Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Lu
I make it to an all-night diner but not without falling several times in the snow. My knees are burning and my jeans are soaked, but those things are the least of my worries. I didn’t get the information Preacher wants. I could have made some calls on my walk here, but didn’t.
I order a coffee, pay for it with the change at the bottom of my bag, and find a table away from the windows. It isn’t hard since I’m the only one here.
Once I sit, the weight on my shoulders doubles. Gage recovered from his overdose and was released from the hospital two months after the incident. He’d had a stroke from the overdose. When I’d last called, the nurse told me he’d been transferred to a rehab facility, but I’d hung up before she told me which one. Hell, I didn’t even know if it was a rehab for his stroke or his habit. But that’s what Satan’s Ransom wants from me. They want Gage. And anyone with even half a brain knows why.
Gage is a liability. One they need to eliminate before someone convinces him to roll over on the MC. If he hasn’t already. With shaking hands, I grab the jar of sugar from the edge of the table and the teaspoon on the edge of my saucer. The spoon clinks on the ceramic repeatedly as I try to steady it.
The only thing Satan’s Ransom knows is that Gage is no longer at the River’s End Memorial Health Center and that’s all they can know. Except now Jeff’s involved and they have me over a barrel. Because dammit. I don’t want him to get hurt. And hurt is a generous assumption.
I pour the sugar onto the spoon but end up spilling it onto the table. The mess of white granules on the dark surface upsets me more than it should, which just proves my situation is impossible. I drop the spoon with a harsh clink and reach for the bowl holding the creamers instead.
Give them what they want and Gage gets hurt , don’t and Jeff gets hurt . And by hurt I mean dead because that’s more likely, at least in Gage’s case. And while Gage got himself into this mess, I still owe him. But Jeff? His involvement is a direct result of his proximity to me.
Fuck!
Dumping several of the little creamers from the dish into my coffee, as many as I can stand because I need the calories, I grit my teeth. I either turn my foster brother over or Jeff, who’s only tried to help me even if he’s done a piss-poor job of it, gets hurt. I add two spoonfuls of sugar, laughing dryly at myself. In a former life, I felt guilty for adding sugar to my coffee, not which man I planned to turn over to a bunch of ruthless, murdering MC brothers.
Jeff left me food in the infirmary, but my temper and pride made me leave it behind. I regret that as my stomach growls, especially since I can smell food cooking from the diner kitchen. I close my eyes and breathe in the scent of fries, my mouth watering.
“Dining room’s closing in twenty minutes,” the balding guy behind the counter in a food-splattered apron says. I must look like a wreck though because after a thoughtful pause he adds, “I’ve got some stuff to do after I close though, so you can stay for a bit longer.”
I nod, noting his nametag. “Thanks, Arnie.”
He looks out the window at the snow still coming down. “Looks bad out there. Early for this much snow.”
I nod again and getting the hint, he walks into the back. He serves a few customers picking up takeout orders, but fills my cup whenever it gets low, simply saying he’ll have to toss the coffee anyway.
When he turns the lock on the door and flips the closed sign, I stand. He only waves me off with a meaty hand. “Like I said, I’ve got stuff to do. Finish your coffee.”
I listen to him shuffling around, the quiet sound of a local radio station plays in the background which he occasionally hums along with. But I only stare into my almost white coffee lost in my thoughts. I’m so deep in thought, I jump the next time he comes to the table, spilling my coffee all over the table.
“Shit! Sorry. I’ll go,” I say, standing. He puts his hand on my shoulder. It’s warm and gentle.
“No, please sit.”
That’s when I notice the plate in his hand. French fries and a burger, still steaming, are set in front of me. I blink at it, my mouth watering, and then look up at him. His kind gaze hits me in the gut. I’m not used to the kindness of strangers but maybe that’s because I’ve always pushed back on it.
“I can’t…”
He cuts me off. “End of the night and someone didn’t pick up their order. The food’ll only go in the trash,” he says, setting a napkin and utensils down beside the plate. “I’d rather feed you than the rats.” He winks. “They’re getting too big; they’ll probably jump me in the alley soon.” Arnie guffaws at his own joke, but the roar of bikes has my head whipping around.
I drop beneath the table without thinking, my coffee spilling again. The rumble stops abruptly and I look up at Arnie with wide eyes. His brow furrows before realization relaxes his face.
He looks from the door to me and then swallows. Shoving my purse at me, he pulls out a towel and begins bussing the table, taking my food and coffee cup back to the kitchen.
“We’re closed,” he says loudly at the rattle of the door, and I press myself further under the table, my heart thundering so hard I’m sure it can be heard a block away.
“Come on, Arnie, just give us some of that pie.” The voice is as recognizable as my own, probably because it’s in my nightmares every night. Slash. “We’ll pay double.”
Arnie drops the cloth and as he bends down to pick it up, he whispers, “Stay under there. Don’t come out. I’ll get rid of them.”
I nod, swallowing at the dry patch in my throat and clutch my purse to my chest.
“Hold on, hold on!” Arnie waves his cloth at the doorway as he heads to the counter where I see him open his pie case and fill a takeout box. I hold my breath as he heads to the door and clicks the lock. The bell on the door rings. “Pay me next time, the till’s been closed out. But don’t forget the double part.”
“No rhubarb?” Preacher’s voice comes through and I tremble.
Oh, god. Oh, god.
“Sold out,” Arnie replies. There’s strain in his voice and the silence that follows makes the hair on my neck rise.
Something’s wrong. I know it. I feel it like prey on the Serengeti.
“Hey!” The doorbell jingles hard as the door is swung open further. A gust of cold wind slices through the room, whipping across the floor.
“What’s going on in here, Arnie?”
A pause and then a shuffle. I squeeze tighter into my hideout.
“You normally argue a bit more,” Preacher continues. “He seem nervous to you, Python?”
“It’s nothing, guys. No time to argue. You always win me over anyway. And I’m eager to get on home to the wife.”
Feet come into view then and I suck in and hold my breath. Arnie’s food-stained tennis shoes and three sets of thick-tread black boots are ten feet away.
“Okay, okay,” Arnie says, and I can now see Python’s legs and torso. “I got a lady in back. I’m nervous because the lady isn’t my wife.”
I count five long silent seconds before Python’s chuckle breaks the tension. “I believe that means the pie’s free, Arnie.” There’s the sound of a hand clapping on a back.
“Fine. Fine. Just go.”
“I want a look at the piece you got back there.” Slash’s feet shift closer and I see more of his legs. My vision is starting to get fuzzy from holding my breath and my heartbeat pounds in my head.
Python speaks. “Let’s just go. Beater needs a tune-up. Snow’s here to stay. We gotta put the ladies away.”
There’s some agreeing grumbles and the bodies shuffle out of sight, but I don’t breathe until I hear the lock click. And when I do, it’s a frantic gasp. I slump forward onto my hands, panting for air. I don’t dare move from my spot under the table though. Not until the bikes are a quiet rumble in the distance and Arnie’s finished packing up the burger and fries.
“You okay, honey?” he asks, handing me the takeout bag and waving me to follow him through the kitchen to a back exit.
“Are you, Arnie?”
“Not if they tell my wife,” he says, and we laugh harder than we should.
The snow is bad and even if I was willing, the one shelter in River’s End will be packed beyond capacity. On nights like these it always is. So with no other choice, I trudge through calf-deep snow back to my car— where I’m sure Jeff still walks the perimeter of the factory and I’ll have to explain myself.
It’s even colder on the walk back. Eating distracts me the first few blocks, but once the food’s gone and there are no more buildings to block the wind, it whips me directly in the face and I can barely contain my shivering. And that shivering increases tenfold as I get sight of my car. It’s been beaten.
When I get close enough to see the damage, I feel burning inside. Behind my eyes and in my gut. One emotion, which isn’t the tears, I allow to take hold of me.
The windows are smashed, spidery cracks and full-out holes, and the doors? They’re so dented they’ll likely never open. I grit my teeth, the anger rising higher, and more formidably inside me. Can my life get any shittier?
The car, my only home, is ruined. Maybe not undriveable if I climbed through the trunk, but definitely uninhabitable. Even though most of the car is plastered with baseball bat dents, the trunk is relatively unscathed at least where it needs to be opened. Popping it, I lean in to release the latch to lower the backseat. For once it seems my scrawniness is a positive.
“Where the hell did you go?”
I fly upright and swear as my head hits the trunk top. I right myself, climbing back out of the trunk space, rubbing the quickly forming bruise on my head. Shooting daggers at the big man standing in front of me, I open my mouth to cuss him out, but he yanks me into his arms.
My breath catches at first because of the swift movement, but then it sticks because he’s kissing my head, my face, and then my lips. And he does it all frantically, too. It shocks me so I stay in his arms longer than I should. He’s warm, his big body blocking the cutting wind, but I shove him back anyway. When have I ever put my comfort over my pride? Our eyes meet, like puzzle pieces snapping into place. But what I see in his, isn’t what I expect.
There’s no pity, no judgement either, and even though we’ve definitely got some sexual tension thing going on as of late, I don’t even see that in his expression. What I see is concern, relief, and care.
My throat works hard and the burning behind my eyes from just minutes ago is back. Jesus, I need to get control of myself.
It’s harder than I expect though. Because I haven’t seen that in the last eight or nine months. And to be honest, maybe not even much before that. And after spending half the night with Arnie and now Jeff, I realize maybe that’s my own fault. I never let anyone care. I don’t let people know me. Not the real me. They have no idea who’s under tough, sarcastic Lu or sweet, bubbly Tallulah Jane. No one sees the scared, vulnerable, mess of a woman I actually am. And the last person that actually saw that, before tonight, was Gage and I was no woman then. I was only twelve years old.
Blinking the sting behind my eyes away, I waver, my knees buckling under the weight of everything. Is there anything lonelier than that?
“It’s okay, babydoll, I got you.” Jeff pulls me tight against his solid chest, whispering soothing words into my ear. And just for this minute, I let him. But one minute turns into two and he’s suddenly scooping me up into his strong arms and carrying me away.
Maybe it’s just away from my broken car, and the bitter cold, but it feels like more. Like this man might be carrying me away from what’s become of my life. Of the isolated woman I’ve become. At least for tonight.
And as I tuck my head under his bearded chin, his voice, deep and soothing, vibrates through me.
“Daddy’s got you, baby. Daddy’s got you.”
And Jesus fucking Christ if he doesn’t sound sincere.
How did my little joke turn into this?
And how did it suddenly become something I need as badly as air?
When we get to the door, another security guard, Bale, holds it open, and Jeff carries me over the threshold like a fucking bride. I want to shove out of his arms, be back on my own two feet, embarrassed at the way he carries me in front of the other guy, but when I try to move, I realize I don’t have the strength.
“I can walk,” I say instead, but thankfully, Jeff shakes his head.
“Not risking you collapsing.”
“Want me to take her?” Bale offers and Jeff shoots him a hard possessive look.
My brows knit. Possessive? I must be delusional from the cold and trauma. This sexy-as-hell man could have any woman he wanted, I’m just the trash he needs to clean up for work. No man is possessive of his trash.
But when Bale lowers his head and nods as if he’s crossed some line in the guy code, I’m even more confused.
“We need an ambulance?” he asks, shoving the door to the infirmary open for us. It bangs loudly against the wall as Jeff kicks it open wider. I wince, realizing my head is pounding.
“No hospital,” I croak and both men look at me.
“I’ll assess her first,” Jeff says, ignoring me as he sets me onto the infirmary bed. “They might be watching the hospitals for her anyway. Go watch the monitors.”
Bale nods and leaves us. Jeff takes my chin in his hand and examines my eyes as I shiver uncontrollably.
“Why are they after you?” he asks as he opens the supply cupboard and pulls out every blanket in there.
“After me?” I repeat through chattering teeth trying to come up with an answer he’ll accept.
“Satan’s Ransom. What do they want with you?” he asks, draping me in the blankets and rubbing my arms and legs for friction. I’m shivering, and tears threaten at every small kindness he gives. I don’t deserve it and that causes more battering against my resolve not to cry.
“I’ve gotta call this in. Tell them I’ve found you. And call off the search.”
How many people did he have searching for me? Did he call in the guards that were off?
“Technically you didn’t find me,” I say, and it sounds both watery and saucy through my chattering teeth. One of his brows cocks in the most Daddy-like way and I can’t help but give him a small sheepish smile. “Sorry.”
“My guys have been scouring the city, Lu. I’ve been so damn worried.”
“Why?” There’s no sarcasm in my question this time.
“Because you’re important.” He pauses, dragging his bottom lip between his straight teeth, searching my eyes. “To me.”
I swallow hard. “How can that be?” I choke on the words.
He fusses with the blanket, tucking it tighter around me. “I don’t know,” he whispers and touches a hand to my cheek. “But those guys are dangerous. Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”
I swallow hard, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from spilling my guts to this man.
“If you don’t start to warm up…” He glances at the shower stall in the corner, and I follow his line of sight.
“Not sure I could shower with all this shivering,” I say, pulling my hands out from underneath the blanket to stare at them. They’re bright red and shaking as badly as a junkie in withdrawal.
“We need to get you out of those pants at least. They’re soaked.”
“I knew you were trying to get me out of my pants,” I say with a shivery chuckle, trying to ease the tension.
His silence causes me to look up. His expression, so full of care and concern, almost pushes me over the edge. “Your lips are practically blue. You need a hot shower,” he says, his voice low. Heading for the little plastic shower three feet away, he turns on the spay. With his back to me, he asks, “Can you strip down to your bra and panties, or do you need me to help?”
Somewhere inside me, heat sparks to life.
“I’ll help you, we’ll get you in, and I’ll go find you some dry clothes while you sit on the floor in the warm spray.”
“I can do it.” I attempt to unbutton my flannel shirt, but no matter how hard I try I feel like I’m wearing a pair of thick ski gloves to do it. Moving from the little buttons, I try the larger button of my jeans instead, but even that doesn’t work.
“Lu?”
I stop when his hand finds mine, stilling my shuddering attempts.
“I’ll be professional.”
I nod and he reaches for the top button. I release a breath as his fingers skim the skin of my upper chest and he pauses. The steam from the shower is starting to fill the room.
“Here, I won’t see a thing.” He undoes all the buttons but doesn’t let the sides of the shirt fall open. “Lie back now.”
I do, and reach for jeans, first the button and then the zipper. I shiver for a different reason when his knuckles skim the skin of my belly.
Jesus.
“Lift your hips.”
I obey and he slides the jeans down my legs. They’re red and blotchy from the cold, but he’s staring like they belong to a Vegas showgirl, at least until he notices me noticing him. He averts his eyes quickly, but it’s too late the heat inside me builds and swirls. I might not even need this shower if he looks at me like that again.
Taking my hand, he pulls me up to sit. “You okay?” he asks as I jump down from the bed. I nod, and pull back my hand, letting my shirt fall open and off my arms.
“I’m good.” The shirt falls from my body and I’m suddenly standing in front of him in nothing but my cheap cotton bra and panties, which thankfully are still in decent shape.
“Uh, Let’s get you in.” He lowers his gaze but it’s too late, I see his eyes linger a few milliseconds longer in all the right places.
He guides me into the shower and helps me sit on the floor. I close my eyes and tip my face to the warm spray. It’s amazing but anywhere the spray doesn’t touch feels ten times colder.
He’s gone when I open my eyes. What’s left behind is my flipping gut, a dull throbbing somewhere deep in my center and the fantasy of him showering me.
Good god, talk about a Daddy fantasy. I shake my head and peel off my undergarments. Grabbing the little wrapped bar soap from the shelf, I soap myself up, enjoying the hot water and the way my imagination makes me see his hands soaping me instead of my own.
He’s not back by the time I’m done and warm, so I wrap myself in towels and climb back under the blankets on the bed. Tucking my hands between my thighs for warmth, I lie down. My eyelids droop almost instantly and when I’m finally buzzing with complete warmth, they close completely.
Swollen and numb when I wake a few hours later, I see Jeff’s sitting uncomfortably in a plastic chair across the small room.
“What time is it?” I ask, sounding groggy.
His head pops up from his phone screen, worry etched around his soft brown eyes. I shoot up, almost tripping on the blankets.
“Who’s watching the outside?”
He covers his eyes and points to the end of the bed. “All good, sweetheart. There’s some clothes on the bed.” He gives me a gentle smile. “Bale’s on perimeter watch.” He peeks through his fingers and glances at his phone. “And it’s five in the morning.”
“Bale.” I nod, reaching for the clothes. “Okay.”
“You feeling better? Warm again?”
“Yeah. Thanks…” I chew my lip a second before adding, “for everything.”
“You’re welcome. And no one came around last night. No more damage to your car,” he says, and my eyes dart up as I pull on the sweatshirt and jogging pants he provided.
“Not what I was worried about, but thanks for the info,” I mumble.
He rises and comes to me, sitting down on the bed next to me. “What then?”
I laugh dryly. “Didn’t want you getting fired for babysitting me.” My damn pride keeps me from saying the words I’m thinking. Because you’re important to me, too.
“It’s part of my job, Lu.”
Right. Now I’m glad I didn’t say those words. I’m just a job after all. Just an employee the company would want taken care of after something traumatic happened in their parking lot. I imagined everything else. The looks, the comfort, the care, it was all created by my near hypothermic brain. It had to be, because who could actually care about someone like me?
I rise from my spot and look around for my purse. Grabbing it, I start for the door.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?”
“Standing date at the gym,” I reply.
“The gym? After the night you had?”
Ire rises in me further and I grit my teeth. Fucking guy thinks just because he helped me yesterday, he gets a say in my life. Screw that.
I look at the clock on the wall and then at him. “Babysitting shift’s over, Jeff.” I try so hard not to notice, but the stab of hurt in his eyes takes my breath away.
“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asks with a frown of concern.
“Skinny-shaming me again?” I snap to hide the discomfort his concern is causing.
He rolls his eyes. “No, saucy pants. You had a rough night though. You’ll likely be exhausted the next few days. You probably shouldn’t be overdoing it.” He raises his hands and I ball mine. “But if you’re that hell-bent, I’ll drive you there myself.”
“I’ll be fine. There’s a bus stop right out front.” And there is, except I used all my change to buy the coffee last night.
“Come on. Let me get you breakfast. I’ll drop you at the gym after. It’s the least I can do.”
My jaw tightens. “Why? Because if you hadn’t locked me in here last night, I’d have been long gone and that guy wouldn’t have messed with my car?”
I put my hands on my hips when he spends what feels like an eternity searching my eyes.
He doesn’t speak but finally breaks our stare.
“Well, don’t bother feeling guilty. It wasn’t worth saving.”
And neither am I.
Hell, pity party for one, anyone?
“And I don’t blame you or the company for what happened.” With that, I leave and don’t look back.
I’m later than usual for work because the walk is long and arduous in the snow, but the vet tech on the graveyard shift doesn’t say anything about it, just fills me in on the changes through the night and leaves.
I check on all the patients before the others arrive and then move on to the newborn puppies. I’m bottle feeding them two at a time when my boss, Maggie, walks up.
“How are they?”
“Hungry little buggers,” I say with a genuine smile. Because no matter how shitty my life is, these little brown fluffs are a joy. Maggie reaches out and scoops up one of the sleepy ones I’ve just fed and checks him over.
“Tallulah?”
I look up. The puppy’s head is snuggled under her chin.
“Are you okay?” Her eyes lower to my baggy pink scrubs and she frowns. “If you’re sick or need help, I’m here for you.”
I swallow hard, realizing I’m not holding things together very well at all. My tower of cards won’t hold for much longer.
“You haven’t been out with us in a long time. We miss you.”
“I’m fine.” I smooth my scrubs down.
My boss finds and holds my eyes a few seconds too long, presses her lips and nods. She doesn’t believe me but is too polite to call me on my bullshit.
“You’re family, Tallulah.”
Her words, as heavy as a cinderblock, knock me back. “Thanks, Maggie.” I look at my feet. If I were sick, I’d tell her, but I’m not. The mess I’m in isn’t like cancer, some terrible genetic disease or even an eating disorder, hell, it’s not even like a mental illness which would hold its own stigma. This pile-o-shit is my own damn fault. And I won’t drag good people down with me. Not Maggie and not Jeff.
No matter how many times they try to help, it’s better they give up on me than me pull them under.