My eyes take in the bar area as we walk through. There are men milling around, talking, drinking, and just being. They all are dressed like Free, in jeans and matching vests. I’m surprised at how calm and collected, how comfortable they all are. The men at the compound were always so rigid, except for Zachary. He was the only one there that seemed relaxed.
Free walks us outside and pulls me toward a motorcycle. Releasing his grip on my hand, I watch as he straddles his bike. I look down at my sandal covered feet, then tug on the hem of my loose dress, before looking back up to him.
“I can’t ride that, Free,” I murmur.
He lifts a brow, his eyes focused on mine. “You have to get used to it sometime, Kitten. I drive it all summer long until the snow forces me to garage it.”
“I’m not wearing panties,” I hiss. “And where will the shopping bags go?”
He lets out an annoyed puff of air. Dismounting, he wraps his hand around my wrist and roughly tugs me toward a pickup truck. “You get a pass for the moment. As soon as we’re done with this shit today, we’re going for a ride,” he announces.
“Okay,” I nod.
He opens the pickup door and helps me inside, then slams it behind me. I’m sure I irritated him, being logical and all, but I don’t care. I wasn’t wrong. This dress flies up in a soft wind, I can only picture it literally flying off of my body and over my head on the back of his bike.
The pickup truck starts with a rumble and he shifts it into reverse before backing up. Without a word, he turns us around and puts the truck into drive before he heads for the entrance gate. My stomach growls and I place my hand over it.
“Let’s get you fed, Kitten,” he smiles.
FREE
I feel like a bastard, and I attempt to cover it up with a smile and a wink. I haven’t made sure Whitley’s been fed. It’s been almost two days since she’s had a meal and she’s probably starving as fuck. I needed to go to church this morning. Snake did some digging and my girls grandfather is passed, his club disbanded, and most of the men went Nomad.
The Cash Bar comes into view and I swing my truck into the closest spot. I know here she’ll get a good meal, and she’ll be safe from any sideways glances. Sliding out, I jog over to her side and open the door for her, giving her my palm to help her out.
Slinging my arm around her neck, we walk into the bar. “A bar?” she asks looking around.
The Cash Bar isn’t anything fancy, in fact, it’s the exact opposite of fancy in every way, including their alcohol list. It’s still the best bar I’ve ever been in, and not just because our president’s Old Lady owns and runs it. It’s just a good fuckin’ bar.
“Snake’s Old Lady owns the place,” I shrug, guiding her over to the Notorious Devils area. She sits down, and I grab a seat across from her, settling in, and leaning back.
A figure approaches, and I look to the side, watching Traci as she makes her way toward us, carrying a menu. She slides it in front of Whitley, then turns to me with wide eyes. “Beer?” she asks.
I lift my chin, turning to Whitley. “What do you want to drink?”
Whitley bites the corner of her lip, then looks up to Traci. “Water is fine, please,” she orders softly.
Traci frowns, nodding once, then turns and hurries off. Whitley studies that menu like she’s engrossed in a novel. “What’s good here?” she finally asks after a few minutes.
“Burgers are the best,” I state.
She nods, looking down, then back at me. “Okay.”
I shake my head, wondering if there’s more to this moment, it feels like there is, but I don’t ask her. I lift my hand and motion to Traci who hurries toward us with our drinks. “Two bacon cheeseburgers, bring the mayo and shit on the side. Two orders of fries, and an order of onion rings,” I announce.
Whitley’s eyes are wide, and her mouth opens, then snaps closed. Traci nods as she writes it all down. “You need anything else, you holler,” she calls before she turns around and hurries off toward the kitchen.
“That’s a lot of food,” Whitley points out once Traci is gone.
I smirk. “Kitten, you’re hungry and I’m fuckin’ starved. All that fucking last night and this morning, I need food.”
Her face turns bright red and my smile widens. I love it when she gets embarrassed, it’s sexy as fuck on her.
We stare at each other, neither of us sure what to say. It doesn’t matter, we don’t need to speak. Honest to fuck, I just like looking at her pretty fresh face. I don’t know if she normally wears makeup, but I’m going to make it really fucking clear that I don’t want her to start. I’ve never been one to notice or care if a woman is made up heavily, but with Whitley, I like her as is.
Traci arrives with a tray of food and starts setting baskets down in front of us, then condiments. “Thanks, Trace.” I smile up at her.
“No problem, Free. You planning on introducing me to your girl?” she bluntly asks.
“Traci, this is Whitley. Whitley, this is Traci, she’s one of the best waitresses here,” I state. Traci grins at the compliment, a title I know she takes really fucking seriously.
“Hey honey,” Traci says, extending her arm. Whitley does the same and they shake hands. “You know, we’re hiring for night shift if you’re looking for work at all,” Traci announces. “Esme needs some help a couple days a week.”
I growl. The mere thought of my Whitley working here causing my hackles to rise. “Or, not,” Traci says, taking a step back, shielding herself with her tray.
“Not,” I snap.
Traci rolls her eyes, then turns and hurries away from us. “Would it be so bad, me having a job?” Whitley asks, her brow arching.
The sass is sexy, and it’s cute she thinks I give a fuck if she has a job or not. I’m not that big of a dick. I just don’t want her working here, at all. I don’t want men grabbing her ass, or thinking they got a shot with what’s mine.
“I don’t care if you get a job. I care if you get one here,” I announce.
Her brows furrow as she picks up her burger. For some reason, I pause, my eyes watching her. I want to see her eat, and I’m not sure if there’s something seriously wrong with me or not. As she opens her mouth, I let out a grunt, watching her bite down on her burger. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I vow right here and now that I’m going to always eat with her, the only thing that would make it better would be if we were completely naked.
“I’m not sure what I could do, or where I could work. I don’t even have a high school diploma,” she admits.
I frown, then look down at my basket of onion rings, taking one and bringing it to my mouth. “Did you like takin’ care of those whacked out kids?” I ask.
She snorts, nodding. “I did, it was fun sometimes. They were really quiet, it was creepy, but they could be really sweet too,” she says with a shrug.
“One of the brothers, his wife owns a daycare in town. I don’t know if she could use you or not, but we could ask her once you get all settled in,” I shrug.
Whitley’s eyes widen, and a smile breaks out on her lips. “I would love that,” she says.
“Eat, Kitten. We have shopping to do and I fucking hate shopping,” I grumble. I decide to tell her about her grandfather later, or maybe never. She’s mine, it doesn’t matter anyway. She ain’t going anywhere.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHITLEY
The store seems huge. It probably isn’t, but to someone who hasn’t been to any type of store in three years, everything is a little grander. I don’t know where to begin, and as I stand at the entrance and just look around, I can tell that Free is a little annoyed already.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where to start, it’s overwhelming,” I mutter.
He grunts. “You need everything, Kitten. Start beneath your clothes and work your way out, then down for shoes.”
It’s logical, his suggestion, so I give him a nod. “Okay.”
Turning toward a sign that
boasts of intimates below, I make my way toward the area. Free’s boots are heavy as he walks behind me, and my face feels hot as I think about him helping me pick out underwear.
Once we arrive, I find the sets of five cotton briefs and I reach for them. Free clears his throat and with my hand suspended in mid-air, I turn to look over at him. “Something soft, Kitten,” he murmurs.
I’ve only ever had cotton undies before, and I don’t know what to do. Letting my hand drop, I glance around quickly, but I don’t see anything that’s soft. My heart starts to beat against my chest, and I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palm with worry.
“Hello, can I help you find anything?” a woman asks, turning the corner. She looks like she’s in her mid-thirties and I watch as her eyes glaze over a little when she looks toward Free.
I stand frozen as she stares at him, and then a flirty smile appears on her lips. “How can I help you, now?” she asks, her voice an octave lower, as she pops her hip out.
“My woman needs some shit,” he states.
I clasp my hand over my mouth, unbelieving that he said what he did, the way he did. The woman’s eyes widen, and she looks down, finally seeing me for the first time.
She plasters on a fake smile, and I give her one as well. Matching, two-for-two. “Well, honey, let’s get you set up then,” she winks. “What do you want her in,” she asks, lifting her gaze to Free.
I hear a rumble roll through his chest and he reaches out, wrapping his hand around my hip, giving me a squeeze. “She has her own fuckin’ brain, and mouth. Whatever she wants is hers,” he growls.
The saleswoman nods, her smile dropping a bit. Free bends down, his lips touching my ear. “I’ll be right around the corner, she gives you any shit, you call for me, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.” Turning my head, I press my lips against his in a quick kiss. He chuckles, standing, then walks away.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” the woman states as soon as he’s out of earshot. “Let’s get you set up,” she smiles, and for the first time looking at me, it appears genuine. “What kind of materials are you thinking?
“Something soft,” I say, using Free’s words.
She grins, looking a bit mischievous. “We have some really soft cottons, they feel almost like silk,” she explains.
I nod, more enthusiastically than I should, as I follow her toward the described panties. I spend the next thirty minutes picking out panties, and trying on matching bras until I find the perfect fits.
“What about lingerie?” she asks, her voice wavering. I feel a presence behind me and turn to see that Free has appeared out of nowhere.
He smirks. “Somethin’ to wear for about half a second? What a fuckin’ waste of money.” I bite my bottom lip, nodding in agreement, but feeling disappointed as hell. Free wraps his hand around my waist and bends slightly. “You sleep in my shirt, Kitten,” he rasps.
My breath hitches and I nod. “Just the bras and panties,” I say breathlessly.
The sales woman’s face breaks out into a huge smile. “Damn girl,” she laughs softly. “I’m totally jealous,” she grins as she starts ringing up my purchases.
Free grunts, tossing his credit card onto the counter. A few minutes later, I’m the new owner of soft cotton, sexy bras and panties. They’re the most beautiful items I’ve ever owned before, and I can’t wait to put them on.
With a smile, the girl hands back Free’s card, then holds the bag out for me. I grasp it in my hand and turn to Free. “Clothes now, Whitley,” he grunts.
Free’s palm presses against my lower back as he guides me through the department store. “I scoped out the place while you were busy,” he explains as he walks directly toward the women’s department.
Stepping into the area surrounded by all different styles of clothing, from jeans to dresses and comfy shirts to sparkly sexy tops, I wheeze. I feel overwhelmed. Turning around, I look into Free’s eyes, and I know I look wild and crazy, but I can’t help it—I don’t know what to do.
“I can’t do this,” I rasp.
Free lifts his hand, wrapping his fingers around the side of my neck and gives me a squeeze. My eyes slide closed and I inhale deeply before I let out the breath, trying to calm myself down. “You can, and you will,” Free states.
I feel so stupid, so immature and just so freaking stupid. I’m sure that he’s regretting bringing me here, and if it were any other girl, she’d probably be running through the racks of beautiful clothes and sprinting to the dressing room.
“Just get what you’re comfortable in, Kitten. You better hurry though, my patience is diminishing by the minute,” he states.
Comfortable. My eyes search through the space and land on a couple racks of dresses, much like the one I’m wearing. Making my way over to them, I reach for one in front and twist my head around to look at Free. He gives me a chin lift, and I assume that means I should go ahead. I flip through the dresses to find my size and hold it against me.
It’s not something sexy, in fact, it’s probably the exact opposite of sexy, but it’s what I’ve been comfortable wearing the last three years. Before I was taken to the compound, I wore jeans and oversized, mainly men’s, t-shirts. I’ve never been comfortable in figure-hugging, sexy clothes.
It doesn’t take me long to try on and pick out seven dresses. They’re pretty much the exact same, but different solid colors. They are oversized t-shirt dresses that hide my shape and hit me around the tops of my knees.
“You need some jeans for riding the bike, Kitten,” Free announces as I walk up to him with my dresses in hand. I wrinkle my nose at his words.
I really wouldn’t know where to start with jeans, not anymore. I let out an exhale, turning toward a wall that has jeans folded and stacked practically from floor to ceiling. I reach for a pair that claims to be boyfriend cut, and relaxed. Those sound good. I grab a few different sizes and stomp back toward the dressing room.
I pull a pair of my new panties out of the bag and slide them on. Trying not to think about the fact that I haven’t washed them yet. Tugging the first pair of jeans on, I button them but narrow my eyes at the muffin top I’m sporting.
With a huff, I grab the size larger and pull them on over my ass. They look much better, and hang loosely on my hips, with plenty of room in my thighs. I like that they aren’t skin tight, but I’m pretty sure that Free won’t like them. Sliding them off, I shake my head.
Who cares if he doesn’t like them. I do, and I’m the one wearing them.
FREE
I watch as Whitley marches toward me, pissed off, determined, and fucking adorable. She slaps a pair of jeans against my chest and narrows her eyes. “I don’t need shirts, I’ll just wear yours,” she announces.
Looking from the jeans to her, I can’t help but chuckle. I like this side of her. I didn’t imagine she had an attitude when I took her, and even last night I didn’t think she had any in her.
I figured it would have come out when I was being a dick to her, but it didn’t. It comes out when she’s uncomfortable, not scared. I like it. I plan on pushing her boundaries, more and more, now that I know.
I buy her dresses and one pair of jeans before we go to the shoe section. I’m just about fucking done with this shit, but there are chairs in this department, so I sink down and wait. I force Whitley to get a pair of boots for the bike, a pair of boots for the snow, and at least one pair of actual tennis shoes. She whines that she likes sandals, but before long there will be snow on the ground, and she needs real fuckin’ shoes.
“I’ve never had to worry about the snow before,” she shrugs.
My eyes snap to hers and I tilt my head to the side. “Why’s that, Kitten? It snows for like half the year here,” I inform her.
Her eyes look down at her feet and she shrugs one shoulder. I wait for her to answer me, and it seems like several minutes go by before she does. She exhales lifting her eyes to mine.
“The children weren’t allowed outside in the
snow, and neither was I. Before Zachary took me to the big house, I wasn’t allowed outside at all,” I admit.
I try not to give her a pitying look, but fuck, I have to be outside as much as possible or I go fucking crazy. I need my freedom, I need to feel the wind against my face, even if there’s no sun in sight, don’t matter. I have to go outside, and imagining my poor girl stuck inside for months, it’s fucking awful.
We don’t say another word. Whitley tries on her boots, her shoes, and a few sandals before I buy them, and with full hands, we walk out of the store. The air around us feels heavy, and I don’t know how to fix that, other than to fuck it away.
Helping her into the pickup, I quickly go to the other side and start the engine. I should take us back to the clubhouse. I’m sure that Snake needs me, especially since he’s getting a team together to head to the states. They found more compounds, and the club has made it its mission to eradicate the world of them.
I want to go, to tear shit up and kill some racist fucks, but he wants me here with Whitley. I don’t blame him at all, this is where I should be. Whitley obviously can’t take care of herself, hell, she’s not only young as fuck, she hasn’t been in the real world for over three years. She’s completely lost.
Driving into the country, but away from the clubhouse, I head toward this clearing I like to go to. Usually, I ride my bike out here, but I don’t want to go and get it. I need to clear my head, to think, and I’m pretty sure Whitley needs that too.
Pulling into the clearing, I roll down the windows and turn the engine off. Staring at the scenery in front of me, it’s nothing special, just a small lake but it’s calming.
“Where are we?” Whitley asks, her voice shy and hesitant. I enjoy this part about her too. Her attitude is cute, but this softness is what drew me to her.
“I come here when I need to just, breathe,” I admit, staring straight ahead.
Flamed with Courage: Notorious Devils (Cash Bar Book 3) Page 7