by Zoey Parker
“I made you a protein shake. They always worked well for me when I was hurting.” She stuck a straw in the drink and held it out to him.
He took a few sips. “Thank you.”
“So, can I ask, what’s your name?”
“Rowan. Luther. You?”
“Becca Mullins. Nice to officially meet you.” She gave him a thin smile. “Wish it was under better circumstances. Here, take some ibuprofen.”
She opened the bottle and poured out a double dose, handing it to him with the water glass. He took a sip of the water and swallowed the pills, which seemed to cause him pain.
“What else can I do for you?” she asked.
He laughed once, then groaned. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough? I couldn’t ask for better care.”
“Good. I’m just worried. All that bleeding. If you have any internal bleeding, that needs to be taken care of right away. You could die from it. And drink plenty of water. That’ll help flush out your system from all the adrenaline and from the extra work your body is doing right now to recover.”
“You a nurse?”
“No.” She hung her head and realized she’d maybe said too much already. “I wanted to be once. I work in a gift shop now.”
“Sounds nice. Much easier.”
“Yeah, I guess. Less blood, at least. But more complaints about inventory.”
His visible eye glimmered as he looked at her. Though his lip and part of his face were swollen, she could tell he was very good-looking. She wanted to run her hand along the soft-looking stubble on his chin and feel his smooth cheek. He probably had a girlfriend, though. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but maybe he was even married.
“Are you sure there isn’t someone I should call for you? A wife or girlfriend? Mother or father or other family member?”
He shook his head. “No girl, not much family, and the ones I do have won’t talk to me. Though they might be glad to hear I finally got what was coming to me.”
“So, you deserved this? That doesn’t seem accurate. No one ever deserves to be beaten like this.”
“You know a lot about it, do you?” He tilted his head at her and drank more of the protein shake.
“I know enough, I guess.”
She tried not to be excited over the “no girl” thing, and instead focused on the fact that his family didn’t talk to him. Nick’s family hadn’t talked to him either. How similar were they really? Did she just attract abusive men? Maybe that was her type. Maybe she was destined to either end up in a good relationship with someone she wasn’t attracted to, which might be okay if he treated her well, or she’d end up with someone she was greatly attracted to, like Rowan, who would likely turn out to be just another wife beater. She was doomed.
“You have a child?” he asked.
Had she mentioned Emma to him? “I do.”
“I saw the pink car seat. And did you know there’s a stuffed cat under the driver’s seat in your car?”
“Ahh. I did not know that, but I’m not surprised. Emma has quite the stuffed animal collection.”
“Emma,” he repeated. “And does Emma also know a lot about physical pain?”
Becca’s face grew warm. Emma knew more than she wished she had. Nick had only hit her twice, both times were agony for Becca, and the second time was what had urged her leave. It was one thing for her to take his anger, but she wouldn’t stand by and let that happen to her daughter.
“She knows enough.” Becca stood. “Are you feeling hungry at all?”
“No, this is fine, thanks.” He held up the shake an inch. He still seemed to be in a lot of pain.
“Let me see if I have any clothes that will fit you.” Becca went to her closet and took out an oversized t-shirt. She had some sweatpants that were big on her. Those might work. “Do you want to try getting dressed, or will it hurt too much?”
“Gotta get past the pain at some point.” He slowly turned and reached to set down the cup with effort.
She held the shirt out to him, but it was quickly obvious he would need help. “Don’t worry, I’m a professional at helping people get dressed. Put your arms up.”
He raised them, wincing in pain as he did. She bunched the shirt and slipped his arms through, then pulled the neck hole over his head. Her hand brushed the front of his stomach as she pulled down the shirt and she felt his heat and smooth muscles. She tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach.
“Hmm. I should probably take off the bandage to check your back.”
He leaned forward and she untied the pillow case corners. She gently peeled away the towel. It was crusted with blood, but it seemed like most of the wounds were doing better. “Hang on a sec.” She went to the bathroom, grabbed the washcloth, and wet it with warm water, then came back in the room. Gently, she dabbed and wiped to clear the fresh blood. Then, it was back to the bathroom for the anti-bacterial ointment and a fresh hand towel. “It’s looking better. That’s a good sign.” She looked down at the sweatpants on the bed. “I guess you’ll need help with the pants, too.”
He smirked and shrugged.
Becca pulled back the covers by his feet. She didn’t want to reveal too much and make him uncomfortable. She scrunched the pants and slipped the first leg over his foot, then the other. She pulled them up as far as she could go without seeing everything.
“I can manage from there,” he said.
“Okay.” She flipped the covers back over.
He wiggled back and forth while tugging on the pants. When he seemed to have them high enough, he settled again.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Sore, achy. Like my head is going to explode. But better, actually. In some ways. The aching is worse, but the cuts feel better and my head and jaw hurt less.”
“They really did a number on you.” She checked over his face and applied fresh anti-bacterial ointment and bandages.
“Well, they were trying to kill me.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you know. My dog pooped in their yard too many times.”
“Must be a big dog.”
He nodded. “The biggest.”
###
Rowan stirred after falling asleep for a few hours. He felt his eye and the swelling seemed to have gone down some. The bag of ice lay at his side, melted. He could see out of both eyes, though, so that was something. He stretched in the bed, every muscle aching. He hadn’t felt this sore since he’d first started working out and lifting heavy weights. And this type of sore was not the good type where you felt like you’d worked hard for it. This felt like a razor slicing every part of his body.
The pain in his back was sharp. How many times had they cut him? Assholes. They thought it’d be funny to slice up his club’s logo, like that meant anything. If the fight hadn’t been seven on one, he’d have taken any of them down. And, now that he thought about it, it said a lot that Abram had brought seven guys. Like he knew it would take that many to take him down. And, ha. They still didn’t manage it.
Should have shot him and been done with it. Idiots. That was what he would have done. Who needed fists and knives? If wanted to prove a point—shoot the guy in the leg and watch him hobble around for a while before putting him out of his misery. But, if you wanted to cause him real pain, you didn’t beat him and stab him. No. You shoot his family. His girl, his mama, and if he had kids, then you threatened them until he broke. Worked every time. Or at least every time he’d had to do it. And now there’d be several bullets with Abram’s name on them, and the other six who followed like lemmings.
He had to get out of Becca’s house. If they somehow found him, they might do something to her. Who knew how far they’d go; since they seemed to enjoy torture, Becca and her daughter would make the perfect recipients. Though he was grateful she’d come along to help him, and she’d taken fabulous care of him, he’d bring trouble on her, and she didn’t deserve that. Seemed like someone in her past had caused her enough trouble as it was.
&n
bsp; He’d never understand guys like that. Weren’t there enough dumbass men in the world to fight with? Why would you fight your girl like that? And to hit a child? Man, you had to be one lame ass dude to sink to that level. There were some things you just didn’t do. And if his mama had taught him anything, it was that you never hit a girl. Unless, of course, she was going ape shit crazy on you and kicking and punching your lights out, then you could slap her to keep her straight if you really had to. But only if you really had to. Most guys were decent enough to stick by that rule.
His hand clenched into a fist thinking about anyone hitting that perfect woman. Becca. Even her name was like an angel. But that face and body. He’d give anything to have a woman like her. Okay. Almost anything. Well. He’d give a lot, at least. She was gorgeous. Smooth skin, long dark hair that he wanted to wrap around his fingers and pull while he ran his hands all over her tight little body.
He adjusted the sweatpants under the covers in case she came back in. At least he knew there were no issues with Little Row. But he needed to stay quiet for now. Nothing good would come of him being with someone like Becca. She was too good and pure. Too innocent for his lifestyle. Even if he wanted her more than he could remember wanting anyone in a long, long time.
Things settled below the belt just as Becca came back into the room.
“You’re awake,” she said.
“Did I sleep long?”
“A few hours. I think you needed it.”
“Yeah.” What he really needed was a bottle of Jack and some Vicodin, but the chances of her having either were slim.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thanks. I just need to use the bathroom.”
He started by shoving the covers away, then turning so his feet hung over the edge of the bed. He scooted forward, pain shooting through him, and had to pause for a minute to breathe through it. They really had done a number on him, as Becca had said. He’d live, obviously, but it was going to be a sucky few days.
Rowan pushed forward until his feet hit the carpet. Becca hovered, watching his every move. It made him nervous, but he liked it. Kinda like his mama had been, always looking out for him, always trying to take care of him or do something for him. He hadn’t appreciated it when he was still at home, or even when his mama was still talking to him, trying every day to get him to give up his ways. But when Becca did it, he wanted to scoop her in his arms and never let her go. She must be a fabulous mom. Curse the jerk who messed that up. She deserved someone who’d treat her right.
I would treat her right, he thought, but he pushed it from his mind. No. He could treat her okay, sure. He’d be nice or whatever. He’d never hit her and probably wouldn’t even yell much. But she needed a quiet life. Probably liked to sit around on the weekends drinking coffee and reading the newspaper before going for a little jog. And she deserved that kind of cute suburb life. But with him, it’d be all bikes and guns and knives and drinking. She likely sipped wine at tastings while he held weekly contests to see which of his boys could down the most shots and still ride in a straight line. Spoiler alert: none of them could drink as much as he could.
He’d ruin her if he stayed. No doubt he could charm her into sleeping with him. Probably convince her to date him. He knew how to play the game, how to be sweet at just the right moments. But he wouldn’t live the quiet life, and he’d make hers too loud. She needed peace. Looked like she hadn’t had it in years. No, he had to get out of here as soon as possible and leave her be. And do something about her car. Would blood come out?
Maybe he’d just buy her a whole new car. She worked at a gift shop? She could probably barely afford this place. Yeah, a new car. That would mean a lot to her. And he’d drop some cash to cover all these towels and blankets he was bleeding all over. A few hundred? A few thousand. As much as he could gather. Maybe he’d sell that old clunker of a bike sitting in the garage for parts. It’d fetch a few grand and he could rock Becca’s world and show her there were good guys out there. For now, though, he had to be able to walk across the room at least. Or he wasn’t going anywhere.
With a deep breath, he pushed up from the bed and stood. He took one step and the world spun around him. Black spots came into his sight. He’d experienced this before, plenty of times. He was going to pass out. Stood up too fast or something. He reached back for the bed, but missed. He landed hard on his knees and heard Becca let out a cry. Then her hands were on him. On his shoulder, holding him up.
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“Rowan? Rowan?”
He forced his eyes open and there she was, so close to him. Her brown eyes shone amber in the afternoon light, the highlights in her hair red brown. A chunk of wavy hair fell across her face and he reached out to brush it back. Her face registered shock and he realized what he’d done. He hadn’t even thought of it. Just knew that hair had to move because it was blocking his view of her face. He stared deep into her eyes. There was just one thing to do now. He leaned forward, with the full intention of kissing her, then stopped.
She held his gaze. She hadn’t shrunk from his touch, hadn’t moved away, wasn’t even looking away. He could kiss her and she would kiss back. He looked down and pressed his palms into the floor to get to all fours.
“That didn’t go as well as I hoped,” he said.
She took in a shaky breath. “No, I guess not.”
The way she looked at him, the hint of longing, the stronger sympathy. Man, she did want him to kiss her. He had her already. How would he ever resist that? Turn away this little angel who wanted nothing more than to help him? Who’d gone so far out of her way? No, no. She was too good. He’d only taint her.
“Here, you can lean on me,” she said. “Let’s get you to your feet again.”
She held out a hand and he took it. She tugged on him and tried to pull him up, but she didn’t have much strength. He pushed up from the ground and stood, still holding her hand. Then she moved under his arm as she had the night before.
He shuffled along, trying not to lean too hard on her, but the walls were still twisting a bit. They made it to the bathroom and she turned her back toward him when he faced the toilet. He almost wished she would look. He’d caught her glance when she took off his boxers. He’d thought of that glance through the night. Wondered how much she’d liked what she saw. Now as he pulled down the sweatpants to pee, he thought he looked even more impressive. His blood was flowing properly again, even if he were still low from losing so much.
He peed and flushed and pulled the pants back up.
“Was there any blood?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Oh, good. That’s a good sign.”
She was still so worried about him. Though anyone would be worried about some random dude dying in their bed. He knew his injuries and knew he was fine. Or would be. He liked that she worried. Made him feel like someone on this planet actually gave a damn if he lived. None of his boys had hunted him down and come knocking. Good for nothings. They hadn’t even come to him when he was bleeding out all over the road. No, a stranger had to save his life. He owed them all a good beatdown when he was recovered.
Whatever happened to looking out for your own? They’d make it up to him. They’d help him pay back Abram and every one of the guys who’d beaten him, and every one of the guys in his lame little motorcycle club. He wouldn’t try to recruit them for his club. They weren’t Jagged Rebel material. Not if they couldn’t even mange to take out an enemy who’d screwed them over.
Becca helped him back into bed. She pulled the covers over him, and even though they made him far too hot, he left them where she placed them.
“Now what? What do you need?”
“Just some sleep, I think.” He turned over to look at the glasses beside him. There was still water. He reached for the bottle of ibuprofen, but she got it first. She poured out four and handed them to him, then picked up the glass of water and handed it to him, as well. “Thanks.” He set
the water down and let his head sink into the pillow.
He heard her soft footsteps as she left the room and closed the door. When she was gone, he pushed the blankets down and let the cool air cover his body. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
As his consciousness sunk deeper, his body did one of those full-body shudders that happened while you were falling asleep. The pain shot through him in a burst, and light sparked his vision for an instant. But it was just enough to send a memory flashing through his mind.
One image. Abram standing over him, shining the flashlight bright in his eyes before he brought his foot down on his face. It made his nose ache recalling it, and when he closed his eyes, his mind replayed the entire scene.