by Harley Stone
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I got another stupid Bible verse.”
Remembering Morse’s mention of threatening Bible verses, I asked, “Can I see?”
She put on a brave face, but her hands were trembling slightly when she handed me the phone.
“Can any hide himself in secret places that I shall not see him? saith the Lord. Do not I fill heaven and earth? saith the Lord.”
“He’s looking for me,” Mila said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Do you need to send it to Morse?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll message him, but he’s monitoring the account. He’ll see it.”
“Let this asshole fuckin’ find you,” I ground out, hating the way this stupid message made her look so lost and scared. “We got you. If this son-of-a-bitch shows up here, he’ll find nothing but a world of hurt.”
Her gaze met mine and gratitude shone through her eyes. It made my chest swell, but also reminded me I was in no position to make threats. What would I do if she was in danger? How could I help? While in the Navy, I’d earned my nickname by relentlessly filing the proper paperwork to get my fellow servicemen and women the support they needed. Wasp had called me a blood hound enough times that the name stuck. I thrived off getting to the bottom of the red tape and getting the upper brass to do their goddamn jobs. But how could I use that skillset to help Mila?
I couldn’t. The best I could do was to throw myself in front of a bullet. That was okay. I would be Mila’s fucking meat shield before I let this asshole get to her.
Opening her messaging app, I sent myself a message from her phone and handed it back. “There. You need anything at all, you let me know.”
“Thanks.”
Her hands were no longer trembling, and I felt like a badass for reassuring her she was safe. So, of course, my body decided to remind me who was boss. The muscles in my left leg seized. Fire shot up my leg, snatching my breath. Stars danced before my eyes as I leaned against the counter, hoping I wouldn’t face plant on the floor.
“Hound?” Mila asked, sounding frantic.
“I’m fine,” I lied through gritted teeth. “Just need a minute.”
I tried to walk it out, but that only made it worse. Stumbling out into the dining area, I curled up on the nearest bench, trying to find a position to get some sort of relief.
Mila kneeled on the floor beside me. “What’s going on? What can I do?”
Writhing back and forth as I knuckled my hamstring, I couldn’t even form a response.
“Is it the muscle?” she asked.
The muscle? The nerve? The whole damn leg? I didn’t know, but it hurt like hell. “Fuck!”
“Roll onto your stomach,” she commanded.
Clueless as to how that would help, I was in no position to argue. Lying face down on the bench, I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to breathe through the fire racing up and down my leg in waves. It was a good thing I hadn’t ridden out with the club because I sure as hell wouldn’t have gotten far.
For all my tough talk about protecting Mila, this was my humiliating reality. Pain would always rule my life.
Mila’s hands landed in the middle of my thigh. Through my jeans, I felt her slender but strong fingers knead at my hamstring, exploring the area. She hit an especially painful spot and I hissed out a curse. Instead of retracting her hands, she dug in, grinding her knuckles into my throbbing muscle.
I wanted to fucking die.
It took everything in me not to jump up off that bench and get out from under her goddamn hell fingers, but I couldn’t. Gritting my teeth, I resisted the urge to yell at her to stop.
“Feels like a knot,” Mila said, still working my muscle. “Like a golf ball under your skin. But it’s starting to break up. Feel that?”
I was trying my damnedest to block out the pain, but at her mention, I relaxed a little and focused on the sensation. My leg still felt like it was on fire, but the flames were dying down. “Yes,” I panted, shocked. “It’s actually getting better.”
She kept working my hamstring, digging her knuckles into it with an intensity that made me wish I had something to bite down on. The fire in my leg continued to die down until there was nothing left of it but embers.
Mila huffed out a breath and leaned back, pulling her hands away. “How’s that?”
Pushing myself up, I swung my legs around and cautiously stood. Little aftershocks stung my nerves, but at least my legs could support my weight. “Better. Much. Wow.” When I was hurting, touch didn’t appeal to me at all. I wanted to be as far away from everyone and everything as possible. Hell, if I could have wrapped myself in a bubble I would have. I’d been going to Eagle’s chiropractor, which had helped some, but I’d never even considered trying deep tissue massage. And Mila was incredible at it. “Where’d you learn how to do that?”
“Just a skill I picked up to make me more… employable.” She averted her gaze, making it clear she didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m glad it helped you, though.”
I took a couple of steps, testing out my leg. “Yeah. Actually, it helped a lot. Usually when that happens, I’m down for the count.” Realizing how lame and worthless I sounded, I corrected myself. “Down for a while. You got some magical hands there, Mila. I can’t believe how much better I feel. Thank you.”
She smiled at me.
Unlike the myriad of slightly reserved smiles she’d previously given me, this smile was 100 watt, practically blinding in its brightness.
I took a few cautious steps. “This is awesome. How much do you usually charge for your services?”
Shock rolled over her face. “What?”
The change in pitch in her voice put me in mind of a firecracker, and I got the feeling she was ready to light my ass up. For what, I had no idea. Treading carefully, I asked, “Uh…. Wh-what do you charge for your… services?”
Folding her arms, she cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing to angry little slits. “Exactly which services are you talking about, Hound?”
She was angry. Something I’d said had pissed her off and I had no idea why. Trying not to notice how fucking sexy she looked while scowling at me, I wondered what I’d said to put me on thin ice. “The massage you just gave me?” I asked tentatively. It was a question, because I refused to commit to the answer until I knew it was safe.
She didn’t say shit.
“You said you learned how to massage to make you more employable, so I figured you must do it as a side job or something? If not, I’m sorry I made that assumption. I really don’t know why you’re lookin’ at me like you’re about to rip off my arm and shank me through the heart with it. Having skilled fingers is not a bad thing, and I was just asking about what you charge because I’m not sure if the VA will cover massage or not, and I’m a little fuckin’ desperate to find some goddamn relief.” I was rambling, desperately trying to dig myself out of whatever hole I’d fallen into.
Her eyes softened. Pink flooded her cheeks and she dropped her arms. “No, I’m sorry. I… overreacted. I don’t charge for massages. I’m a… teacher.”
That admission only created more confusion. Why would a teacher learn how to massage to make her more employable? What the hell was she teaching? Questions ate at me, but there was no way in hell I was asking them aloud. Not after barely surviving the last one.
“Sorry. I… it’s been a rough past couple of weeks and—”
I didn’t want her apologizing. After all she’d been through, she deserved a little grace. “I get it. You don’t gotta explain. You’ve been uprooted and now you’re staying with a biker club and the one person you know here just rode off for the night. You’ll do well to keep your guard up and not take any shit. Even from me.”
She watched me for a moment longer. “No. I was out of line. You’ve been very welcoming and kind, and I… I got a little crazy there for a minute. Forgive me?”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing to forgive. Reall
y.” And strangely enough, I kind of liked seeing her crazy. Her temper had proven that this perfect, beautiful goddess was still human. She was still out of my league—way, way out of my league—but at least we were the same goddamn species.
My pain level was down to a dull throb and I felt like taking a little walk to stretch out my muscles. “Hey, Morse said he didn’t get much of a chance to show you around the place. Want me to do that, now?”
She was still studying me like I was a goddamn curiosity, and I thought for sure she’d turn me down. “Are you sure you’re up for that?” Her gaze dropped to my leg, making it clear what she meant.
“That?” I asked shrugging her off. “That happens all the time. It’s nothing. And thanks to your voodoo hand witchcraft, I can walk around for a while.”
“Voodoo hand witchcraft, huh?” she asked.
“That’s what it felt like to me. I feel at least 90% better.” Afraid she’d call me on my posturing, I drifted toward the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll even show you all the secrets.”
She seemed reluctant but followed me through the swinging doors.
9
Mila
HOUND’S ENTIRE BODY tensed the moment my hands landed on his leg. I’d seen that happen before with clients who weren’t used to being touched or had some sort of aversion to contact. Although he was clearly uncomfortable, he allowed my touch. When I dug into the knot in his leg, it had to hurt, but he didn’t ask me to stop. Either he trusted me enough to continue, or he was used to people doing whatever they wanted, even when it caused him pain. Regardless of the reason, I was glad to work out the knot and bring him some relief.
“Unless science makes some miraculous breakthrough, he’ll most likely live with that for the rest of his life.”
Levi’s previous statement about Hound’s condition carried more weight now that I’d seen the kind of agony Hound was living with. While I finished massaging his leg, I eyed his back, wondering how bad the damage was. Like the rest of the bikers, he was wearing a black leather vest over his T-shirt. Between the patches that marked him as a prospect of the Dead Presidents MC, and the vest itself, I couldn’t even discern where his backbone was, much less inspect it. I considered asking him to remove it, but bit my tongue.
As Hound stood, he seemed grateful, but also embarrassed. He should probably rest his leg, but I didn’t want to emasculate him by making the suggestion, especially after I’d jumped to conclusions about him wanting to pay me, so I agreed to the tour he offered.
“Are you sure you have time for this?” I asked, offering him an out in case he was in too much pain to continue.
Opening a cupboard, he replied, “What else would I be doing? It’s Sunday. Glasses are up here.” Closing that cupboard, he opened the one next to it. “Plates. Silverware can be found in that drawer to the left of the dishwasher.” He pointed. “Pots and pans go here. I don’t know if you’re into cooking or not, but we love a good meal around here. A couple of the club whores usually split cooking duties with the prospects, but they have a sign-up sheet on the side of that big fridge right there, in case anyone wants a turn.”
“Club whores?” I asked, certain I must have misheard him.
He threw his hands in the air. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t name them. I called Sherry a club lady one time, and she jumped down my throat. Said if she’s okay with the title, I damn well better be, too.”
I needed more information. “What exactly is a club whore?” I asked.
“Some clubs call them patch bunnies, which seems more appropriate to me. They like to sleep with bikers, and aren’t too particular about who and when. From what I gather, it’s pretty common for clubs to have them hanging around.”
His use of the term “sleep with” and not “fuck” was kind of sweet. I didn’t know if he was watering the description down for me, or if that was the terminology he always used, but it was… refreshing in a strange way. Still, I felt my eyebrows rise at his definition. “Carly and Jessica and that group…”
“No.” He shook his head, chuckling. “They’re called ol’ ladies. They’re in committed relationships.”
“Oh.” Made sense. I couldn’t see any of them fucking their way through the bikers. Especially not with the protective way Wasp had his arm draped over Carly’s shoulders. “The ol’ ladies don’t have a problem with the club whores?”
Hound looked genuinely confused. “No. Why would they?”
“Because their men might… sleep around with the whores?”
“If an ol’ lady can’t trust her man to be faithful, they have bigger problems than club whores.” He looked uncomfortable with the topic, but not condemning of the women. “It’s not like they’re raping guys or something. Everything is consensual.”
Interesting. I’d never walked into a more perfect conversation to get someone’s opinion of my side hustle. “And what are your thoughts on these club whores?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t really think about them.”
Women were just walking around his club, giving up the pussy, and he didn’t have an opinion? Right. “You don’t think it’s… wrong? Them sleeping around like that?”
He leveled a look at me. “I’m a recovering addict, Mila. If you’re looking for me to judge anyone, that’s not gonna happen. Lacy, Shari, and Kim aren’t some triflin’ bitches tryin’ to break up relationships. The club wouldn’t let them hang around if they were causing trouble like that. They like sex and choose to smash with a bunch of veteran bikers. My thoughts?” He shrugged. “Who the fuck cares? They’re consenting adults, and they’re not doing anything illegal. What business is it of mine who they spread their legs for?”
I don’t know what I was more surprised about, his lack of judgment or his use of the word ‘smash’ for sex. “You don’t slut shame,” I replied, impressed. Even when I baited him, he’d defended them.
Chuckling, he shook his head. “Definitely not.” He looked away.
Good to know. Not like I was looking to become a club whore. I enjoyed sex and considered it an art form, but I’d gotten into sex as a business solely because I needed the money. Still, it was good to know where he stood on the matter. There weren’t many people who’d be as accepting as Hound, and his answer was important to me for reasons I didn’t want to think too hard about.
“Why? Do you?” he asked, turning the question around on me.
I was too busy in my own head to realize what he was asking. “Do I what?”
“Slut shame?”
Oh, the irony. Biting back a laugh, I answered, “No.”
“Good, because I’d hate to see the club whores discriminated against. Shari’s one hell of a cook and the entire club would take up arms if she left because she felt disrespected.”
“Noted.” They appreciated their community pussy. Good to know. Most of my clients appreciated me, too, and those who didn’t were blacklisted. I wanted to ask if Hound had ever taken advantage of the services provided by these self-proclaimed ‘club whores,’ but thought better of it. Some answers I didn’t need, and the thought of him fucking whores made me uncomfortable.
Double standard much, Mila?
Stuffing my ridiculous, unexplainable emotions down to the pit of my stomach, I followed him through a set of doors and into a large pantry loaded with food.
“Between this and the fridges, we have everything you can imagine. There’s a grocery list on the side of the first fridge, next to the cooking sign-up, if you want anything special that we don’t already have. Feel free to help yourself to anything, except this.” He slid his hand between two boxes of rice to retrieve a bag of what appeared to be homemade cookies. Watching the door, he shoved the cookies back into their hiding spot, and wiped his hands off on his jeans, like he was getting rid of residual evidence.
“Those are strictly off limits, huh?” I asked, fishing for more information.
He nodded, leaning closer and dropping his voice down to a conspiratorial whisper. “Li
nk’s stepmom brings them for him, and Wasp and Havoc take turns raiding the stash. I’m sure Link knows it’s them, but he can’t prove anything. The entire club is in on it, waiting for the day Link catches one of those two with their goddamn hand literally in the cookie bag.” He grinned.
It felt like we were discussing some holy texts rather than a baggie of hidden goodies. But after witnessing his pain, it was nice to see Hound smile. He had great lips, white teeth, and mischief sparkled in his eyes. Adventure lived in his smile, and I couldn’t help but tag along. “Big, scary bikers fighting over cookies? Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Havoc and Wasp are adrenaline junkies who live for the thrill. Link could solve the whole damn problem by finding a better hiding spot, but he wants to catch the bastards in the act. If that ever happens, believe me, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“I had no idea there’d be so much drama over goodies here at the fire station.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, we take our cookies seriously.”
“Are you included in that ‘we’? Do you have a sweet tooth, Hound?”
“Fuck yeah.” His smile dimmed a little as pain flashed through his eyes. “My mom wasn’t much of the cookie-bakin’ type, so home-baked goods have always been a weakness of mine.”
Most people let details like that slide, but I’d trained myself to pick up on them. I’d bet my left boob Hound had mommy issues, and that was a topic I always steered clear of. After all, bringing up the parents was a guaranteed mood killer. Not exactly the goal of someone in my line of work.
Of course, I wasn’t trying to get Hound in the mood.
What am I trying to do?
The question smacked me upside the head, making me evaluate my motive for seeking out Hound in the parking lot. I wasn’t a people person. I could handle kids, but adult men were good for one thing: paying my bills. Bad shit happened when I let them get closer than the bedroom. As a result, I hadn’t even tried to connect with a guy in years.