night terrors. But I won’t ask. She’s already said she didn’t want to talk about it.
“Let’s not put labels on you, me or this. You asked me not to leave. I want to stay. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would you want to stay with me? It’s clear I’m a mess.”
Because I don’t know you.
Which means I can’t judge you.
Or pick apart your flaws.
Or find something—anything to make me feel better about the piece of shit I am.
“Because I’d be a fool to turn down an opportunity to spend a night with a beautiful woman in my bed.”
My answer sounds like something a normal gentleman would say. I’m a gentleman through and through. I’m just not normal.
If it wasn’t for the feel of her warm breath blowing over my nipple, I might’ve missed the almost silent, “Bullshit,” she whispers.
I grab her chin and tip her head up. I might not be able to make out her face or her mine, but the effect will still be there. “Care to repeat that, sweetheart?” My voice is firm. Daring her to lie.