Chapter 16
Hannah
I like the thought of that.
When I wake in the morning, my muscles ache, my head throbs, and I have no clue where I am. I try to open my eyes, but the soft light coming from the window feels like it’s stabbing straight through my skull.
Still, in the second they do flutter open, I see enough to know I’m in my own room, which is a relief. But it doesn’t change that I have no memory of how I got here.
My hand quickly rises to my throbbing head, and that’s when I notice the strange, freeing sensation across my chest. No restricting bra. And my shirt feels... different, looser. Not like the tight one I wore last night.
Groaning, I shut my eyes again, trying to will the pain away. What the hell happened?
I force myself to remember. Pool with Ellie. Her hitting it off with the prospect. Me... watching her and feeling a pang of jealousy.
Sarge never showed.
The thought cuts deeper than the headache. His brothers were there, at least two of them, plus the hang-around. But not him, the one I actually wanted to see. The one I’d obsessed over an outfit for. The one who lingered in my mind through every stroke of eyeliner, every curl of my hair.
Did I misread everything about our first night? That kiss?
I feel so fucking stupid.
My mouth is bone-dry, and I try to roll over to grab the water I keep on my nightstand, but a voice nearly scares me out of my skin.
“Hey, you’re up. Let me get that for you.”
Sarge. His voice is unmistakable even after not hearing it for a week.
I would have screamed if my body had the energy.
Instead, I freeze, eyes squinted, too weak to react.
His arm reaches toward me, setting the glass into my hand.
I don’t care right now how he ended up in my room.
I’m too thirsty. I drain the water so fast that some spills down my chin and onto my shirt.
Only then do I turn my head to see the beautiful man next to me. With his hat off, I can now see that the sides of his head are shaved, but the hair in the center is left longer. Long enough to be pulled into a tousled knot.
He’s in gray sweatpants, paired with a white tank that clings to his toned chest. Those sage green eyes are scanning me like he’s searching for something—checking me. Concern etches his face. And guilt that can’t be missed, despite his usual stoic expression.
“How are you feeling?” His gravelly voice is soft, careful.
He leans forward in my desk chair that’s now beside the bed, soft eyes on me like I’m breakable.
“Horrible,” I admit. “I don’t understand what happened. I’ve had hangovers before, but this... this is worse. It feels like I got hit by a truck and then it backed over me for good measure. Strong pours at Rawhide, huh?” I try to joke, though my body protests every word.
Questions swirl in my pounding head. Why is he here? How did he even get inside my house? Oh God. What did we do last night?
“Did we...?” I ask, gesturing between the two of us.
Our clothes are still on, so I’m leaning toward nothing naked.
“Fuck? No Butterfly, I like a woman thoroughly coherent when I’m inside her. I don’t get anything out of fucking a damn near corpse. Which, no offense, was what you could have been mistaken for just hours ago.”
Well, that’s a relief. I guess.
Where’s Ellie? I really want to ask, but I don’t have the energy. All I want is to curl into a ball and let whatever this is pass.
Or even better, let it pass in Sarge’s arms.
“Here. Eat this.” He places a few saltines into my hand. “You need something in your stomach before you take anything for the pain. You’re light-sensitive. Head’s most likely pounding. I want to help.” His voice drops. “I need to help.”
I nibble at a cracker, grateful even if food is the last thing I want.
He strolls to the window, pulling the blinds tighter. “Do you know what happened last night?”
My eyes stay closed. Too heavy to open, as though they’ve been weighted down. “Everything’s... fuzzy after pool. Definitely don’t know how I got home. Or how I got changed.”
Sarge doesn’t answer. The silence hangs heavy between us. His breath is held as if he’s dreading giving me an answer.
Finally, he exhales. “What’s the last thing you can remember?”
I’m quiet, eyes closed, really searching my memory bank. Panic creeps in, because I can’t recall anything past playing pool with Ellie. Did I drink so much that I blacked out? What the fuck did I do?
“I remember that you didn’t show up.”
My body may be aching and exhausted, but I’m still pissed, and anger is a lot easier to hide behind than feeling panic and dread.
His jaw tightens. His voice comes low and steady. His jaw tightens. His voice comes low and steady.
“That has quickly become one of my biggest regrets in this life. I should have been there, Hannah, and I’m so sorry.
I’d been out of town and was getting back as quickly as I could.
I wasn’t fast enough.” His eyes fill with remorse as he continues, “There was another club there. Scorpions. Blue and black patches. Do you remember seeing them?”
“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper. I can picture them across the room. I can’t make out their faces, but their patches stand out.
“They weren’t supposed to be anywhere near you.
Our clubs have an agreement to tolerate one another, as long as they stay on their own side.
” He lets out a frustrated breath. “Last night, my guys were distracted. Diesel—” he spits the name like poison— “used that, plus Fang bumping into you, to slip something into your drink. Rohypnol, we think. We’re waiting on lab results for confirmation. ”
Bumped into me? Slipped something into my drink?
My stomach drops like a stone. Drugged. He’s saying I was drugged.
“Lab results?” My voice breaks. “Why... how are there labs?”
“The club’s got a doctor and a nurse. They’re well trained and discreet,” he says. “They checked your vitals, drew blood, and hopefully whatever it was, was still in your system. They already sent it out, and we should have answers soon.”
I glance at the crook of my elbow, gauze taped over a cotton ball. My breath stutters.
“Oh.” It’s all I can manage.
Sarge offers another cracker into my hand. “Eat a little. Take some ibuprofen. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not leaving you. Not again.” He says it with such finality.
I swallow, finishing the last of the water. He stands—moving slow, deliberate—then bends to press a kiss to my nose before disappearing down the hall.
Simple, yet intimate. Too intimate. We are two people who, quite honestly, do not know each other. Hell, we haven’t even had a first date.
I should feel embarrassed. I should be furious he wasn’t there last night, knowing now how it all turned out. A part of me unfairly blames him, yet the anger doesn’t come. Instead, I want him in this bed. Arms around me, keeping the dark away. My body feels so small and vulnerable, like a child.
Someone hurt me without ever touching me.
When he returns, he brings with him a full glass of water and a cool, wet washcloth that feels heavenly against my skin.
The level of care he’s giving me isn’t like anything I’ve experienced before.
I’m used to caring for myself—figuring my own shit out and staying guarded.
I’ve never liked relying on others; in my experience, that’s how they trap you.
How they take control. Kindness and compassion turn into unpaid favors, debts to be collected on.
“Get some sleep, Butterfly,” he croons.
I want to fight him, tell him he’s not the boss of me, but I can’t keep my eyes from closing. He pulls the covers up, tucking me in before planting a kiss on my forehead. His large hand lingers on my face, fingers stroking through my hair.
Despite everything I know to be true, lying here under the watchful eye of Sarge doesn’t feel like an act of kindness he’ll come to collect on later. Against all odds, I feel safe, and I drift to sleep knowing nothing will hurt me—for now.