This time he’d done the unthinkable. Dragged her ass hundreds of miles from home and took her somewhere she couldn’t leave. Unless she hiked out. And she’d never hiked in her life. Plus, she had no shoes.
Until she had clothes, shoes and a sense of direction, she needed to stay put. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t plan.
Now she sat on his bed in one of his T-shirts and boxer shorts, which actually fit better than expected. Probably because his hips were slim and hers weren’t.
She lifted his shirt up and pressed her nose into the cotton. He had no washer and dryer here, so she wondered if he had to head into this “town” to do laundry. Even so, his tee smelled like him, which made her traitorous nipples pebble.
She recalled bits and pieces from yesterday. She remembered her exhaustion becoming overwhelming to the point of crippling her when she went to take a shower.
It had been one thing she agreed with. She had stunk. But as she stood staring at the water falling from the shower head, her body had become lead. Heavy. And the darkness began to drown her.
She tried to escape it, crawl away from it, but she couldn’t. This was why she drank and partied. This was why she didn’t care what happened to her or what people thought of her.
She couldn’t pull free from the garbage that rotted her bones and she could no longer try.
She just didn’t give a fuck anymore.
As she sat across the table from him this morning, she had studied his hands. Those hands had touched her everywhere, including intimate spots as he helped her shower. He touched places he would’ve only touched a lover, but it wasn’t like that. It was methodical. He had a job and he did it.
Unfortunately, she could do nothing to help him, even though she didn’t want him washing her hair or soaping her up. Or rinsing her off.
And this morning, after he left for town, she’d climbed back into the shower under her own power and made sure he hadn’t missed any important places. She washed away the tattered memories of being in that house, on that mattress, with Slash and the woman, a sweet butt she thought was named Shelly. Being a sweet butt meant Shelly got around and was used by any of the Demons who wanted her. She was there to service them, to do whatever they asked. Almost like a slave.
That meant by being with Shelly, Kelsea had potentially been with every Demon Shelly had ever fucked around with.
She shuddered. Then she wondered how many other club sweet butts Slash had been with.
Funny. Now that she was clear-minded, she really didn’t care. Slash was nothing but a distraction for her. Nothing serious. A biker who she partied with and had sex with whenever she was in the mood.
She wasn’t loyal to him. Nor he to her.
After Ryder busted in on them, she doubted Slash would be open to her coming back down into Demon territory, anyway.
No loss. Though the man had an awesome cock, his technique was awful. And he was a selfish lover, more worried about getting himself off than helping Kelsea achieve that goal.
She knew Ryder had to be naked when he’d forced her into the shower last night, but she didn’t remember anything about him. And now she regretted that. She wished she’d seen him naked at least once. If he was half as amazing naked as he was clothed, then... phew.
But, regretfully, she’d never see him naked. She was getting the hell out of Dodge as soon as she could.
When she asked him this morning how he’d located her, he hadn’t answered. She’d guessed after a few minutes. The same way he’d found her every other time.
A tracking device. Somehow, someway, her cousin had been able to track her cell phone. So maybe she was glad it was gone. That meant when she escaped this cabin, no one would be able to find her.
She’d have no money, no phone, but she was resilient. She’d find a way, either back to Shadow Valley or somewhere else.
Maybe she needed a fresh start.
And not one determined by the man who owned this cabin and whose rules she was supposed to follow.
No. It was her life. Her rules.
He could go fuck himself.
Chapter Four
Kelsea paced the cabin, wringing her hands and gnawing on her bottom lip as she heard his Scout slowly coming up the dirt lane.
He’d been gone for hours. Hours.
She was no longer bored, but instead, climbing the walls. She needed to get out of this prison of his. She needed to get back home... Or wherever. Somewhere, anywhere, other than here.
There was no TV, no Wi-Fi, no phone. No connection to the outside world. She’d come across a battery-operated radio and the few stations it picked up were mostly country.
Argh! She pulled at her hair, her skin felt as if tiny bugs were crawling all over it, her heart raced, while her pulse attempted to escape her throat.
She had searched the cabin for alcohol and came up empty. Not one fucking drop. What man didn’t keep at least whiskey tucked somewhere in a cabinet?
She’d only found cold coffee, a few bottles of water, along with a half-kicked bottle of pop that went flat a long time ago.
She needed a fucking drink. She needed to beat back the garbage trying to bubble to the surface.
She wasn’t an addict, she wasn’t, but she needed to bury those thoughts, those memories somehow.
Ryder had been right. He had said out loud what she knew all along. She was using alcohol and drugs to self-medicate herself, to keep things buried so they wouldn’t hurt. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it to herself.
None of the drugs she’d used in the past were what she considered hardcore. Pot mostly. X, whenever it was offered. Sometimes a little blow when Slash had it. Once, and only once, Special K.
But right now, she was ready to crawl out of her own skin. Things she wanted to keep buried were fighting to the surface. With that, a sharp edge of panic sliced through her. And a whole lot of annoyance was directed at the motherfucker who brought her here.
She spun on him as he opened the front door, carrying a few plastic bags of what looked like groceries.
Maybe the grocery bags had a name and address on them.
Fuck. That wouldn’t do her a bit of good since she didn’t have access to a GPS.
He was humming some crappy country song under his breath as he dumped the bags on the counter.
Within a few steps she was standing directly behind him, her hands planted on her hips. “I need a drink. Did you bring anything back with you?”
His humming stopped and a muscle in his jaw worked as he glanced over his shoulder at her. “No.”
“No booze at all?”
He cocked a brow at her, which made her grind her teeth. “Told you that your life was no longer your own and things were gonna change. Your stubborn brain must’ve missed that part.”
No, she’d heard it. She just didn’t want to believe it.
She blew out a breath. She needed something. Something... “How about a blunt, then?”
“A what?”
“A blunt! A joint! Pot. Weed. Fuck! You’re a fucking veteran. Don’t you all smoke pot to deal with your PTSD?”
He spun on her and she stepped back in surprise and with a little worry at the expression on his face. She couldn’t miss his body become as tight as a stretched wire, his hands clenched into fists at his side.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. I don’t have any goddamn pot. You’re here to straighten your ass out, not fuckin’ get stoned or smashed.”
She pressed her fingers against her throbbing temples. “Then I need aspirin. Something.” She winced as she heard herself. The whine. The helplessness.
When had she become that person? When had she spiraled to the point that she became someone she, herself, didn’t even want to be around?
With a sigh and a shake of his head, his long legs ate up the space between her and the bathroom, and he returned a few seconds later with a bottle of generic aspirin.
She held out her hand. But instead of handing her the bottle, he po
pped open the child-proof lid and shook out only two pills, holding them out to her.
Two. Fuck. She wanted to take the whole damn bottle. Then chase it with a fifth of vodka.
With a scowl, she plucked them off his palm and popped them into her mouth, swallowing them down dry.
Aspirin wasn’t going to help. Being in this cabin wasn’t going to help. Ryder being her glorified babysitter wasn’t going to help, either.
Nothing would help.
Nothing.
Her fingers curled into fists as she lifted her face and screamed. Not words. Not at him. Not at anything. Just screamed at the top of her lungs.
Unfortunately, that didn’t make her feel any better, either.
She felt like a caged circus animal. Trapped. Hopeless. She needed to dull that anxiety. That pain. That deep-down fear eating at her like acid.
“Aspirin’s not going to help make me forget,” she yelled at him, even though he didn’t deserve to be screamed at. It should be the other way around.
Ryder stood frozen, unable to hide the surprise on his face. “Forget what?”
“Forget!” she screamed again, hugging herself. Trying to keep herself from shattering.
He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Kelsea, forget what?”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to inhale a breath, but she couldn’t. It felt as if her lungs had seized. She could no longer suck in any air.
She didn’t care. She didn’t care. She didn’t care.
She just needed to forget.
She needed to purge herself of the memories.
And if she had to die to do it...
So be it.
He had no idea what that meltdown was about. Besides her body possibly detoxing. She wasn’t hooked on drugs. He knew that. Otherwise, he would have driven her ass directly to a rehab. Kicking a drug habit was more than he’d be able to handle.
But he knew she dabbled in them. He’d pulled her out of places when she’d smelled like weed. There had been times where he’d go find her and she was mellowed out between the pot and booze. Other times, she’d fight him, and be wound as tight as a spring.
Drowning herself in alcohol and lots of gratuitous sex was more her speed.
Why the fuck was he taking this on? He was only being paid to snag her and take her home to Diesel to deal with.
When he called his boss yesterday, Diesel hadn’t been happy about his plan, but he was resigned to it. D said Ryder had a week to do what he could. If not, he was going to have Kelsea start seeing a therapist.
Ryder was surprised to hear that from him. D was not the kind of man who took private business outside of his “family,” whether it be blood, the club brotherhood or his own crew.
But when Diesel mentioned Mercy’s woman, Rissa, who was a therapist, it all made sense. Rissa was now a part of the ever-expanding “family.” And even though she was a sex therapist, she was still trained to deal with emotional issues.
And if anyone had emotional issues, it was Kelsea.
While she’d been wild before, after finding out Pierce was her father, something had snapped inside her. At that point, she began to push everyone else away.
Everyone.
She’d moved out of her mother’s house and shut out everyone else who loved her.
“Go outside, take a walk, cool off,” he said softly. Her blue eyes were still wild, her face pale and she was rubbing at her temples.
It was killing him to watch her fall apart bit by bit. Every time he rescued her, she was a little worse. A little more unraveled.
His teammates, his fellow Shadows, had wanted her to hit rock bottom first. But Diesel wasn’t allowing it and Ryder understood why. Her cousin couldn’t watch her crash and burn, that’s why he kept paying Ryder to find her.
For fuck’s sake, Ryder couldn’t watch her crash and burn, either.
He shouldn’t care, but he did. He couldn’t watch her take a similar path that he had.
If she was nothing to him, a nobody, simply a paying job, he wouldn’t have brought her here. To his space. To the place where he himself went to escape. To not only recharge his batteries, but to get a hold of his own mental health.
It always worked for him. He had hoped it would work for her.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
A simple detox, a time away from a bad influence like Slash. Time away from the family that constantly reminded her of her piece of shit father and everybody that man had hurt or tried to hurt.
Nobody held the sins of her father against her.
She hadn’t known.
Nobody had.
But even so, the truth about her father had sent her spinning.
“I don’t have shoes,” she said, her voice raw from screaming.
She sounded a little calmer. These mood swings, though... While he understood them—he’d seen it all too often with his buddies coming home after their military service—he questioned himself on whether he’d be able to deal with them. He was a little worried she might trigger something in him. Something he’d worked hard to keep packed down tight himself.
He released her arms now that she seemed to have leveled out a bit and went back to the bags he’d carried into the cabin. Plenty more remained in the Scout. Maybe she could help him carry them in, a good excuse to get her outside to inhale some fresh air.
Being on this mountain, in his woods, in the quiet, away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, could be healing.
He pulled out the pair of flip-flops he’d bought so she’d at least have something to put on her feet. He snapped the thin plastic tie that bound the pair together and tossed them in her direction. She didn’t even bother to try to catch them, instead simply watched with empty eyes as they landed on the roughhewn wood planked floor at her feet. She stared at them for a long moment, her long, unbrushed hair falling about her face, hiding it.
Ryder cleared the rough from his throat. “They’re flip-flops,” came out of his mouth because he didn’t know what else to say.
He wasn’t good with this emotional shit.
Watching her struggle internally, for whatever reason she was, was tugging at things hidden deep inside him, too.
Yeah, maybe bringing her here wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had.
Even Diesel, when Ryder had called him, had barked out a laugh and called him a dumb fuck before hanging up the phone.
A dumb fuck was right.
“I got you clothes. They’re out in the truck with the rest of the groceries. I need help bringin’ shit in, darlin’.”
She poked at the flip-flops with her big toe until they were right side up and she slipped her feet into them without a word. He had guessed at her size and had picked out a pair of medium and they looked about right.
Didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to do a ten-mile march with a loaded rucksack in them anyway.
He went back out through the open front door and called over his shoulder, “Comin’?”
He didn’t wait and jogged down the steps of the deck to the Scout, grabbed a few more bags, including the bag with more clothes for her. As he was heading back inside, he was relieved to see her coming down the rough-cut wooden steps, even if slowly.
“More food and shit. Grab whatever you can,” he said in passing.
Again, she said nothing and headed toward the Scout.
As he unloaded the bags on the table this time instead of the crowded small counter, he was glad he’d pulled the keys from the truck. Just in case. Then as it hit him, blood drained from his face as he realized he’d thrown them on the counter when he’d first walked in. He slowly turned, his eyes sliding over the old, scarred shellacked wood countertop for what he knew he’d see.
Nothing.
His keys were gone.
Fuckin’ son of a bitch!
He heard the rumble of the Scout’s engine as he unfroze his feet and ran out the door, just in time to see he
r doing a quick K-turn in the driveway.
He leapt down the three deck steps, almost eating the dirt as he landed.
“Kelsea!” he yelled as she took off down the lane, faster than the truck could handle since the lane was rutted more than normal from last spring’s torrential rains.
“Son of a fucking bitch!” he shouted to the sky. Without another thought, he ran around the side of the cabin, jerked open the shed door and found his hidden ATV key. Now, he hoped the fucker would start since he hadn’t run the four-wheeler in months.
He plugged in the key and turned, thanking the good fucking Lord that the engine turned over after a few seconds of it complaining.
He twisted the throttle and shot out of the shed, bypassing the dirt lane. He knew the twists and turns the lane took like the back of his hand. And he also knew where he could conceivably cut her off. The only problem was he’d have to blaze a trail through the woods.
That might slow him down.
It also might hurt a bit.
But whatever pain he ended up enduring, he was going to make sure she felt the same.
Someone needed a lesson.
And someone needed it badly.
Kelsea’s heart thumped in her chest and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the steering wheel. She hadn’t driven stick in forever. But she was headed down the mountain on a path that was so rutted, she couldn’t take it out of second gear. In fact, she let the Scout coast down in neutral most of the way, dodging the deeper ruts when she could.
Even so, she smelled freedom.
She didn’t have any idea how long this dirt road was, how long it would take to get to pavement or how long it would take to get to civilization. But her brain was clearing with every foot slowly traveled with just the thought of that possibility.
She needed to find the closest town and call someone who could Western Union her some cash. She flipped through her mind like a Rolodex, wondering who would be willing to help her.
Guts & Glory: Ryder (In the Shadows Security Book 2) Page 4