Pressing a hand to his cut where his bag of pills lay inside, Val walked to the simple brass bed, the sudden beeps of his phone alerting him he’d gotten within the cameras’ ranges.
A pair of silky pajamas folded over the footboard tempted Val. Unable to resist touching something that had been against Zoann’s skin, he picked up the top and brought it to his nose, inhaling her scent.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His remorse at spying on her, at the way things stood between them, evaporated at her screech. Scowling, he turned a glare on her. “Changing your fucking light bulbs,” he snapped, pointing to the ladder, forgotten in the middle of the room.
Indignation glinting in her whiskey-colored eyes, she stomped to him and snatched her top away, slamming it to the bed. “And what? You were summoning whatever you needed by feeling up my pjs?”
He stared at her pink lips, debating on whether or not he should lean over and claim her mouth. As long as he stayed at least ten feet away from her, his overwhelming desire for her and need to have her at his side, didn’t lead him to stupid decisions.
She narrowed her eyes and bristled, flushing. He stepped closer to her. She backed up. “I’ll fucking rip your lips off if you touch me.”
He smirked at her, not in the least offended by her words, her high-pitch egging him on. “You don’t want my lips on your mouth again, Puff?”
“No,” she bit out through a clenched jaw.
“Liar.”
“Get out.”
“How about I just put my mouth on your pussy lips?” he whispered against her ear, the idea immediately hardening his dick. “I’ll brush my tongue over the inside and outside of your pussy, then lick your clit until you come.”
Her breath hitched and she leaned into him. Val willed her to act on the desire darkening her eyes. He nipped her ear and she shoved away from him.
“Get out of here, Matthew. I’m not interested in having your mouth anywhere on my body.”
Whatever. He knew differently, her hot, flushed skin, needy gaze, and short pants a stark contrast to her words. “Put your mouth on me, then,” he countered. It would be a start. He’d get her to do everything else from there.
“I’m even less interested in that. Let one of your whores suck your dick. I’m not a slut, so I’m not interested in oral sex.” Her shoulders drooped and she bowed her head. “I’m not a whore.”
Val’s nostrils flared, his irritation rising. She was raped. So what? Did she have any fucking idea all the shit he’d gone through? He wasn’t stuck on shit that happened years and years ago. He wanted to tell that to her, but Outlaw demanded they not mention anything to Zoann. He wanted her to open up to one of them. Never going to happen. She’d built a wall around herself and lived, day in and day out, in the fucking biggest pity party ever. “You’re a self-righteous, judgmental bitch. Do you know that? I’ve already licked your fucking pussy, which means you’ve already been my fucking whore.”
Tears rushed to her eyes and the color dropped from her face. She shoved him. “Goddamn you, get out.”
Jesus H. Christ. He always fucking failed Zoann. He wanted to rage at her and comfort her, order her to man the fuck up and tell her no one would ever hurt her again. Maybe, she did deserve his irritation, but, she deserved a little understanding, as well.
“You have pictures to hang on these walls?”
Sniffling, she folded her arms, her look changing, trying her absolute best to have her eyes laser him to smithereens. “I don’t. My pictures were blown to bits and pieces, along with my house, my clothes, and everything else I own.”
Val didn’t want to hear about the bombing or the body parts. It could’ve been her. It should’ve been her. That had been Spoon’s intentions.
The thought made his insides clench, fueling his need for a hit.
Zoann. His beautiful, lovely, bitchy Puff. She triggered everything in him, touched all his buttons. Positive. Negative. In between. The thought of her dead fucked with him more than memories of his mother’s death.
Sniffles.
Val blinked, his eyes closing when he saw her tears. All he ever did was piss her off or make her cry. Clenching his jaw and preparing for her rebuff, he thumbed her tears away.
“I’m not a whore or a slut,” she said in a small voice. “Not yours or anyone else’s.”
“Of course you aren’t, Puff,” he agreed gruffily.
She swiped at her tears with a vicious backhand. “Leave. I don’t fucking care what you do because I hate you.”
With his emotions all over the place, her words stung him. It was no more than she usually said, so he should’ve been used to them.
In silence, he gathered the ladder and left her without another word. As soon as he changed the rest of the lights and checked the other cameras that were way overdue to be removed, Val intended to pop his pills and find some pussy to get into.
Fuck Zoann.
Zoann stumbled back from the toilet and flushed down the vomit, swiping her arm across her mouth. Drawing in deep breaths, she placed her head between her knees and remained in that position until her nausea and dizziness subsided, then she jumped to her feet, tore off her clothes, and got into the shower.
Memories of another shower, in another time and place, haunted her. Had it only been a few, short weeks ago? When she’d given up the battle waging inside her and decided she loved Matthew, and would be with him. The bombing at that MC could have just as easily been the Death Dwellers’ compound.
His words from the night before helped her decision, too. He’d been Matthew, the man that seventeen-year-old still trapped in her body, remembered.
“I’ll never forget the day I formally met you, Puff,” he’d whispered. “You were the sexiest little thing. To this day, I haven’t had lemonade that tasted like yours. Do you remember, babe?”
She had.
“Ever thought you’d have my kid? You do, Zoann. You and me made a baby together. I know I fucked up when you told me you were expecting, but he’s here now. I’ve spent time with him. All I’m asking is for a chance to watch over him while you’re at work. Spend a full day with my boy.”
She’d agreed. She’d stupidly, stupidly agreed and believed his words. But he’d made an asshole of her again. He hadn’t said all those things because he meant them. No, he’d needed an alibi for the crimes the club had planned.
When she’d arrived home from work, she’d heard about the explosion at the Torpedoes MC, and her heart had softened a little more. She’d expected Matthew to enjoy the food she’d prepared for him while she showered. But he’d joined her and worked her into a frenzy. She’d been well seduced, panting for him by the time he’d slid into her.
He hadn’t really wanted her. She’d just been another pussy to fuck as his club brothers worked to cover up the fact that a man had been killed and dismembered in her house. He’d fucked her to distract her.
Now, though, he brought up old horrors and called her a slut.
She scrubbed her skin until it burned and, still, she didn’t feel clean. Every time she thought of oral sex, the memories of Matthew and Cee Cee clashed. She hated that she’d orgasmed with Cee Cee, hated that she dreamed of Matthew’s head between her legs. Hated the need to feel his tongue on her again.
Dummy.
Water rained on her head and washed away her tears, but didn’t cleanse away her want to have Matthew lick her again. She trembled in shame and Cee Cee’s hard face popped into her head.
She did this for a living. So she should’ve found a way to deal. As part of the group of nurses who cared for victims of sexual assault, she called in the counselors after she did the initial intake. She had specialized training and—
What if Big Joe had been telling the truth about endangering her family? Christopher and Johnnie were still alive. Most importantly, she had Ryan to consider. She didn’t know if Cee Cee was dead or alive, so she’d go on as usual. She’d spent years living on the edge of sanit
y, pushing everyone away, nursing her deep pain and shame and remaining silent as ordered.
A sound broke into her cluttered thoughts and she stilled, listening closer.
A baby’s cry. Not any baby, either, but her little boy. Turning off the shower, she hurried out, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around herself before walking into the sparsely decorated bedroom.
Rubbing the back of Ryan’s head, Meggie sat on the bed, cross-legged and humming to him as he lay on her shoulder, screaming. “Look, little love,” she cooed, catching sight of Zoann and smiling at her. “Mommie’s here. I told you she was in the shower.” She got to her feet and brought Ryan over. “Aunt Meggie wouldn’t lie to you.”
Ryan turned his tearful, little face to Zoann and leaned toward her, holding out his arms. Her heart swelling with love, Zoann laughed and took him into her arms, the joy of having him making everything else go away.
She kissed his cheek and nuzzled his neck, soothing him with her words.
“I’ll bring in a plate for you,” Meggie began, starting for the door. “He’s already been fed.”
Grateful that Meggie had also readied him for bed, Zoann halted her, needing to dress herself but, most of all, wanting company. She didn’t have to say anything, Meggie just reclaimed Ryan, who protested with another scream.
Zoann scrubbed the towel through her hair and over her body, hurrying through the tasks.
“Here.”
Bouncing Ryan on her hip, Meggie held out Zoann’s pjs, including the top Matthew had been sniffing. Usually she wore her nightclothes two days in a row, but with this pair containing Matthew’s finger and nose prints, she might wait a little longer before she switched them.
God, her pathetic feelings resembled opponents at a tennis match, swinging from one end to the other.
But she couldn’t be the woman Matthew needed. Over the past few weeks, she’d watched him take girl after girl to bed. One, in particular, hung around more than the others. The one Zoann hated the most.
“Your son needs you and my son needs me, so stop thinking about Val.”
Heat rushed to Zoann’s cheeks at Meggie’s teasing, but she smiled, unable to get annoyed at her. She hurried and dressed, then took Ryan, settling him on her shoulder. A few minutes later, he calmed and Zoann sank onto the edge of her bed, so very tired.
“Want me to hang out with you a little while?”
Zoann nodded. Meggie sensed when to push her and when to hold back and just be there.
“Ryan and CJ had a lot of fun together.” She grabbed a comb and sat on the bed behind Zoann. “Just as they always do,” she added, seeing to Zoann’s wet hair.
“They get along really well,” Zoann agreed, holding still while Meggie braided her hair.
“Like brothers, right?”
Reaching behind her, she squeezed Meggie’s hand. The loss of the baby had devastated her. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, allowing a moment of silence before changing the subject.
Meggie never went into great detail. She dropped little bits here and there, small glimpses into her pain that Zoann didn’t want to intrude upon. She’d tried, several times, but Meggie always started to cry. Finally, Christopher had taken Zoann aside and ordered her to drop the subject with his wife, no matter what she said, so Zoann had. When Meggie was ready to talk in detail, she would.
“Matthew was in here when I walked in,” she said.
“Christopher said he was changing the light bulbs,” Meggie explained. Finished with Zoann’s hair, she settled beside her, placing the comb between them. “That’s why I took the boys to the park.”
“Let me guess,” Zoann said with a laugh. “My brother didn’t want you around Matthew while he wasn’t here?”
Meggie smiled. “Yes.”
“Your husband’s insane!” Over-the-top, crazy, protective insane. He’d always been volatile, always felt things down deep to his soul, although he’d deny it. “This is Val we’re talking about.”
“Tell that to Christopher,” Meggie said with a snort.
Ryan’s lids drooped, his lashes so long to be a little boy’s. Everyone said they saw traces of her in his features. She didn’t. All she saw was Matthew.
“Matthew’s your friend.”
“Christopher said men and women can’t be friends and, even if they can, I’m not having any male friends.
“Fucking Cro-Magnon.” Of course, Zoann had a male friend. Gentle, sweet, and considerate. Just not Matthew.
“He can’t have female friends,” Meggie announced. “I think we’re even. Don’t you?”
“He doesn’t seem to mind, so, yes, I guess you are.”
Meggie bowed her head and twisted her wedding set. “I don’t think he wants another baby.”
Probably, he didn’t. All he needed was her. She made him deliriously happy. Her simple need for him as a man, as a person, completed him. Meggie would do anything in the world for that wild, crazy man, and he’d do anything for her. Except risk losing her. “You were really sick, baby. You pregnant again is too much for him to think of right now. But, you know, he’ll give you more to keep you happy.”
“I want Christopher happy, too, and he doesn’t handle worry or fear too well.”
Understatement.
Zoann got to her feet and went to Ryan’s baby bed, laying him on his back and covering him. “Has Christopher said he doesn’t want another baby?”
“No, but I know him. He’s always asking if I take my birth control pills. Sometimes, he even stands and watches me do it and I see his relief. Other times, he does say as soon as my doctor says it’s okay, we’ll start trying again. His actions are so different from his words.”
“Had he ever mentioned not having any more kids before…” Not knowing how to bring up the matter delicately, Zoann’s voice trailed off.
“No. We’d always planned on having more. He never talked about any type of birth control.”
She gave Meggie an under-eyed look. “Never?”
“No.” She turned red and admitted in a faint voice, “he wanted me pregnant, especially after he got shot.”
On impulse, Zoann hurried to Meggie, sat next to her and hugged her. “It’s okay. I promise. He’ll keep his word to you and start trying again whenever you want to. Watch and see.”
“I just pray nothing happens to set him off and really give him second thoughts.”
“Hey, what can happen?”
God, she hoped nothing more took place. She’d had more than enough grief in her life.
Chapter Thirteen
The screaming yanked Val from a deep alcohol, drug-induced, and post orgasmic sleep. Next to him, April mumbled a curse at being jostled from his arm and he scowled, wiping her sleep slobber from his skin before removing his own from his chin.
Another scream had him reaching for the sawed-off shotgun he kept next to his bed. His phone vibrated against the nightstand, thumping and buzzing. Realizing what had happened, Val relaxed and sat his gun aside.
Yawning and dizzy, he winced at the twinge of pain in his neck, leaned over and flipped on the lamp. He picked up his phone and frowned. He’d taken the lock and screensaver off at some point after he’d fucked April. Or had it been before?
Zoann’s scream blazed through the phone again, her body moving restlessly on the bed, his secret cameras picking it all up.
Fuck, she hadn’t had a nightmare in days. A fourth scream awakened Ryan, his wail hurting Val’s head a little more.
“Pleasepleaseplease,” Zoann chanted. “Stop. I’m sorry. Please.”
His heart twisting at the sound of her desperation, Val hurt so fucking bad for her. He wished he could put himself in her place, endure whatever had happened to her.
Her sobs drowned out Ryan’s and tore Val up inside. The nightmare clutched her so firmly not even their son’s distress awakened her.
April lifted up and leaned against Val’s shoulder, but he elbowed her away, irritated at her presence and her intrusion into Zoan
n’s private hell. He felt dirty and vile and violated. Fucking crazy.
“Matthew!”
Every muscle in his body froze, every molecule in him halting. Zoann cried for him. In all the weeks she’d been there and he’d witnessed her night terrors, she’d never once called for him.
“Help me, please. Matthew, please. I need you. Please. He’s gone. Christopher’s gone. They don’t want me to tell. Mama’s dead.”
Jesus H. Christ. He jumped to his feet, unable to take her pitiful words. No. No. No. His Puff wasn’t pitiful. She was mean and bitchy and abrasive. She wasn’t this vulnerable woman who wrecked his heartstrings.
He flicked on the lamp, searching for his pants, ignoring April’s intense study. Before he could warn her to forget she saw this shit, his phone beeped again and he glanced at it. Another little screen flared to Zoann’s door as it creaked open and Meggie stumbled in. Outlaw lurked in the doorway, so the smaller screen didn’t disappear. He leaned against the frame, the glow of the cigarette a darker shape in the black and white camera resolution.
“Christopher,” Meggie called, tiptoeing closer to Zoann, unperturbed by her words or her cries. “Get Ryan.”
Without responding, Outlaw went and picked up Val’s son while Meggie crawled into bed next to Zoann, her short nightie showing her ass and legs.
“Shh,” she whispered, snuggling close to Zoann. “It’s Meggie. We’re here for you and we’ll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise. Your Christopher is here, too. Right here watching over his Bitsy.”
Zoann drew in a big sob. She was so, so damaged.
Val had managed to get one leg into his jeans. He sank onto his bed, turned the volume on the phone up and sat it next to him, unable to watch anymore, not knowing his place in all this. He doubted she’d remember calling for him. Even if she did, she’d never in a million years admit it.
She needed him only in her nightmares. In reality, she despised him.
“You’re all overheated,” Meggie whispered.
A heartbeat of silence. Val reached over and grabbed his dwindled supply of pills. He’d long ago run out of fucking prescriptions and now got the shit through his bitches, mostly April. He swallowed three with the last bit of beer and sat back, happy to be armed with his coping mechanism.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 133