by Rie Warren
I glanced away. “Um. We had a few words. Came to an agreement.”
She gave a faint giggle, and the sound was never more appreciated.
“What did my dad say to you?”
“Things about murdering me?”
“Oh, Handsome.” Her hand drifted to my face. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was, Shy. We both know that.”
“It’s over now.” Her voice firmed up.
And we both knew it wasn’t really. The events of yesterday couldn’t just be brushed aside. Shy had been abused—physically, emotionally. She’d been used sexually.
I dipped my head down, resting my brow against hers.
We didn’t know what would happen with her knee, if she’d be able to keep it or not.
And there were still police statements to give. That motherfucking fuck Diablo to make sure never saw the light of day again.
Scooting gingerly onto the bed with Shy, I curled an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in a raw voice.
During the hours we’d slept, someone had been busy. Her room was filled with cards and flower arrangements and balloons.
The damn things looked too cheery for the trauma inflicted on Shy. But I knew the sentiment was genuine. I’d be surprised if most of the get-well gifts hadn’t come from Chrome and Steele and Retribution.
“How do you feel?” I asked Shy.
My heart clenched when small drops of tears trailed from the corners of her eyes.
She wiped them quickly away.
“Don’t do that, Shy. Don’t be brave for me.” I smoothed my hands up and down her arms.
“I feel like shit.” A tiny smile touched her lips. “But better with you here.”
“That’s good. ’Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
Shy turned on her side and I did, too.
Her face snuck into the crook of my neck.
“You smell good.” Gripping my shirt, she pulled me closer, and I wrapped her in my embrace.
We stayed like that for a long time.
Holding on.
Waiting for the pain to ebb.
Hoping she wouldn’t have to undergo another surgery.
Shy slept some more with me as her human pillow, exactly where I was happy to be.
She ate some food I had delivered as soon as she woke again, trying to pretend she had an appetite.
She checked her phone and started fretting about her shop and . . .
“Shy?” My heart thump-thump-thumped.
Placing down the cell, she looked up. “Yeah?”
I approached her, my palms suddenly damp.
“What is it?” She sat straighter.
Slipping onto the bed, I faced her. “I think . . . I mean I want . . .” I cleared my throat and took her hands in both of mine. “Will you marry me?”
She regarded me for a silent moment before breaking out into hysterical-sounding laughter. “Is this a joke?”
I frowned.
I shook my head slowly.
“No.”
Her laugh bubbled out again. “Marry you? Like this?”
I frowned harder.
“You had me going there for a second, Max.”
“Umm.” Unsure of what to do, I slipped to my feet, and my hands were definitely sweaty.
I wiped them on my jeans.
“If I get married, it’ll be in a wedding gown, not a hospital gown.”
“If?”
“When,” she stated.
“When?” I dropped back down on the bed, trying to contain my excitement.
“I will.”
“You will?” Sheer joy catapulted through me.
“On one condition.”
“Oh.” Glum.
“Talk to your parents. They’ve been asking about you,” she added.
“You should’ve been a lawyer,” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Something your dad said. Now”—I snatched her to me, curling my body around hers—“kiss me.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Out of Depth
ONLY HOURS AFTER MY half-assed proposal to Shy, she developed a high fever.
What was left of her leg became infected because of the wounds.
I stood beside Shy’s folks as Dr. Haines and the nurses wheeled her to the OR. “I won’t amputate higher unless absolutely necessary. You have my word.”
Sitting with Thomas and Justine, a stoic expression on my face, all I wanted to do during the long wait was break down.
I brought us all coffee.
I watched the door.
I almost lost it when Tail and then Boomer, Brodie and Cole and Hunter turned up.
I jumped to my feet when Haines entered the room, and I reached out to clasp Shy’s parents’ hands without even thinking about it.
Hours later I was back in the uncomfortable chair beside Shy’s bed. Her monitors bleeped consistently.
She regained consciousness with a start. “Where is it!”
Reaching for her leg, she looked down, her eyes sharp and wild. “Where is it?”
“Shy! Shy . . .” I stilled her hands, taking them in mine. “You’re okay. The doctors saved your knee, baby.”
She huddled against me, her mouth howling open. “Oh, God. Oh, God! I thought it was gone.”
“Shhh.” I got as close to her as the wires and IVs would permit. “You’re doing good.”
She huddled against me, calming down slowly while I swept a hand up and down her back.
She peered up at me with wet eyes. Tired eyes. “I still feel it sometimes. Phantom leg, you know?”
I gulped to swallow down my own boiling-over emotions. “And I still feel all of you. Exactly as you are.”
****
Shy remained in the hospital for a full week.
It pissed her right off.
And being pissed off made her more determined than ever to get back on her feet. She made me bring in her laptop so she could keep up with paperwork and bills for the shop. She begged for physical therapy as soon as possible. She poured over fashion magazines with her mom so she could get a head start on ordering the next season’s clothes.
In fact, just about the only time she stood down was when I kissed, which I did often, reclaiming her lips as mine.
She started talking about getting released early—against Dr. Haines’s wishes—because she was so anxious to get back to Passion for Fashion I finally had to tell her I had it all under control.
“You have my store—a clothing store for women—under control?” She blinked unbelievingly at me.
I folded my arms across my chest. “What are you saying, baby? Think I can’t handle it?”
“Um. Well . . .” She blushed in a pretty manner. “You’re not exactly high fashion?”
“I think I’m insulted.”
Her blush heightened. “I’m not complaining about how you look! You know I love the way you—”
“Let me stop you before you dig that hole any deeper.” I smirked. “I’m just shitting you. I don’t know jack about the clothing shit. Brought someone else in.”
“You brought someone else into PfF?” Shy blazed at me.
“Yep. All taken care of.” I winked.
“By whom?”
“Whom? So proper, prep school girl.” I only goaded her because when she turned her fury on me it meant she was recovering.
She hadn’t been broken.
Her spirit was bright.
“Fuck you, Max. Who has the keys to my store?” She beaned a pillow at my head.
“Frankie.”
“Frankie?” Her pert nose curled up.
“Frankie the Tailor.”
Her eyes rounded wide. “Frankie Burelli! That Frankie?”
Of course they finally met. Days later. As soon as Shy was released. Frankie Burelli, former top NYC menswear designer who’d relocated to Charleston. He also just happened to be a fairly infamous former mob hitman who’d helped the MC out of a
few scrapes.
The big, burly, expensively dressed Italian and the downtown elite hottie exchanged air kisses and got on like a house on fire from first sight. He swooned. And she fanned herself. But he was one hundred percent flaming gay, so it all worked out perfectly. At least I didn’t have to worry about his intentions.
I left them to their chatter about the fashion stuff because I had no clue beyond leather and boots.
****
Over the next few weeks, Hunter supplied us with steady updates about the case against Diablo and certain other members of Satan’s League. Their bail hearings had concluded—each set at a cool half million that wasn’t forthcoming.
It paid to have high-ranking legal connections with the DA’s office, AKA Thomas Lockhart and his good friend, Leland Chatham.
Charges ranged from rape to assault and battery to kidnapping.
The day we heard the court date had been assigned—with Shy and I as key witnesses—my girl slumped down on her sofa, blowing out a deep breath.
The news dredged up the bad shit barely held at bay.
Shy’s convalescence wasn’t just physical.
It was emotional.
And somehow that was harder.
Sex had been off-limits—Shy didn’t want to be touched too much, although she let me cuddle and kiss her. She reacted in a good way every time, but I never pushed the point.
She was more fragile than she’d ever been despite the brave face she put on.
Understandable.
So I was shocked when she set aside her phone after the latest conversation with Hunter and said quietly, “I need to tell you what happened.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to get angry again, Max.”
I clenched my jaw. “Can’t promise you that.”
“I have to get it out. And I don’t want to talk to a counselor.”
I nodded, taking a seat beside her. “I’ll try not to say a word.”
“I got to the warehouse early. Walked around the building and there was already a car parked out back. I thought it was the realtor, I swear I didn’t recognize it as Dia—as his.” Her sad eyes lifted to mine. “I would’ve left immediately if I had.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” My nostrils flared. My fists balled in my lap.
“The doors were wide open.” Her lips trembled, and my heart crumpled. “I walked in, and he didn’t even care I saw him straight away. I tried to run, Max! But this goddamn stump—”
Shy slapped against her leg, tears dripping down her face.
“Don’t, baby. Please, don’t.” I grabbed her hands, but she wrenched them free.
I backed off, putting another inch between us, a frown digging into my brow.
“He caught me, but I already had my phone out. I tried to get you! I wasn’t fast enough. I’m never fast enough. He knocked the phone from my hand, threw it against the wall.” She smeared her fingers across her wet cheeks. “Told me to shut the fuck up or he’d kill you on sight.
“When you drove up, I wanted to warn you. I started shouting, but he pushed his fingers into my mouth, Max!” She faced me, scrabbling with my shirt.
“I have to hold you. Is it okay if I just hold you?” My hands clenched harder, bone-breaking hard.
When she nodded, I eased her into my arms. I kissed the top of her head.
“After we left you, I begged him to let me pay him. Told him to just stop at a bank and it would be done. No charges. He said I’d pay him, all right. But no way was he letting me go.
“I figured out how I was supposed to pay a couple hours later. There were five of them, including Diablo.”
My hands stopped moving on her back. I froze completely still.
“He shoved a gun against the back of my head. I remember, all their faces, their insults, every night, Max.” Shy collapsed against me, sobbing and shaking.
With my face buried against her hair, I murmured to her over and over again, “It’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again . . . You don’t have to do this . . .”
“I do.” Her voice steadied for a brief moment, and she lifted her face. “He told me if I didn’t”—she bit her lip, releasing it when it was bright red—“if I didn’t take their cocks into my mouth he’d kill you.” She wailed.
“Oh, Christ. Shy. Shy, baby.” I curled around her, a protective mass of muscle even though I hadn’t been able to protect her that night.
“The floor was dirty.” She haltingly went on. “It hurt to be on my knees. They forced my mouth open.” Her eyes distant and bleak, she whispered, “They came. They all came in my mouth and on my face. One after the other until I was gagging and puking and crying.”
I wanted to slice D’s black heart right out of his chest then feed it down his throat. I wanted him raped in the ass. I wanted him dead.
“They all laughed. Smacking my face with their penises, spreading the rest of the . . . of their semen around.”
I pressed my knuckles against my mouth, close to vomiting myself.
The red haze, the insidious hate, was back.
Shy inhaled, speaking as if in a terrorized trance. “The chicken thing. I didn’t know how many hours had passed. All those people cheering, and I could hardly stand up. There was nothing but pain.
“But you came. You came for me!”
“Not soon enough.”
“I just had to hold on. I just had to hold on for you . . .”
We clung to each other, our tears melting together, our bodies pressed close. That motherfucking night finally losing some of its grip on us as we held one another tighter.
I swiped my hands across my face then used the bottom of my shirt to tenderly dry Shy’s, too.
“I’ll always come for you, baby. I’m just sorry I tipped him off about your leg. If I hadn’t—”
“Don’t you dare.” Shy clasped my face between her two hands.
“What? None of that would ever have happened if I’d paid him off earlier. If I’d never gotten mixed up in trouble when I was younger. You know it, Shy.”
“I don’t care. No apologies. We take each other as we are.” Her chin jutted up, and her silvery eyes turned flinty.
“You sure?”
“You’re the thing I’m most sure about.” She rested her head on my shoulder.
Bringing her fingers to my lips, I kissed the tips. “I love you so much, Shy.”
“I love you too.” She suppressed a yawn. “I’m so tired, Max.”
“I know.”
“I miss you.”
“You don’t have to, baby.”
“Will you . . .” Shy stretched out, almost on top of me. “Would you take a bath with me, Max?”
“Try and stop me.”
It was the first time we’d both been completely naked together. I dimmed the lights, filled the tub, tested the water, helped Shy in.
We sat at opposite ends, warm water lapping the edges, glasses of wine close by.
Maybe the act itself—being close, freer from our pasts, with fresh water slipping over us—was cleansing in itself.
We watched each other quietly.
Washed one another softly.
Played footsies beneath the water.
It was innocent. Mostly.
Because there was no rush.
Not anymore.
And there was less pain.
Than before.
When we went to bed there was nothing between us. No doubts. No guilt. No clothes. Wrapped around one another.
The first night with no nightmares. No tossing and turning. No quiet crying Shy didn’t know I’d heard, aching to comfort her.
****
I busted into Passion for Fashion a few days later in the middle of a blazing hot September afternoon just as Shy swung around the long counter decorated with all kinds of perfectly highlighted accessories.
She was still unable to use her prosthetics, and I knew how much she hated the crutch things in public, but she would
n’t let that stop her.
In fact, the woman was planning on opening another store in Mt. Pleasant with the same charitable business plan.
As well as helping me get the brewery up and running.
I’d never met anyone so unstoppable before.
Pulling her to me with an arm around her waist, I held her steady against me. Slowly lowering my mouth to hers, I twirled my tongue inside and curled it around hers in nothing short of a mating dance.
“April’s watching,” Shy gasped out when I released her lips with slow suction.
“Don’t care.” I bent for another long, lingering kiss, not giving a fuck April the manager had a front row view.
“You’re a bad influence,” Shy admonished, finally prodding me a step back.
“Yup.”
“To what do I owe the honor? Don’t you have to work this afternoon?” Her cheeks dimpled, her lips shined, and her hair had grown in more, soft pale blond curls giving her a sassy surfer girl look.
“Shy’s taking the rest of the day off,” I called to April.
“I am?”
“Yup.” I started off down the racks of trendy clothes, looking for one section in particular.
“Why?” Shy followed after me, maneuvering with ease on her crutches.
“Beach.” I found the bathing suits. “We’re going to it.”
“I can’t.” Shy halted behind me. “Not like this. And I haven’t been since—”
“Not since before the amputation. I know.” I began flicking through the two pieces, intent on finding a bikini for her. “So I checked with Dr. Haines and your rehab team. You know they have special prosthetics for swimmers, but it’s too soon after the”—accident was the wrong word, kidnapping and torture more apt—“after what happened. But, she thinks the sunshine and salt water will help with the healing.”
Hangers clacked together as I pushed more swimsuits aside.
I felt Shy’s stare boring holes into my back.
“And how am I supposed to get over the dunes like this?”
Glancing back, I asked, “Like what?”
“Missing one leg?”
“Well, exactly the same way you get around downtown I guess. Use the crutches. Or I’m gonna carry you. Which I like to do anyway.” I shrugged.
She grabbed my shoulder. “I’m too self-conscious.”
“Please. You’re sex in the flesh. I can hardly keep my hands or eyes off you.” I lowered my voice, my gaze roaming boldly up and down her body. “And by the way, I think the moratorium on sex is gonna end today too.”