Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC)

by Bink Cummings

  “Looks like they’re gonna start right here,” Bridget briefly mumbles, and then I’m in motion. My chair’s being wheeled backward, even though my eyes haven’t left the show. Back, back, back, Bridge wheels me until I’m pulled through the large kitchen and away from the sight that has left me panting.

  She moves us out the backdoor, up the alley, and around to the front sidewalk. Down the wheelchair ramp we go as she rolls me past the curb and across the street, to the auto body shop within eyeshot of Whisky’s. Close enough to see that Whisky’s now bent over a nearby table with her skirt pooled around her waist, and her husband is busy doing his duty. I still can’t believe I just witnessed that! I didn’t know people in the real word, outside of porn, actually engaged in that sort of lewd behavior.

  Lordy!

  Bridget stops outside the open garage bay, and a man with dark, unruly hair and an unlit cigarette hanging from his lip saunters out. His intense eyes sweep from Bridget to me, and stop to linger. My already pounding heart thumps harder, and I find myself squirming under his gaze. A grin curls at the edge of his full lips before he extends a dirty hand to me that he doesn’t bother to clean.

  “I’m Cas,” he grumbles, and I accept the hand for a brief shake.

  “I’m. . .Mag-da-lene,” I greet as I pull back to wipe my damp palm on my dress. Not that I care about the grease and grime. I welcome it.

  Cas nods to my hand. “Sorry about that.”

  “I. . .you didn’t. . .make. . .me. . .dirt-y.”

  Coolly, he bobs his head in reply, pulls a lighter from his pocket, and fires up his cig. Cas takes a long drag before he speaks again. “Prez bangin’ his old lady?” His eyes are on me, but he has to be speaking to Bridget, doesn’t he?

  Bridget answers, anyhow. “They are going at it in the front of the shop. Last time they got caught doing that—”

  “Health Inspector Dip Shit caused a problem,” Cas finishes, flicking ash to the ground and stomping on it with his boot heel.

  “Yeah; a very big deal. She had to sanitize the entire place. It’s not like they’re making a huge mess, and everyone who comes in knows this about them anyhow.”

  He chuckles. “You’d think town’s folk would like the show.”

  Bridget nods. “Exactly.”

  Sensually, Cas forms a ring of smoke with his lips, and I watch it float into the air. He catches me staring and winks.

  Geeze, he’s smooth.

  “You doin’ all right after that lousy bitch fucked with ya?” he grinds out, blowing the next puff of air out of his nose.

  I shrug, and find that imaginary lint on my dress to pick at again.

  “You really that shy?”

  My eyes snap up to meet his, and Bridget momentarily giggles before pulling a phone from her pocket. Her face falls as she examines the screen. “I’ll be right back,” she remarks, scurrying down the short driveway and up the sidewalk.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” Cas notes to her back, and then turns around to saunter unsteadily back into the shop bay. “Come on in.” He waves me forward, and I follow, stopping at the entrance where a white Ford pickup is parked with its hood up.

  Cas leans his hip against the truck and snuffs out his cigarette between his fingers before tucking the butt into his front jeans pocket. “The car I towed back to Smoke’s. . .it yours?”

  “Yes.”

  He crosses his thick arms over his messy, white t-shirt clad chest. “You paid a lot of money to have that much custom work done. How much it set ya back? Thirty K? Forty?”

  Not even close.

  “Car was. . .free. Labor. . .free. Parts, a. . .couple. . .thous-and,” I stammer both from my throat issue and because I’m really freaking nervous around him. It’s like his eyes can’t stop evaluating me, trying to find something hidden. Although, he seems polite enough.

  “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” He laughs unamused, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Smoothly, he combs a hand through his wild, Herbal Essence commercial-worthy hair. “Who in the hell gives that kinda car to a woman for nothin’? You forget I saw the interior? That’s fuckin’ premium—you’re not a hooker, are ya?”

  The fact that he thinks I could even remotely be a hooker has me busting a gut. Me, a hooker? Ha! Covering my mouth, I double over and unleash a storm of laughter until tears wet my eyes and my stomach starts to ache.

  “Ye gotta be bloody shittin’ me!”

  Humor dies on my lips at those potent words, which shoot straight to my soul. Daringly, I glance to watch Lachlan stomp his way up the driveway with a sour faced Bridget on his tail. He stops right in front of me and kneels down. His massive hands cuff the tops of my thighs. My breath falters, and those strange sensations in my stomach are back. They have me close to puking.

  Clutching my hands on my wheels, I try to back away. Working with all my strength to move is a feeble attempt once his hands clamp tighter over my thighs, keeping me in place. Uneasily, I gulp with fear, my legs trembling under his attention.

  “I’m sorry, Mags,” Bridget whispers from somewhere. I can’t see her, or even look at her when all I can do is stare at Lachlan and those teal eyes. His chest is rising and falling as he looks straight at me. The muscles in his shoulders contract under his tight t-shirt.

  My stomach dips.

  He’s got to stop getting so close to me. I can already smell him, and I don’t want to smell him. I want him to go away. Far, far, far away. Scotland would be a good place for him to go right about now. Although, I would be lying if I didn’t say that one part of my anatomy is loving this sort of attention. I decide to forget about that part, and try to gain some sort of ground, before I sink deeper into all that is Lachlan.

  “Ye shoulda told me ye were talkin’,” he scolds, and I try to ignore the pang of guilt that he makes me feel. It smarts.

  His eyes move to spot Casanova, who hasn’t moved. However, Bridget has now slid up beside him, and he’s got his arm loosely thrown over her shoulder. Both of them are leaning against the Ford. “Why ye over here with Cas?”

  “We were at Whisky’s,” Bridget answers, pointing to her apron.

  “Sniper and her are over there fuckin’,” Cas finishes.

  The sound Lachlan’s throat emanates as his hands stiffen on my thighs makes me feel genuine terror. “She was meetin’ with Mags and started in with Sniper?” he seethes.

  Bridget nods, her face paling.

  “She run her wee mouth?”

  Bridget nods again as Cas pulls her in close. Tucking her head to his chest, she lays her palm flat on his stomach, snuggling deeper.

  “I’m gonna bloody murder her,” Lachlan whispers under his breath before his eyes slip back to me. “What’d she tell ye?” he demands roughly, sliding his hands further up my thighs.

  Dear God, he’s got to stop touching me!

  I close my eyes and force my brain to stop feeling anything. It has to stop. This feeling thing is too much, and he’s too close. My heart is pounding so hard, and my hands are wet. Why does he always do this to me? Can’t he see I don’t like it? That he freaks me out?

  Lachlan frees one hand, and squeezes himself between my legs. My outer thighs smash against the inside arms of the chair, and my dress draws up. His hands glide up to clutch my waist.

  This can’t be happening. I think I’m dying!

  “Mags, what’d the bloody wench tell ye?”

  Nope, I’m not answering him and throwing Whisky under the bus like that. He’s making me uncomfortable, and I might not be able to get away, but I can choose not to talk. Maybe, just maybe, that’ll give him the hint that I don’t like him getting so close. Not much good that’ll do me. He doesn’t seem to have any sort of problem pushing his weight around, or doing whatever the hell he wants.

  Remaining frozen, I glue my eyes shut.

  “Lassie?” he prods. “Mags?”

  I keep him on ignore, and the fingers loc
ked around my waist start to caress in tiny circles.

  Holy crap!

  Seconds, minutes, hours, I don’t know how long, slips by as he continues to caress my sides. Nobody talks. The sounds of cars passing and my heavy breathing is all I can hear, as the only thing I feel is the searing warmth of his touch. Shamefully, I relish in it.

  The serene moment is cut off when the sounds of footsteps fast approach, and the hands at my sides freeze mid-circle. “Ye finally done fuckin’?” Lachlan growls, and the footsteps halt.

  “Look who’s talkin’, asshole. At least Sniper did it in the bakery. You’re out here feelin’ your woman up in broad daylight,” Whisky’s voice slices through the air, ringing in my ears.

  I can’t believe she said that! I’m not his woman.

  Chuckles erupt all around from everyone except me and Lachlan.

  The hands at my waist don’t even flinch when he responds. “Ye can talk all the shit ye want, sister. But I tell ye, I will find out what ye told Mags aboot me.”

  Peeping through tiny eye slits, I catch a glimpse of Sniper’s arm curling tighter around his wife’s shoulders.

  “What’d ya tell her?” Sniper demands, jerking Whisky closer.

  She twists out of Sniper’s hold and pushes out a hip for her hand to rest on. “I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t deserve to know,” Whisky defends haughtily, glaring at both men.

  Lachlan grumbles a curse, and Sniper shakes his head, a low sound rumbling in his throat.

  Whisky’s about to get in deep trouble. I can see it happening, and feel the masculine energy filling the air between Lachlan and Sniper who are livid with her.

  “I’m not. . .a. . .hook-er!” I yell to take some of the tension out of the air. And it works, when all eyes swing to me in surprise. Cas’s cheek twitches—I can tell he’s trying not to laugh—and Bridget can’t seem to decide whether I’ve lost my marbles or not.

  Lachlan’s hands drop back to the tops of my thighs as he regards me tenderly. “Um. . .Lassie, nobody said ye were a hooker.”

  I sweep my eyes to Cas, and back to Lachlan. “We. . .he. . .asked about my car. . .wondered. . .how it. . .got. . .so nice. . .and asked. . .if. . .I. . .was a. . .hook-er,” I explain, my body trembling. From what? I dunno. I just know I’m shaking and I can’t stop it. Adrenaline? Fear? I can’t be sure.

  Lachlan’s neck twists to the side, eyeing Casanova. “Ye asked her if she was a hooker?” He raises a brow.

  Cas pecks the top of Bridget’s head that is still tucked against him before producing a one armed shrug. “She’s got a sweet ride that would cost any normal person at least forty g’s to fix. Can you explain how she got that car? Why she’s here? Why we know nothin’ about her? Except that she got trapped at the gas station where you saved her, and, according to her ID, she’s clean? I dunno, brother; it just seems fishy, is all.”

  My shaking stops and my temper takes over.

  The nerve!

  “I’m. . .not a. . .hook-er. . .and I’m not. . .anything else. . .you. . .might. . .thinkin’!” I hold my head up high, scowling at Cas for thinking ill of me. My hands grip my wheels. “I am. . .from. . .Kansas. I left. . .was going to. . .New York. . .when. . .the storm came. . .and I got. . .hurt.” I take a break to catch my breath and let my throat rest, but I never take my eyes off Cas. Nobody else speaks. At least they're respectful enough to give me the floor.

  Swallowing hard, I start again. “My car. . .I did. . .myself. I. . .work-ed at. . .shops before. Learn-ed. . .young. The car was a. . .gift. Okay?”

  Cas’s intense eyes light up. “You did that car?” He sounds skeptical.

  I nod. “Over. . .ten years. . .ago.”

  Sure, it needed a lot of updating since, like a back panel to be replaced. Matching paint was a pain, but it turned out okay. The engine I’ve kept rumbling like she ought to, only because I’m obsessive about how she runs. The slightest jerk, click, or weird noise and I’m spending hours under the hood, making sure nothing’s wrong. I even had the undercarriage repainted three times to keep rust from eating at her. Viola deserves to live a long and joyous life; that way, I can live vicariously through her. She gets more action than I do, anyhow. People love her.

  “Wait. . .” Cas holds up his palm and Bridget moves back to standing beside him; his arm doesn’t leave her shoulder. “You’re tellin’ me you fixed that fuckin’ car up yourself?”

  Is he really that dense? Didn’t I just say that? Hello!

  “Uh. . .yeah.” I throw down with attitude.

  Cas’s hand moves up to scratch his chin. “Do you wanna job?”

  I squish my nose at him like he’s nutso. Didn’t he just ask me if I was a hooker and basically say I’m not trustworthy because he knows nothing about me? Now, he’s offering me a position at his garage? Seriously?! Am I dreaming? This has to be a lucid dream, and any minute I’m going to wake up.

  I stare at Cas, wondering what his play is, and I keep staring like this until Lachlan squeezes my thighs to yank me out of whatever staring contest I’m having with myself. Shaking my head, I bring my eyes back to Lachlan, whose face is soft and strangely sweet; and not at all scary, even though it’s scruffy from not shaving. Now, I know I’m definitely not awake. He’s never this complacent. Like, ever. My eyes take another gander over to Sniper and Whisky, who are both staring at me with that same sweet, pliable expression. What in the world just happened here? Did I miss something?

  I move back to Cas. “Did you. . .just. . .offer. . .me a. . .job. . .after ask-ing. . .if I was. . .a. . .hooker? Like. . .a real. . .job, not a. . .hooker. . .one?” I need clarity, because I can’t be sure if he’s baiting me or what. This doesn’t make any sense.

  Cas chuckles, and Lachlan’s hands slide up my thighs. I shiver from head to toe as my eyes flip back to him and those big hands that make my thighs look tiny. Then, he speaks. “He’s offerin’ ye a job, lassie, for the shop. Do ye bloody want it?”

  Do I want a job? What? No. . .I don’t want anything! Okay, that’s a fat lie. I want to be able to walk and talk normal again. I want Lachlan to stop rubbing his hands up and down my thighs like he’s doing right now. And I really want that to stop, because he’s making something between my legs get more excited. I hate this. I shouldn’t have come to town, when I should have stayed in bed and wallowed with Pirate the one-eyed dog for the rest of the day. Blah! Why did I have to learn how much more charming and amazing Lachlan can be from his sister? And by doing so, cementing that attraction in my mind. One that I don’t want. So no, I don’t want a job. I want to walk and talk and move to flippin’ Nova Scotia. Is that too much to ask? Geeze.

  Shaking my head to answer his question, Lachlan’s eyes continue to stare into mine, looking for something. I stare back, only because he’s staring into mine and those eyes of his are killer gorgeous. And, since I know I’m dreaming, I can stare all I want.

  “Then how do you expect to fix your car?” Cas rudely steals my attention.

  I continue gazing into those teal eyes and dreamily mutter, “I. . .don’t. . .know. I do know. . . that. . .I’m living. . .in. . .the. . .Twilight Zone. . .and. . .this. . .has. . .to be. . .a. . .flippin’ dream.”

  Bridget’s giggle vibrates in my ear, but barely registers when I keep on falling deeper into those eyes as those warm hands, that do funny things to my belly, move up to cup my waist again. The massaging resumes with tiny circles at my sides. “Ye know I’ll get yer car fixed for ye,” Lachlan offers on a throaty whisper.

  “Your. . .hands. . .are. . .warm on. . .my. . .skin,” I reply dumbly.

  Lachlan sweeps his tongue across his bottom lip, and I squirm at the sight, my eyes growing heavy, my insides burning hotter.

  “Uh oh,” a voice says with laughter.

  “I think we need to leave them,” another teases.

  “I think Smoke needs to adjust himself,” a man notes.

  The words bounce off me, and Lachlan leans closer. I lean in too. Our faces become in
ches apart, where I can study all of him. Lachlan has full lips, and a scar that’s tucked into his eyebrow. He’s magnificent, in a rough, manly, kinda way.

  Someone loudly clears their throat, and I jerk to, my back slamming into the wheelchair. Lachlan slips out from between my legs, shaking his own head while standing up. I catch him touch downstairs, but only for a second before I look around and realize what just happened.

  Crappy-crap-crap!

  Cas is silently laughing next to Bridget, who is also laughing with her hand covering her mouth.

  I blush.

  Instead of making me feel like even more of a fool, Cas returns to our previous subject, allowing me to save face. “About that job. . .”

  Now that I know this is real, and I do need a car to leave as well as money to travel with, I nod my agreement. Whisky claps to my right, and Bridget joins in, bouncing on her heels and breaking away from Cas to go to her aunt and uncle, who are locked in a side embrace. Lachlan’s now down the driveway, pacing quickly, his hands threaded on the top of his head, face tipped, staring at the concrete.

  Cas saunters unsteadily over to him, and Sniper breaks from Whisky to join them before Whisky and Bridget come to crowd around me.

  “Cas must like you if he’s offering you a job,” Bridget states.

  Lifting my shoulders, I drop them heavily in a shrug. The guy’s known me for. . .what? Twenty minutes? And now he’s given me a job and Bridget thinks he likes me. This town is weird. Before this, it sometimes took me months to find a job. Nobody wants to hire a chick. And more importantly, a chick that nobody knows. I’ve been through this routine a billion times before. Okay, not a billion, but more than a handful. I know the drill. I’m mysterious and quiet, and nobody wants to trust a woman who’s mysterious and quiet. Whatever.

  Whisky lays her hand on my shoulder. “This is a good thing for you. Cas runs a tight ship. When your doc okays it, it’ll be a good place for ya to be. Gain your footing. Fix that car. Sort shit out. And maybe take the load off Cas.”